Sunday, August 2, 2015

Boy Inside the Man, 17 years a slave, Darkness and 2 others

Boy Inside the Man 2 4 15
  Who will cry for the little boy, the boy inside the man? Who tried desperately to get approval from those who confessed they love you. Those who refused to hug you with utter distain they judged you, you will never amount to anything is a constant broken record the song sings, of your hopes and dreams.
The silent screams of physical, sexual and emotional abuse. The boy's mind unable to fully process this traumatic experience, so he naturally becomes a recluse. Who will cry for the little boy, the boy inside the man whose sense of security was stripped by impurities vile and vicious acts destroyed any possible chance of his self worth to ever bounce back. Blacked eyes were covered by make-up, the boy inside the man afraid to wakeup. Wishing death because at such an impressionable age he confesses there is nothing left. Who will cry for the little boy even though the man that embodies him can't, because he was taught that to display this emotion made him smaller than the size of an ant. Who will cry for the man inside who the boy still controls, the inability to fully trust someone- the pain all the memories hold .Seems there is no reason to cry when love dies inside. When you just want to hide, when the very essence of who you are is answered with a question marked why? Who will help the boy and the man to become one in his own identity? To restore hope and understanding in defining true masculinity. The man will cry for the little boy inside when he learns the freedom of being free. Then I will cry tears of joy for that little boy inside of me. 

17 years a slave
17 a slave mastered by my thoughts being the plantation-it is my mind that struggles with white colors of hope, my heart dark so with them -they both are considered racist-now pay attention because I am lynching my own identity to be defined is as a real man-I liken my self-worth at birth, to tne foul smells of a garbage can- and at the hands of my oppressed mental state. I have received thousands of psychological lashes-deep cut lacerations to my soul leaves fresh wounds or infected gashes.
Ashes describe “at best” the hollowness I feel, a battle uphill gives the enemy in me the advantage-17 years alone the way life has taken away numerous companions- In this tug of war that I abhor I question my very existence-will I die on the front line because I fail to escape my prison? 17 years a river flow of tears has washed away my ability to hope-like a long lasting heroin addiction I feel addicted yet misery is my dope.

The veneer of my exterior appears to be strong. I feel defeated, incomplete and nevertheless I feel alone. In the hollowness of my soul there lies a desperation to be made whole although I smile just for a little while. I am losing all control. To some, I seem bold and confident when I speak while others detect my flaws and see that I have become weak. Do you consider me less of a man because it is love I seek? Are my expectations too high to be embraced just for being me? They say the truth hurts that's why a lot of people reject it .While others masquerade living a lie as if they accept it. I respect it but in this truth it is hard for me to cope, to come to grips with my reality I conclude there's little hope. I have no distractions I can’t pretend that it’s not there. I can't act like it doesn't bother me or like I really don't care. Wearing make-up over blemishes in my life has caused me so much pain. To carry the burden of a heavy load is starting to drive me mentally insane. Now I am stuck because who can I trust when majority wears a mask? When in my face you seem concerned, and behind my back you talk or laugh. I don't understand because the man I am now is not who I want to be and I am afraid because my identity defines my core beliefs. How could I move on when the very essence of my life/ the wounds cut so deep with a knife it has severed my ability to fight. At night I cry because I'm in search for momentary relief. Please somebody help me somehow I lost my vision to see. Can you hear me, the silence of my inner fear screams so loud, everything that I have seen in the past has finally chased me down- a man in search for meaning yet none have been found. Restless, this seems like one bad break up every time I wake up I am a man who subconsciously put on makeup.

A volcanic eruption has taken place in the cerebrum of my mind-The lava has severely burned portions of how I am to be defined- In the wake of a hurricane my emotions have been misplaced by the wreckage of my past-yet I must rebuild as in the aftermath of Katrina form a memorial and say my condolences like September 9/11 and lay to rest the old things that had meaning. Out of darkness some of the most beautiful things are created -After nine months in the womb of a woman comes the birth of a beautiful baby-when the night falls and the light ceases to be, the earth cracks open out of darkness starts the growth of a flower or tree. When the morning comes and the eyes are still shut, deep into a vision or a dream. Those thoughts created in the darkest hour of the night turns into a reality. Or how about a precious pearl, better yet the metamorphosis in the cocoon that turns a caterpillar into a butterfly. They say diamonds are a girl's best friend but before it is merely crystalline carbon they must go through the process of being retrieved out of darkness. Then there is gold which goes through fire to be desired. All while in darkness there is a brokeness that transpires. I am no exception. Although a man of many flaws, I have the ability to come from nullity to the greatest of them all. Why me? Well why not me, if I possess the attribute of strength to experience the true meaning behind this pain. To embrace it as part of me so that I am able to sustain under the extreme of pressures that try to overpower my will.
To overcome the thought that tells me “You have no reason to live!”,Out of darkness shines a light that shines so bright in me it can't be denied! No matter how much dirt is thrown on it, it grows stronger time after time. I am a king and will not be defeated by the peasantry of my past mistakes. No matter how dark it gets in my life the sun comes up “everyday.” I have a choice, better yet, I have a voice to be the very best I could ever be. However it starts in the dark room developing the best photographs I see on the inside of me. I smile because now I do believe in darkness. 

War Cry
     Maybe it's time I rise from the grave. Dusting off the cobwebb in the cave of my mind, as I gaze. At the sun, as I run, into the hands of hope. Lifting me to a higher purpose as I soak my feet in the sand of peace and tranquility. Recognizing my fullest potential and capabilities. No longer being bound by the sounds of my surroundings. Not allowing my emotions to overwhelm me until I'm drowning. Beating my chest because At last I found my calling. Helping the broken hearted and being a helping hand to the falling.
      Using my pain and tears as war gear and motivation. Accepting that “I” am the orchestra to the symphony that I am playing in. I am tired of lies being repeated. Every time I feel good about myself I am the one who delete it. No I’m not conceited but I have to believe it. Easier said than done but I was once told not impossible. It Takes courage, hope, faith and strength to climb over any obstacle. So today I'm making a declaration and saying misery isn't for me.
      I have decided to break the chains of my past and strive to be the best man that I can be.
Echo Devon

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