The God of Art forms


London, UK
United States

  My quality time. That is shared with more people than I could ever count.     Each with their own, beautifully,Unique stories, That reach; through the waves.      Across seas in spite of  storms,Make it through the most militarized borders, (well, sometimes.)Without need for passports.      Some of their homelands - wartornYet, they are an army that help me survive The battles of the day.  Soldiers.    I have never met. They sing - unsigned, songs of murky, underground music and strum chords I never knew I had.     They are; The LGBTs That showed me who I could be...When I was lost.   Dead. BuriedSo deep beneath;      Counterfeit clothes of teenage bavdo Influenced by ; Other people's opinions.      A premature grave with a unmarked, primark Diamante, stone.      Their instagram’s were rescuing handsThat carried me out of that closet.And welcomed me into a new home they had constructed.     The true Godof art forms; A Faith for the fickle.      More ancient than the scriptures. created before modern religion.       Forever flowing like topics of conversation     With a lost love; ( “The one”)You never quite healed from the breakup    .   Then see them at starbucksAfter years of spinsterhood, clinical depression and Tinder.     The lingo of the road.     Moves the masses      Some of Whom  stand on street corners with hoods upIn ghettos - rundown. To late night talk shows.     Erases their names from  the police’s hit list And makes it householdThen rewrites it in lights.       From selling crack to hobo’s To Cramed to capacity arenas, and Gated mansions with desirable London. Postcodes. Turns an illiterate little boy into fully-grown Genius.      Certainly it has evolved,  but will never,Become  extinct it’s too strong,Powerful as to;  Change the current climate.       Winds that ; Shatter walls built of cast-iron stereotyped bricks      Heat that; Insinuates then shrivels up All of  the myths.      Downpours that; Break through The  floodgates of a fascists mind and dilute the bitterness of how they think.   Ensures a habitat for those who feel trapped at the  bottom of the food chain.   Devoted disciples. Strong enoughto let their weakness be on  show.      Depict timesOf when they were completing suicide And by doing so Saves lives.        It; Shouts and screams  on behalf of the voiceless.    Exposes what is unseen. Like a whistleblower.      Ignites rage. That cools into passion In the bellies of those who are starving. RavenousFor successGives those who live a nightmare The courage to spend all of their days dreaming.      Replaces laws of  mere, tolerance with a god given right to true equality.  It’s power-beyond a rocket’s blast.  Almighty as The Lord.       No mere mortaldare Stand in its path.      The  elistabishments biggest threat;    The spoken wordsPenetrate and change what is engried,      They are the speeches screamed by  those at peaceful protests and Pacards they charge with. Written from the comfort of bedroomsIn  high corners of tower blocks shared with families that are broken.      I am grateful for the opportunityTo tell my story For the abundance of  the internet.So I can hear you and you can hear me. Through the silence.         And for my God of artforms- spoken word.  

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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