My Mask

A spoken word poem I cooked up one night.

My mask my secret my tomb, means that I will never wed. That my bed will remain cold to to nearly every face I'll ever love. It means that I will be the unfortunate butt of countless jokes. I will be ridiculed and spit on by many, not excluding my family. And something I'd like to include are the numberless homo hoes that stalk their victims in the night, hoping to find a broken lover that won't put up a fight. But most of all, above the falls and the pitiless calls, it means that I will have rainbows. So screw those homo hoes and those ridiculing faces and those childish jokes and those cold nights and those bars on the chapels because when I look up in the sky and see those luminous colors shining above me twinkling in a perfect arc of true glory I see them with different eyes. Those who feel despised see the world with different eyes. Hate only serves to harden the haters' hearts and make those hated hearts that beat the same as the haters open up and see. I see love and beauty that others will never know because instead of fixating on the act of living they live fixated on the act of hating. They waste their lives with slurs and signs and shackle their children to the same fate. They will never know the love that our Creator sends to us while they revolve around the blackness of their own actions and I revolve around the glorious sun. A sun so bright and so warm that it prevents the darkness of any storm. 

Reviews

[N!LoC]

very nice....................... :-)