Dichotomy

I try to make sense of things.
I think that what I think is sensible,
Though sometimes I can't always explain the sense in it.
My dreams Elysian to a sankofa not wrongly theorized,
Nutshell sized holocausts hide behind the mirror we call pupils.
Nurtured 2 full grown M80s behind exercises of free will.
I willed rose petals into steps,
Mountains into heavens,
And heavens into tap water.
Ripples form tidal waves of the thought falsely informed as I continue to try to read your actions.
I am tired.
Your name changes, facial features alter, and still...
I can't seem to shake you.
It's like you follow the part of me that luminates your dream and sucks the life away.
The problem is, it's my life.
My energy you drain with second guessing, doubting, and fearing that you'll succeed.
You are not just the catalyst,
You are the pivotal moment in my life where even sunshine burns as apposed to shines.
The fire of your passion's flame is blue...and I..
I am just flesh and blood born on the planet Earth.
I am not Kryptonian,
Beneath these clothes are only under garments.
No red and blue tights, no family crests.
I am built in the perfectly adequate image of a supposed God figure.
But I am not God, we are not deities...
We are only two I's, not seeing the same vision.
Neither being perfect, you not seeing past what's in front of your face,
And me, so caught up in what's to come, I can't see what's right in front of me.
Life is not a masquerade, though all the masks and colorful costumes speak otherwise.
I truly believe that you are the mask-less frame in this world full of exaggerated characters.
I want to believe you are who you say you are,
You don't just aspire to be better, but are proactive in its execution.
Assassinate these notions of that you are not good enough for the happiness that stalks you.
Pierce your self pity through the heart with the conviction that you are an example that anything is possible through being able to persevere.
I stare deeply into this mirror...
Not made of reflective glass, paneled in wood.
But flesh...bone and skin...
Soft and uncallused.
You are an image of me past.
I imagine what my past would have been with you..
Wonder if I have traveled too far and passed the place where we would have been able to be...
Wondered if I passed you on my way to figuring out our simple, yet complex dichotomy.

Tone Deaf

Said she couldn't hear me over the music...
She couldn't hear me over the myuu-oo-oo-sic..
She couldn't hear me over the music...
She never really knew my song...

She spoke every word as if they left my lips,
And traveled directly to her ear
Without a solitary soul hearing my thoughts.
She brought tightly rolled L's to my cove..
We wrapped in each others psychie
Strummed the strings of our past lives
To play the Now melody.
With staccato movements,
Tight lipped ombresher,
And heavy sticking...
Our percussion was 3 bass,
With twice the sound,
Three snares with 3 times as much flare.
Our decibels were peaking.
I was so caught up in the melody I paid no attention to the chord changes.
Our conversation became flat.
We would argue and throw sharp insults back and forth like knives.
What was a quick paced fortissimo has become a sfortsando...careening into a decrescendo.
I raised my hands to signal the volume to rise..
And realized I was no longer the conductor.
I was part of the audience..
So caught up in my own show that I had not realized the curtain closed,
The day ended,
And there was a new show,
You left my orchestra to joint his quintet.
To feel like you served a bigger purpose.
To feel like you were more than just ambient noise
To feel like you were the harmony.
It was too late for me to tell you...
It was too late for me to scream over the climax of our overture!
You were the melody...
I just tried to help you stand out...
So the world could see how intricately you were scored...
But...

She couldn't hear me over the music,
She couldn't hear me over the myuu-oo-oo-sic.
She couldn't hear me over the music,
She never really knew my song.