Broken

There is something

we don’t like to talk about

perhaps we already know

even if we let the monster out

change will remain the same

It’s been this way a while now

I scream—

—you shout

‘til there’s nothing left but silence…

hurt feelin’

we’re bruised and wounded

each other trying to out trump the other

reneging—inventing and preventing truth

patience raised into violence

because we’re broken

this is how we mend ourselves—kintsugi

but we gonna remember what we remember

and you will fight to shift the blame

‘til all that’s left is smoke and embers

‘less some hot breather stokes the flames

leaving us choked and blinded

gasping to breathe—dying to see

We’ve seen it every time

and pay it no mind

this red and blue sea

filled with blood and tears

hatred and love

between you and me

holding hands like lovers—your hand in mine

too afraid of letting the other go

walking down the same road

just with opposite dreams—

we mended pottery.

Truth [not a haiku]

truth—a fruit so sweet

Should never be withheld until it is profitable

water in a desert—truth!

The dying need the truth

If I am going to heaven let it not be on a bed of lies

And if to hell—there I will need more truth to wipe my brow

Let me panic—at least I will breathe a little

more.

Haiku #483

Soul, a screaming pond.

Struggling for a way out,

—How am I not George

Everyday I wake up with a tinge of fear that it may be my last simply because my skin remembers the long history of insensibility—it, my skin, has been an excusable causality for unjustified violence…