Inside Your Circle I’m Always An Alien

the best way to escape is to use the fingertips.
From it some words are shot like bullets hitting anything
But there is no death here.
No war. There is only the sojourn, some moments
of variations like
gyrations of the human body that looks for
some blankets of affection.
The human body is nil now.
The touch is elusive as an ell.
The river is crowded with moss and mud
and the fishes can hardly breathe.
Life, this is life actually
The one that moves lonely amidst the crowd
in the mall one Sunday evening.
people are families. They are so selfish among
and within their circles.
You have none of it. You are an alien.
A mutant.

You need another mirror to see how beautiful are you.
Without it, there is no more light in the room.
And in the darkness only the palms grapple for touch
like grappling for breathe
In order to live.

We make some trades.
Barters really.

I barter loneliness with the circus of my mind.
Acrobatic thoughts, juggling circumstances
Opting for the magic of transformations.
I can be a rabbit and then a flower
and the children open their mouths for me.

At the end, we take whatever makes us comfortable.
It is not always a chair.
An earphone, sunglasses, Chiclets,
peanuts in my hand, or
lemonade sipping,
summer hats, bathing trunks,
diver's oxygen,
or could simply be a book of poems by whoever,
immersion, diversion,
these are the words. We are not the same.
I have my own point of view. I take my own walk now.
Or i shall dance
and sing.

None of your business
because inside your circle,
i will always be an alien.


Comments (6)

i like to go from poem to poem to strictly convey each of the messages in the wriiteen formula. i think this poem is overated to which the person hasnt seen true death until theyve seen an orgy with half miggets pass out and choke on therre vomit, this is true death and loss in that when you the dead bodies all the buzz is gone and you cant tell if you had a good time or not. plus police usually check dead bodies for in an orgy so everyone goes to jail
i like to read this sort of poetry it's good to see someone like myself that has been brutally raped by a dog and has the guts to still express their deep depression and fetishes i sometimes wish i wasn't raped by a whippet but i am proud that it has made me into the person i am today much from me in your sexually orientations inl ife cher.
don't insalt greatness
long though
.........a fabulous poem, words cannot do this poem justice ★
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