constantly hindered by what I could be, when I could be learning to cook in a kitchen I'd rather pose for photos in.
letting small talk dig into my sides like a stitch when you're not in shape.
I'm cooler then him, I'm bigger then her.
I'm stuck here, behind the jewelry counter, being hit on by security
selling three-thousand dollar necklaces to rich white woman who comment on the size of my eyes,
the cut of my hair,
jiving until I shut my lids in public's view, to ponder why I'm no longer creating,
writing,
critically thinking,
I let the noise flood over me, just drowning in the midst of an art piece
cryptic & cynical, these are too crucial traits for a spot in this Gallery,
for a spot in the heart of this man
for a mind like mine.
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