I’ve seen enough black snowflaked dreams
crystallize
in paradox formation
to know that havin goals just ain’t
enough
The way I see it,
the effects of our aspirations are binary
and if they’re not
high-enough to
lift us up...
Then they shackle
us
And this ain’t flag football or two hand
touch
This is tackle –
bruh
You may have fortified your defences
to protect against the obvious
rush
But this is the battleground of silent subtlety
- death by a thousand paper
cuts
I’m talking Trojan. Horse.
Stuff
That nestles inside your identity
deeper than incisions that are surgeon
made
Unless you
- successfully sift through monochromatic definitions of self
that are double edged like
razor blades
Or social
charades...
© Metis, 2006 (all rights reserved)
