An Odd Compass.

There’s no more love for me here,
no high yellow girls with afros for me here;
Scarves tied around their necks
hair wild and wavy,
looking like neo soul incarnate.
Waving me “hi”
as they pass by exalted.
Plucking at my heartstrings
like a finely tuned
and humming
like bees buzzing
like trees singing,
like thunder booming
is how she might make me feel,
but she isn’t real,
not here.
And I fear
that there’s no more art for me here,
all the paintings I could’ve painted
have all been painted here.
There’s no more romance on these streets
I walk late at night.
My music blasting
in headphones oversized
on sidewalks everlasting,
looking for passion in the simplest sense,
wind and fire,
stuck pounding these endless concrete oceans
my heart open
searching for something higher.
And speaking of which,
there’s no more high for me here,
I thought I might see.
I thought that THC
might do it right for me.
Thought that it might muse
the muse in spite of me,
wake up the sleeping beast
that was my creativity inside of me
but no.
Any marijuana high get’s lost,
tossed onto the cross
and forced to face the pull of my own inner-self’s dream.
I’m not addicted to nicotine,
but obsessed with the smoke rings.
I’m falling fast for what’s strange,
and falling out of love with old things,
and I’m in love with most things,
it’s just that my cage is becoming stale
because no one’s changed the hay,
and I’d be okay
if everyday wasn’t everyday,
treating the mundane with cynicism,
meeting a new day with uncanny witticism
I’m ready for the change.
I’m done with this cage.
I’m done with this larval stage,
ready to evolve
that I can seize everything in my mind growing
so clear to me.
There’s no love, lust, or literature, lying latent just for me,
Not here.
And I fear
that mere common sense won’t explain why I’m here,
bringing me down to the ground,
gravity weighing like stones,
and I’ve grown.
I’m so alone,
and so far from home
even sitting in my bedroom
surrounded by countless scripts.
And I can’t come to grips with my spinning desires,
my life an odd compass with every direction pointing North,
hesitation and complacency providing me with the utmost of protection from all I fear.
And I fear
that there’s no meaning, no direction for me here.

An Odd Compass.

Shaquille Stewart

Montgomery Village, United States

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 2

Artist's Description

In one of those moods again. I hope you like it.

Artwork Comments

  • spanish
  • ManInTheBox
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