these four letters are not the oppressor

around him there can’t be no liberating
feelings of welcome…standing in personal limitlessness
there is sense of canning lids twisting firmly
aiming at cheekbones until there is one corner for treaded on origami
he is the battering ram at the top of the stairs
charging more than flesh with his horn

small use looking outside openings where there is circulation
discouraging much about caring but to stay crouched in “cut a fool” defense
acquainted with the narrow accomplishment of escape
why bring yourself from measures so tall just so you can watch it tumble
you’ll be the lost… like a flash light search among crumble
wrestling against the easy prisoner sealed

with him can’t be no free breathing
dressing in the clothes of your own mind or the style
in which your hair is braided
must take the forty lashes of his tongue scathing
bet not cry and unleash the flurry of smirking apathy
find yourself face down in a puddle of broken liner
and crushed MAC

got to hold some bodies love for himself against their will
or else he’ll be non-functional
not knowing how he supposed to be alive…

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4 thoughts on “these four letters are not the oppressor

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