(I believe that this falls under the category of "free verse" not quite a poem. be gentle, I kinda of just vomited it up from my subconscious.)
Let's pretend that I took no for an answer. That I let the world beat me, that I never recovered from my mother being snuffed out like a candle in a stiff wind. Let's say that I never recovered from every time I got knocked, no, hit by a car, slammed to the ground, power-bombed and then had a piano dropped on me from three stories up. Let's pretend that I lost the fight with my own mind that I have had to fight every day of my life, the death urge that compels me to fail, to sleep longer and longer until I get to the day when I don't wake up. Let's pretend that I don't hear the alarm in the morning over the sound of my ribs cracking, over the sound of life kicking me again, of the sound of my jaw shattering and my teeth hitting the pavement like a packet of skittles, skittering across the ground. Let's pretend I was late for work because I was choking on my own blood and bile. God don't like Ugly, but he does not mind kicking you when you are down. He must enjoy that sound, the skittering, you see.
See the sideshow, let it begin, can't afford to pass it by, guaranteed to make you cry. See the boy who cried a million tears and not one hit the ground because his pride and his ego refused to let his pain go, so the heartache and the rage and the sadness and the frustration roam his wearied mind like hungry tigers consuming every but of happiness that should clumsily stumble into their path. So he cries on the inside and smiles on the outside and laughs at the cliches that suddenly make sense but don't shed any light and don't give any answers and don't provide any solace or comfort but never cease to miss a moment to destroy any chance at making a better life for himself and those around him.
Let us count the ways in which his heart has been broken, let us count the ways in which his heart has been denied, let us count the ways that he has let down and been let down, let us count how many times he has been told no. Let us see how many times he has been laughed at for daring to hope for something better, for asking for a woman who was never meant for him, for asking for a happiness that will forever be out of his reach. Be careful of the laughter, if you gather it up, all of it every smirk and smile and giggle that has escaped the Candy-Colored Lip-Glossed orifice of his oppressor, the sheer volume of derision would blast your consciousness away as cleanly and as efficiently as those poor souls who where firsthand witness to the splitting of the atom at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. You may hear the cracking, again, the crackling cracking, but it is not breaking it is burning, the singed sizzling away of what was once a human being.
If you were to look for my innocence, my hope, my childhood, my boyish charm, you would find no bone, no ash, no teeth, just a relief, a dark outline against a wall of where all of those positive things about me used to be, before they were destroyed by untold waves of heat, pressure, and light. Blasts from the Candy Colored lips of so many who spoke honeyed words that burned, most literally, like the sun, and left as much evidence of their passing by as a sun would.
Maybe if you looked up you would see those trees with their strange fruit swinging in a cold, ill wind. From the bows of the highest trees swing those things I once held dear, my hopes, my dreams, those things I wanted and want so much in life, hanging dead and decayed, lynched with barbed-wire nooses, by honeyed words and lies and half truths and good intentions. Well meaning diatribes and silences that were meant to speak volumes but instead were like thin steel spikes drilled deep into my living corpse, aimed not to kill but to cause the most pain possible. Steel spikes that never missed their mark, that slid easily, lubricated as they were by the aforementioned tears that I never was allowed to cry. Three swords it says, piercing my heart, but still it beats. Let's pretend that it didn't, let's pretend that my heart stopped and I gave up and I said yes, no, I know, I can't, you won't I'm not good enough, I never will be, I never was, Never will be good enough for you, Not White Enough, Not Jewish Enough, Not Skinny Enough, Not Stable Enough, Not Rich Enough Not Black Enough, Not Hood Enough Not dat Nigga.
Let us pretend. That I will never. Ever never be enough.
Let us pretend that I believed that.
That I will never be good enough.
Where would I be? Would I be anywhere? Would I exist? No I think not. So excuse me if I'm Pushy. Excuse me if I'm Arrogant, Creative, Cocky, Overbearing, Antagonistic, Demonstrative, Persistent, Persuasive, Loud, Random, Unpredictable, Uncompromising, Moody, Overwhelming, Intense, Subtle, Stimulating, Arousing, Destructive, Comforting, Seductive, Protagonistic, Heroic, Demonic, Erotic, Feral, Dutiful, Loyal, Reckless;
Excuse me, if I do not take your “no” and walk away quietly into that dark night.
Excuse me, in short, for being Me. Because this is the Me You made, This is the Me I had to learn to be to survive the world You made for Me. So enjoy Me, revel in Me, Because I Am Not going Anywhere. And if you cannot fathom that, well, You can always Pretend that things were Different.