i want you to be my shelter from the world.
is that too much to ask?

i see the sun on a summer day
shining into the eyes of a secret
that has never been told
a shy, quiet shimmer
of all that's not gold
and i can only try to comprehend 
the words you delivered so soundly
once again
did you believe in what you spoke?
can i trust in your insights or do you, too
doubt yourself?

cherry red lips and nails drawn blood
can lead to presumptions about 
quality, character
and just because you get manicures
done professionally
doesn't justify your attitude with me.
it doesn't automatically elevate you to a higher level.
it takes a lot more work to get there.
but it's an opportunity for me to learn a little humility
so can i take this moment to thank you
for being such a bitch to me
yet in these obscenely blatant displays of vanity
i surprisingly see
reminders of a creativity
that shone in discoveries of Bob Marley
and old movies starring Bruce Lee
but because of self-concentrated studies
it takes hella to recognize
that one world - one love
existed way before me

standing in line for a slice of devil pie it's almost like i'm eleven again
yes it's almost like i'm eleven again
when i didn't know anything but i sure as hell wanted to
when i didn't know anything but i thought that i did
so i prayed and i prayed
bowed my head low and prayed 
for God to make me into somebody special
to give me the knowledge of somebody special
and i thought that only "if every day i pray the Rosary"
and i thought that only "if i kept my head lifted heavenward"
and i thought that only "if i finished enough of those prayer books"
i would become a saint. 
but i think that all i really wanted 
was to have the elements of my life chronicled
in one of those blue books which all day i read 
lying there in the acrid air
but it got really hot
so i gave up and 
went swimming instead.

hope it's not too late for me to try again.

and my mother asks me so calmly and quietly
yet inside of her i see that she asks kinda nervously
like she was afraid...of my answer maybe
a quality i rarely see except when
dealing with the safety of the family
and she asks:
"Do you still use those bad words in your poetry?"

i wanted to lie i wanted to lie
you don't know how badly i wanted to lie
to make nanay happy i wanted to lie
but i couldn't.
"yes, mama, if they need to be said."
and she sighed and she turned
and she shook her head

i hate it when you're disappointed in me.

but it can't be explained 
cuz i don't know how to tell you
that sometimes there is no other word 
than "what the fuck"
or "this is bullshit"
or "mama, i'm sorry"
and though i try 
sometimes there is no other word than
mama, i'm sorry...

paper peels like sunburnt skin 
standards of patience wearing too thin
frustration from my lack of existence in
your world is gonna blow up one of these days
and then you'll be sorry
that you spoke not of me or my thought
spoke not of the force 
you were afraid to face 
cuz you know it's true
that i'mma grow up to be better than you

and the cycles of stagnant repulsory actions 
will inevitably find change 
in an imminent revolution
and the cursory ways
of an impractical stage
will eventually fall because
pressing the button marked "self-destruct" 
is hella easier
than learning to reconstruct
and it's no secret that idealists who are faking it
have always been ones to take the easy way out.

these words used as turnaround whips on the wire
can fly higher and higher 
like birds off the wire
higher and higher
fueling the fire of a multiple choice or of an unlit voice 
or the anthemic epidemic of a cause only recently
picked up.
dig the vibes of a site in which my rights and your rights
have come into view 

i speak most recently
of you

and do you think of me in a time where 
constructed comformities are a mask
for so called apparent deformities 
and it's like 
"Shit. I'm sick of being thought of
as just

like

everyone

else..."

and a longing to consume words
to satisfy a voracious appetite
or to support in strife
or words as building blocks for new ways of life
because i need the nourishment
only they can provide
as i hide deep inside a depth you can't see
even with the windows rolled down
and bass beats pounding to you 
straight from me

if you wave, i'll wave back.

is that too much to ask?

Copyright © July 21, 1999 Angel Artistries. All rights reserved.