Chickens Will Roost.

this may or may not enhance your reading pleasure.

 

The sand on the bottom of my feet didn’t come from here, but the rope burns around my neck did.

The hatred in my heart for myself and for you was born here, it grew up right here.

This is not my hatred, it’s yours and I’m ready to set it free and send it home like chickens coming to roost.

I was not given an option, but I’ll give you one.

I will make my being sink as low as yours and make hell a playground.

My rage alone can fuel a movement.

Your blood will sizzle like my flesh sizzled when it was strange fruit.

I will probe the depths of my mind to make your debt payment ring throughout this place.

Yes, my hatred is full grown and is coming back. Not a book or a line has been written that can or will explain my actions.

The Earth cannot, will not contain the motions of the oppressed, the hurt, the lost, the damaged.

You stand there and be real still so those chickens have a place to roost when they come home, because those chickens are coming home.

Rage Turned Inward

Do you know me? then shut up.

Teeth grinding and I can’t even see.

Lips pursed tight and thoughts on fire.

Muscles inextinguishable and reality on yield.

I put my hands around the throat of my invisible tormentor and squeeze.

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I don’t wanna talk I don’t wanna listen I don’t wanna hear I don’t want you I don’t want me I don’t wanna come I don’t wanna go I don’t wanna feel I don’t wanna see I wanna be mad I wanna hate I wanna kill I wanna be killed I wanna hurt I wanna scream I want it dark I want it cold I gotta go I gotta disappear I gotta run I gotta choke I gotta hit I gotta kick I gotta burst I need to move I need stop I need to pierce I need to stab I need to bleed I need to be tight I need to be left I need to be alone.

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The world is safe, all these things are Rage Turned Inward. That is depression.