If… I get to the point where no one’s love embroiders me,
I’d mix the oils, clay, and color coordinate the sordid seams
Avoid distaste. Anointed is the day she’s holding me
Hoist your rose-colored lies on a crown of thorny leaves
Hearing voices, and all Of them enjoy to scream
Tend to open wounds, forget the ointment and gauze
Nirvana’s intensely consoling.
And I’m pointing to God
For answers. For pensive motions, for something to want
Memorized Medusa’s feet, and my neck is at odds
Alleged moments, you put me through in the dark
Memory wash, collective dullness, deafness and sob
Took years to look at you in the eye, and your tear ducts
The only thing set in stone was the mountain between us
Consider the fact, we’re considering redacting
What’s upsetting to me, isn’t your lack of attention
You could whisper sweet nothings, molasses infested
But that wouldn’t matter. Instead it’s your ignorance
Your pallid irreverence against my calloused dejection
Your beg-to-differs, go-figures, your knack for these idioms
Perhaps, it’s your undercut mouthing of idiot
The teeth grind to the bone you experience
Perhaps, it’s that motherfucking tone it’s delivered in
Your no-holds-barred in, your zone defense, the hole in my heart
Crayola waxy pastels, bargain wine, oily art
Watery eyes and no control is as close to oblivion
As broken hearts, ashtray and continued bewilderment
Embark through the shadow, the only thing keeping me going
Apart from fleeting emotion, is gravity from this black hole
Swear to God I got a disease in my bones
Called Squeezing inanimate objects and pretending it’s your palm
They say deceit can be told from your eyes
But my God, the green in them brings me closer to God
I just want to be normal. I want to be calm
What bothers me is you couldn’t be honest
Wallowing like Diogenes as a prophet
Covering half-truths, misinformative topics
Performative love. Banker turned art major
Sharp razor, Broadway liberal con finagle
How are you able?
To resort to untrue resourcefulness
Now all of a sudden you’re super conservative?
Save it.
Super Conservative: A Poem of Hypocrisy and Heartbreak
