Millennial privilege 

You won’t get what you want without first offering something to the world.
The idea of default entitlement is ludicrous and shows the futility of your understanding of the world you live in.
I often have to pull myself away from people who are stuck in the rut of holding people or the world hostage, that is literally and figuratively pointing a gun to their head or a knife to their throat forcing them into guilt by holding them to an unestablished standard that they assume is owed to them.
It’s impossible.
You don’t deserve a single thing, not even respect if you cannot demonstrate your worthiness of respect or that thing.
The chronological order is that you must first put out value to receive it.
The world always reciprocates in kind and if you are too shallow to see it, whether literally or philosophically, then at the very least it will fill you with contentment that you have exhausted yourself in courage and nobility to achieve those ends.
W.E.
#respect #millennials

The social con


Write,

with as much fire as you’re willing to live with.
Share,
what makes them pang for more of you.
Drip feed,
the crux of your elixir onto their palate until they taste the metallic feigning of addiction.
Even then,
Keep most of you for later.
This world wants to know everything about you,
and when it does will tell you that you really don’t know yourself,
so it can sell you back to yourself.
W.E.

I want poetry that gushes aloe

I’m stirring with prose,
speak only in gushing aloe to me,
ink me a letter that wreaks of agar and leather,
pained in cinnamon and crimson,
but let it be tender,
like a lash falling,
let it be real,
rolling thunder calling,
whisper your dialogue,
a silk worm crawling,
cut to the marrow of me,
a scimitar mauling.

Where are your words you claim to heal with,
that float like perfumed dew drops,
that sooth and hurt and clot?
I want your words to clot,
if it means silence until you find the right ones,
the right way,
or if it means violence with everything undone,
be aloe with what you say.

W.E.

Empowerment


You become larger than you are,
swollen with vernacular and prose,
happy to contain and implode.

You empower yourself by having so much to say,
but in dignity holding your tongue,
by making knowledge your staple,
and sanctifying it all in your lungs.

A hold of breath,
a pause before a thought,
reducing yourself to rubble,
your ego, to naught.

All this plenitude inside,
fit for kings and queens,
quietly content, utterly observant,
hidden and unseen.

W.E.

#stigma

I can blue with the best of them,
or I can be blue with the worst of them,
the former, armour to cover the later.

But what of the man that can’t string his pain together in anything more poetic than a bottle or a fist?
What of the man that tries to get it out but tongue always ends up in a twist?
Does he beat his heart more furiously, hoping the world hears his silence or illiteracy, muteness or simplicity or is he denied the right to exist?
Because of social stigmas, ignorance of manhood, and checking him off all our conditioned lists?

W.E.

bile


But I wouldn’t be in the slightest inspired,
nor would my flesh spoil from the smallest of nicks,
like I’ve never taken a lick,
never taken a kick when I’m down,
been around,
found,
and been unsound of mind,
aching of body,
restless of heart,
anxiety filled with bursting liver rage,
and yet patient,
enjoying the parchment and blood,
still,
like a sage.

None of it without the bitter bile that spoils the meat,
steadies your hand,
tempers your knife,
suits you up,
to die with dignity,
and take a bite of this life.

W.E.