Brain: The Loft to My Soul (Poem, 2017)

I'm trying to get back in the swing of things when it comes to my blog. I've been busy with the podcast (The Glory in Our Stories, https://soundcloud.com/cwpj85), posting small poems on Instagram (for inspiration), writing in general and making my next move. The fire to write is stronger than ever. I'm certain it's because of where I am in my life. Things will change because that's what we do. We change. We evolve. God is taking me somewhere and I'm blindfolded. One thing that I am certain of is my discomfort and growing pains. I wouldn't have it any other way, though. The poem below is a scenario where I take someone on a tour of my head.  We often spend more time in there than we should, so why not give you a glimpse of why that is.

 

 

Brain: The Loft to My Soul

 

 Before you step into my place of perpetual seclusion,

 I must remind you that everything you’ve seen so far

may not match the interior. My designer changes their mind

as often as they change mine,

so expect what you don’t anticipate,

depending on the outside conditions.

 

 First, there are two entries,

 Characterized as one since my sight

 Is hyper focused, mono,

yet my actions may contrast.

 Once you’ve gotten past the pupils,

 You may bump into my worries

 Conjugating in the cerebral cortex,

 More wired than a taser gun injected

 Into the chest of Raiden, craving Mortal Kombat,

 but "Come over here!", back to the subject

 of my worries crying for attention because they believe

 They’re important, wearing t-shirts

 Saying #allthoughtsmatter, but the good ones

 Protest that they matter, too.

 

 As you push through, the ricochet

 Of dreams will glaze your body,

 Make you bleed support

 Like scraped, open knees on concrete

 From playing full court, scoring

 Doesn’t come without failure,

 But sometimes I’m too scared to miss the rim.

 

 Onward you go into neurons that glow,

 They are the solar lights guiding you

 To sacred avenues, places I visit

 At work, church, in the bathroom

 And while staring at my girlfriend.

 Don’t be alarmed and charmed

 Once you see what I have planned

 For graduate school, literary ministry

 And my only wedding.

 

 You asked for a tour, so here’s the galore

 Of the thinking trinkets I store,

 If I was to exhibit them all,

 I’ll have more eyes on me

 Than Tupac Shakur.

 Never mind that over there

 Labeled “dad”, that’s still under construction,

 Ignore the door reading “kindness “,

for its linked to my heart , it’s a room full of suction,

granting many people access without authorized cards

that come with a life time of reciprocation.

 Some unsubscribe because the cost is too high

 at a price of Free.99, including commitment.  

Apparently, that’s more risky

 than nominating a president with no moral filter .

 

 Don’t be alarmed by the tombstones

 with random faces of girls. I’m no Ted Bundy

 or Al Bundy, but I'm married to nobility

 and the seeds I plant in handshakes, hugs, and eye contact

 become children that carry on my name.

 My feats were just as sadistic, sabotaging

 until ultimately killing the relationships.

 Every eulogy read as followed:

 

 You deserved the man

 I am now, back then

 when I was undeserving

 Of you.

 

 That’s mom’s house on the corner of Love and God.

 She’s a permanent resident, dead or alive.

Don’t ask to room or board. Your best bet

 is to come aboard the truth

 of me forever holding on to the first woman

 to see me as something more than the world

 can ever award me for being. The key to her door

 is her laugh and the security code

 is a journal entry of hers dated back to 1985.

I paid her entire mortgage the moment she gave birth to me.

 

 All walls are covered in words spoken, written,

and awaiting opportunities. Pick one,

I use them not to dis this world we live in,

but as mirrors to reflect  a better one.

Hip Hop plays most of the time, but RnB

supplies mental revenue because my ears stay paying for it.

Since there's only enough time for a run through,

let's head back to the beginning before we run into people

that hung around longer than they were invited to.

If we do, I must warn you that two things will happen:

there will be dialogue and brawling.

This is what I define as headaches. As an effect,

My words become blurry, mom's house undergoes an earthquake,

burials open, hence me running into exes

at the mall or while eating at Chili's. If you must,

proceed to the exit, for this may take a while.

If there are any questions, my body will be more than happy

to answer over a Vanilla Bean Latte, centered in Starbucks

while the ceiling plays H.E.R.'s first EP.

 

No one said touring the mind was easy,

but it's fun knowing that you never have to do it alone.