Evil Eyes

With coal dust in your myopic eyes
You see warped, distorted images

Like reflections in carnival mirrors,

The surface of disturbed water,

Or the cave of a polished spoon.
Seeing with a visual apparatus 

Slick with a film of judgment 

Perhaps renders your discolored, 

Tinged view of my world and me

To yourself most sightly.  
But, how long will you bear to see nightshade where there actually bloom roses?

Serpents where there actually stand people?

Relieve yourself of that judgmental culture, your cataract, your coal dust.
Do yourself a favor: wash your eyes and see,

Behold the beauty that is,

Rather than contriving an ugliness that never was. 

This is What it Feels Like to be Human

With hearts like diaphanous, broken wings,Pervious bodies on beds of rusted nails,

Minds like speared chrysalises, contents spilling,

We let go of, we lose our quintessence.
We are rocks that fragment under pressure,

Sere twigs that snap, void carapaces that

Crack under the clubfoot of distress. 
Creatures we are whose endurance has

The lifespan of a squirming fish out of water,

Whose vigor wears like watercolor on 

Parchment in the rain. 

Whose patience is as evaporable as dry ice

In a funeral house. 

Whose strength is an armor forged out of a base alloy,

Denting at the slightest touch, 

Puncturing at the hits of dull toy arrows.
Our walls of defense are built on sand,

Our wills are as precarious as a house of cards 

In a room with open windows,

Our unattainable wants, unfulfilled, are balls and chains 

We drag along with us. 
This is what we are:

Creation recreating, 

Uncreating ourselves. 

This is what it is,

This is what it feels like

To be human.