Vivication
rambling with eyes wide
cursing oneself again
traveling the tracks of routine &
coming up empty handed
again,
watching the clock tick the way
that frustrates &
feeling the wrinkles come to the
surface of that face that
is becoming closer to the one you
deserve,
than the one that gets worked on,
the one that has a chance &
all along, you be wondering,
just when & where & how it will
all end, yet,
as an artist, you find yourself channeling
every single bit of what comes
into your work, because this is the way
you breathe,
this is the way you live---
doesn’t mean they have to like it
doesn’t mean they have to care
doesn’t mean you have to make them
understand
doesn’t mean you have the time to put a
“reason” to your rhyme---
now is the time to toss out the broken
communications, now is the time to round
up those skills that give you esteem---
yes, you are allowed to do whatever you
want,
yes, you are allowed to be yourself,
yes, you are allowed to
do this for you & you alone,
because hugs are slim & kisses roam free,
they seem to dance around those who
sell out, who give up, who got prestige &
money,
don’t have to be a scientist working on
rockets to come to the conclusion that
romantic love = artistic suicide
&
that is
that.
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