"What's the world for you if you can't make it up the way you want."

-Jazz, Toni Morrison


black porcelain. and complex.

black porcelain. and complex.

black porcelain. 

Blood of my blood
Flesh of my broken desires

You look like everything
My mother told me to stay away from

But shit

You look like everything
I need in my bed

You look like everything
I need in between my legs

You look like the man
That carries trouble in his pockets

You look like my father
And my father’s father

Like a man filled with pleasure
But absent of affection

There’s a void in your eyes
Your mask cracks each time you smile

The dead that rots inside of you
Calls to my burning soul

We’re made for each other
We’re made to cave in to one another

And become the broken pieces
That mirror the horrible truths of our hearts

 

 

complex.

You hate it
When I call you daddy

Cause there’s a tale
Hidden somewhere inside of you
That you’ll never speak

Did your fathers lies
Roughen your skin
Like sandpaper?

Did his elbows
Only bend for discipline
And never an embrace?

Did his drunken nights
Turn your mouth away
From the juice of grapes?

Did his hands
Against your mother’s throat
Incite a riot in your soul?

You’ve tried to run from
The exact same thing
I’ve been running to

We’re both demented
Still carrying our childhoods
On our shoulders

Like most fathers do
So their children can see
The life ahead

But mine was never there

And yours was just a filler
Clouding the spaces
You never even knew you needed


Joshua Arion is an emerging poet from Atlanta, GA. Facebook: Joshua Arion

Photo by Jacob Kiesow on Unsplash

Attention

Attention

sometimes things collide by chance and A Conjuring

sometimes things collide by chance and A Conjuring

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