Dionysus hazed reality,
Patronizing life’s malleability.
Amethyst cannot prevent this truth,
When a bard’s words run dry and uncouth.
Evergreen yet overgrown,
I’m still just trying to find my home.
Caught amongst a net of cirrus,
Sheets of rain attempting to tear us.
Salted and cured, I am the huntress.
Bruised when my shadow watched me undress.
My skin seeped ancestral wine,
The cosmos forever dictating my time.
Drowning in the milky way,
Falling stars cause the wreck of the day.
Engulf me whole and cut no slack,
Drag me down far enough and I’ll spill black.
I lust amongst the lemon trees,
Oppressed by the thumb of seas.
Solo songs of freedom ringing,
Hoping someone’s listening.
Slave to the fluorescent suns,
Power given to the invisible ones.
Lugubrious and inaudible,
I tell them that it’s not my fault at all.
I was born into my status,
Because the bourgeois have entrapped us.
Watering down our arsenic,
Their sincerity is a farse, I’m sick.
Is this the story the stars have written?
Perhaps a new author must be christened.
A scribe aligned with progressivism,
Not one using poverty as a euphemism.
I pen my prayers for my voice has been molested,
By the authority I never should have trusted.
Amendments healed no wounds,
We’re still treading glass in mirrored rooms.
To all of the innocent ones, let Mercury fly swift,
A new message in the dirt I did sift.
One where gold is deemed as weightless,
And hearts are all left hateless.
Declaring I am no longer a token,
Of society’s unspoken.
The stars have now aligned,
And I’m taking the freedom that is rightfully mine.
Yet what of the bystanders who once readied my stake?
I question whose crown they truly did take.
While my constellation shines against the night,
Theirs was devoured by the abyss’ might.
Never again will I shrink inside of the galaxies,
For my stardust is richer than the Fortunates’ fallacies.
I am a thinker, a shooting star,
With a hand steadfast over yesterday’s scar.