As I see it,
the world moves in pieces,
like a chess board
and so,
the eyes of the misguided
and the people with stalemate minds
will move from one day to the next
just to avoid the reminder
of being in check.
As I see it,
the clock moves in intervals
and the moon is heavenly as beautiful,
yet the full moon controls the tides
and pulls the string
that harp the notes
of what our souls wish we could sing.
I swear,
no one starts out to be ugly.
No, ugly is the bias
that teaches us hate.
It’s bred and born
into us all,
and mutating like a germ
so as not to lose its sting.
As I see it
the mind is a terrible thing to waste
yet we lay wasted and abandoned
or we give in and we lose by our own hands
voluntarily, as in one by one,
we subject ourselves
to the daily participation of common forfeits
because, of course, hey, why bother?
If this is the doctrine of the people
then this must be the belief of the land,
however,
as I see it,
we have been taught by imperfect teachers
or lied to and systemically cheated.
Or as I see it,
we have been trained to respond
to the so-called alarms,
or trained by the bells and whistles,
like the ones that rang
in-between periods
where hallways taught us more than classrooms
and schoolyards and locker rooms
taught us about the different variations
of style and status.
And so—
blindly, we follow the fellow moths into the flames,
expecting our combustion
to be as predictable
and dependable as the hour of our death
(amen)
And we watch and we follow,
we adapt and suppose
and we do this under the orders of our assumptions
as in, without question,
or should I say, “without hesitation” and so
we move along like manufactured pieces,
all of us,
placed upon a conveyor belt
or on assembly lines,
like cookie-cutter models, who “bah” like sheep
or follow suit
and we move like this
without realizing that perhaps
Hey . . .
“I think that something’s wrong with this picture!”
As I see it,
rather than protest or resist,
I notice how people sit back
passively
or stare at their reflection
which they see in the mirror
and they rationalize
or find an excuse
or remain lazy enough
to justify their ways and assume the rejection
as if yes,
this is to be expected because
according to the unwritten law
pushed by the infection of a misguided doctrine
the assumption becomes, yes,
this is who “I am,”
and since this is who “I am,”
and since this is my place in the system
then this is all “I am”
and so,
this is all that I’ll ever be.
Or, this is all anyone will ever let me be,
and hence,
the success of my destiny has already been predetermined
and hence,
we are not “just” positioned like this
but predisposed to a series of lies
which we have been taught
to indoctrinate our bias as truths,
which are:
As see it,
hate is bred
and born by man
and passed along
like a pariah with a torch
or a dependable
Like a scapegoat called pestilence
and hence,
hate has become a viral sensation
that we have all been programmed to accept.
Or wait no . . .
Perhaps I should say “expect!”
I was taught once,
a long time ago –
Everybody hates you,
so, hate’em back.
I lived in that world for a very long time.
it was cold and empty.
fearful and dark.
I was at war—
Always
Mean as ever, and I saw the hate burn me from within.
I saw a cross burn.
I saw the Swastika
which was intended to reach my eyes,
and I watched the training of lies
because it was passed down,
like a family heirloom,
from generation to generation, until maybe
or hopefully
someone comes along
and breaks the cycle.
I once told you that the depth of my love
is equal to the span of my hate,
which means
if I have the ability to hate that much,
then I have the capacity to love just as much,
if not more, because yes
although brave and daring,
above all else—love can almost be painless;
or if nothing else,
love can be free
from the constant persecution
or the projection of blame
because as I see it—
hate does nothing
but scrape the knuckles in battle
and bloody the lip
of those who failed to speak
or blacken the eyes
of an already blind world
And hence, as I see it
this has become our problem
Ongoing.
The Written Addiction 