The Rage Back Home



Put one word after the other. It’s as fucked up as that. You stick a knife in your belly and rip out your insides; you pick away at old wounds so they may never heal. My art demands sacrifice; it demands that I hurt. I’m not looking for pity, just a bosom to rest my weary head in. I never said I was perfect, only that I’d do my best to be truthful. Sometimes you don’t have to give everything; you just have to make sure that what you give is from the heart. Every ounce of what you are, as heavy as heaven. Be faithful to what drives you. Be faithful to your dreams and owe it to yourself to make sure there never comes a day when they slip away. You could give up, but so can anyone. To carry on- only the few will ever have the guts to push forward. Read it. Bleed it. Carve each letter into the skulls of those who are ready to join you, and stamp on the faces of all the nonbelievers. Wrap your arms around anyone who’s mad enough to listen; wrap yourself around the secret inside the lie. Offer me a bed for the night and let me place my ear on your belly. Show me some semblance of pity, and I’ll do my best to remove us from all that drags us down. Such beauty I’ll spend my entire life looking to replicate; it hurts that my words will never capture the sensations you place in my heart, but I know I’m fortunate enough to be even breathing. Against the universe, I’m nothing but dust, and that’s why I hold you. It’s why I try so hard to capture the poetry of your smile. You think it’s not about you, but it is. You’re a doorway that levitates upon a beach; you’re a slice of pornography that takes me to the brink each and every time. Such a perfect mouth that belongs on mine. Such a curious body that deserves to be in my arms until the first light of morning creeps upon your thighs. Take me to the mountain; stick me in until I can’t breathe. Suffocate my frustrations, and fill these veins with rage.

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