If I see u and u don’t see me that’s fine, if I speak to u and u don’t speak back that’s fine, if u judge me and I don’t judge back that’s fine, I speak clearly and if it’s not clear to you that’s fine, if you live in a mansion and I live in a tent that’s fine, you call me crazy and haven’t been anywhere, haven’t seen the things I have nor the pain I have received and dealt with and that’s fine.
Again I will speak clearly,
So drained that I keep this smile to hide all my past and present pains as others have called me many of names that I’m not, been on many of bended knees asking for silence to break the disgracing words of unjustifiable speaking, standing as an entrance and exit and thank you never comes as ungratefulness runs through, the heart has fossilized, tears build and cannot fall and all is fine.
editors note: So not fine. - mh clay
My mind, full of envy over my open heart passion of giving so freely and sight never seeing clearly, mind and heart juggling instruments for the receivers with knowledge of my heart and them deceiving.
Mind holds back, fighting facts, heart reacts, gifting out, no thank you or profitable give back, only a single red eye blink back.
Hands are out to receive never for reprieve for a condemned heart covered in gold.
Mind encased by the power of slave love with every whipping beat from the heart; chain of denial.
editors note: Altruism; what takers love to see most in others. - mh clay
Looking up through the sun roof; the illusion delighting to the mindset, gravity has the hold, movement of the clouds divulge the delusion.
When you wake paint me in your reflection as the mirror emulates and the mind subsists as we exist in a love abyss.
editors note: A brief, sweet forever… - mh clay
Get down, Got-Dam it’s a homicide forty-eight hours, murder case still subsists, fatal blow incited from the inside, proof easily unlawfully baptized and we the people darker in color are capsized by an unsociable justice system with a breed of unlawful bobbies turning homicide into a hobby.
Closes the case on an unlawful murder rate, new wave modern way of hate, fuck the debate, we the people are ghosts in plain site they assassinate, that’s the mandate, remember these names and dates
Medgar Evers, 1964………..
Fred Hampton, 1968………..
Harry and Harriette Moore, 1951………..
Malcom X, 1965………..
Martin L. King, 1968………..
Now can you relate?
editors note: The blind lady's scale tips to the twitchy trigger finger. - mh clay
You look at me and over me, deep down in my soul you’ll never reach, for if you do you’ll freeze instantly, deep down I’m cold inside and you’re outside looking, not at the straining red blood veins in my eyes squeezing my cortices, nerves react; disgruntled reflex, my pupils were blinded as they are weakflesh, sight I could not make see to be free of a detachable heart murmur. You will never feel the real pain until tomorrow but that day it’s just sorrow that runs through the veins as you come home to find you really have no friendship only the prehensile-hold of I done that smile.
editors note: To behold is not to be held unless you get beyond that smile. - mh clay
I have masturbated with death
as it inflects a painful stimulation
making my heart ejaculate from
With the loss of equilibrium my
mind swings like a pendulum…
the orgasmic grip of death
suspended from a point of
Yes; I have looked death in
its empty hood face;
dark abyss, soul sucking, gripping,
tearing, pulling, and
castrating silent predator;
Countless times I walked away
but not before death penetrated
my mind as I felt I had no protection
from death’s infection.
Now I sit in gloom in the darkness
of a room pondering the next time death
appears, will God adhere? I will speak;
“My flesh weak, my mind weak, and I
know that my soul is yours to keep.”
editors note: Not so easy; coming or going. - mh clay
So many times an unforgiven breath
Carried the words, “you don’t do this,
You haven’t done that” truth, the real
Facts I done most of all that, took care
Of you type shit.
Speaking on weak shit, lying through
Your teeth type shit, keep that weeping
type shit, It was all good out on your
creep type shit, slick type shit.
Every time I lift my feet type shit you
get that meekness type shit and hide the
freak type outfit, I’m not weak like that I
just don’t indulge in that type bullshit fit.
Most of the time I just want to be left alone
Type shit and not hear that preaching type
Shit when you sin too type shit; now feel
Me on this real type shit.
editors note: Well, this is the real shit. No shit! - mh clay
Unseen parting of ways, spoken broken vowels, suffocating in your own liquored dreams of illusionary and elocutionary vows, I’m that toxic waste vessel adrift on dry land with a soaked soul a hundred percent intoxication no participation on parting of ways only an array of empty bottles for days as others are amazed at the rainbow flavor thirst I display and liquor bottle parade, I care not about charade as life inside me fades;
unseen parting of ways
battling shakes and sweats awake I forgot to pray for my sake as I lay in my own wet mistakes full of hate on my wet alcoholic date;
unseen parting of ways,
from the war trench to the gin bottles I infiltrate, old tattered uniform, drunken parade rest and depressed, gin bottles my belief of suppression. Mind state without commonality of debate, full of war hate,
unseen parting of ways.
editors note: Our victors return to become victims while we argue over the price of compensation. Sad! - mh
“No friendship only /
the prehensile of the darkness…”
“…utensils of the mind are /
bent from the dehiscence of…”
“…old memories timeworn deeply /
in my mind a scheduled prelude that…”
“…protrudes in violence, silence /
“… rational relevance of mindfulness /
suffocated by an emotional ride …”
“…downward crash /
with no mental lines …”
“…for thee to cross /
for the lines are distressed …”
“…break marks of hue /
I have lost all …”
“…clues of functional views /
as I transverse…”
“…mayday, mayday in this darkness of solitude.”
editors note: A disturbing conversation, held by two sides of one solitude. - mh
Misrepresented contingencies filling penitentiaries; incarcerating minds, souls and bodies beyond the statistics of greater numbers that were and now are truly innocent, plastered with evidence of hate crimes and the power of money making a shadow of doubt, an unjust formality.
Days run long of unrest, of vengeance becoming a reckoning of another’s expiration; a prison dictation being caught up in a system that eradicates a willing mind and turns the souls of many black.
Reparation, revocation don’t give back time to the life of the one unjustly taken from society and caged, becoming a slave of the state by the unjustifiable dictation of the arguments of twelve, judicial fate and those who didn’t reach out to grab the hook; fixed with the bate of judicial genocide, corrupted proclamations.
editors note: Regarding our catch and release program; is a fish caught and mangled, then thrown back, free? - mh