Visual Perspective

A daily trip among the living
Spoiled, blemished, disfigured and rotting
Beauty of death surrounding
Hoping I could see the world through two eyes
But my face was painted with colors echoing blindness, despair.
Shades of grey—grayer than colors allowed through Crayola®
Accepted norms of society reflect nothing.
Suddenly seeing it with hollow pits sparkling in blue, green, hazel, black.
You realize that these are gifts handed to you by
Buddha, God, Mohammed

A being other than one inside you blossoms
Only through others may you truly be born
Yet, you do not know this person.
This is a self which refuses to gloat
A self choosing to rejoice at the—Pain of others
In the same breath, reach over, take a mask
Place it on yourself before allowing the other pleasure and room in this
Claustrophobic prose, breathing.

I met a man, or was it a ripe woman with the figure of the mango in my drawer?
Possibly a child or default of my misfired thoughts and synapses
Who overcame this burden, the world inside the picture frame…
Unlike the expected outcome, his consciousness was not the better for it
He had become the it I fear, and was worse off
Rising above noise, confusion of planetary discourse, he could see.
Wrapping around my face—fresh and thinking silently, he stopped to ask
Would I want for it to be removed?
I could visualize the tragedy that had become of my soul.

Masquerading my fractured emotions, I spoke with silence upon my lips
As the welcomed loss of sight
Turned the sweet to bitter and my thoughts
Fell upon my tongue.
My weary thinking cap destroyed the coarse hairs upon my head and I slept
While my thoughts began looking for another place, another time.
A different day to learn
A different day where I could explore the false judgments
Even as grim beings inhabit my space.