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Back to home |
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my need to be creative |
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It stands alone, off to the left-hand side
in the corner,
in the shadows,
not too noticeable to those around me,
but catching my eye.
Completely.
Immediately.
My heart rises in my throat.
I touch it,
Caress it,
Gently
tenderly.
As my fingers feel the smoothness of its keys, barely skimming their shiny ebony
A tinkle escapes,
echoes.
In the distance,
the music of angels is born
and I breathe,
slowly,
silently,
Afraid to break this wonderful spell
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I look around me,
my gaze unfocused, my eyes searching for something to find peace in.
Calm of the lazy summer day outside is in stark comparison to this tumultuous rollercoaster ride that is twisting turning snaking devilishly through my aching body.
and I can't concentrate.
I'm suffocating within myself, wanting to be free of this trap that holds me inside
while I reach out my hands for something to grasp
almost, but not quite.
the only thing that can save me from this terrible fight, this struggle between the good and the evil, is nowhere to be found
I want it to go away, so i lose myself in distractions that I dream up like
eating, binging,
fantasizing, dreaming
loving and hating
It's still there.
Unable to be respited and appeased, this hungry appetite of my soul that
destroys me within.
Will no one, will nothing, release me from this terror,
this suffocation,
of myself? |
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I remember... |
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Being thirteen |
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Angry faces frozen on a t.v. screen |
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And fires lit up the L.A. sky |
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I wondered why. |
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For three days and nights |
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The city of angels became hell's paradise |
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as terror was unleashed |
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throughout those ghetto city streets |
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Windows crashing |
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Flames raging |
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Stores burning |
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People running... |
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...Running with no place to go |
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And nothing to erase this sorrow |
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Of precious dreams built over the years |
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Mingled with the blood of sweat and tears |
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Was this supposed to be |
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The land of the free? |
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Of golden opportunity? |
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Can you explain to me |
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why the National Guard--America's army-- |
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Cringed in the glitz of luxury |
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In the hills far away, above the anarchy |
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While turning deaf ears and blind eyes |
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Upon those hideous cries, |
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Below? |
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I don't know. |
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My mother had always said I needed to be strong |
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To grow up in a country where I didn't belong. |
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She told me girls couldn't cry. |
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Yet for three mornings I'd wake |
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And see her tear-stained, bloodshot eyes |
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The only evidence that remained |
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Of the grief she shed for her people. |
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A whole lifetime gone up in smoke |
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A time bomb ticking to burst. |
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Nothing could heal the suffering of the heart. |
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Its pain leaves lifetime scars |
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My people have a name for it. Han.. |
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But in the end, |
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the victory is ours |
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For they say what can't kill us will only help us |
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Move past these obstacles |
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And still claim our pots of gold. |
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One day. Some day. |
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