Phoenix's Bliss

In the dark depths of my mind's abyss,
A strangled mess of gunshots exists,
The shade of sadness, an endless chasm,
Often consumed me with its icy spasm.

In the silence of my solitude,
I found no solace or gratitude,
Only echoes of my own despair,
Haunting me with their relentless glare.

But like a Phoenix shedding ash,
I rose anew from that stark clash.
With wings of hope and heart of fire,
I soared above my pain of mire.

$tillUmz (Umar Ehtesham)

Capacity for Self-Love

Even when I know me, it’s just that
I’ve written something new on my face.
The mirror is a grid, partially filled out.
I am trying to create a logic for continuance
that will last the length of a newspaper, at least.
The sidewalk tulips
are red and yellow like McDonalds;
crawfish in the market are the same to me.
I finger tomatoes on their hard parts
and then squeeze, wondering what
I have ever possessed.
Touching each of my fingers to a soft back
in the shower and parting the brooks that flow there,
I know my thoughts form only
as a response to stimulus.
When he wraps his legs around mine
I wonder what I am to him, and if that is possibly me,
who is so open and eager to love.
I'm just the first person I see every day.
Even then it’s a question of proximity.

Dismantling the Bathroom

So much business
we’ve done in here
for thirty years.
So much wax and hair
old potions a plastic pail
many moons of fingernail.
Our film our stubble
our spit our plaque
our toejam our grit.

I found a thousand
dental picks I never
knew we owned,
plastic applicators
for products long
since outgrown.

The tub without its curtain
the walls without their towels
the dish without its soap
the vanity’s empty drawers --
all the fixtures seem to mope.

The hours we gave
to the mirror that opened
three ways, assessing,
assessing, assessing
our own gaze.

Our Search for Answers

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