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In the movie Joker, Arthur Flank started off a simple yet mentally challenged man who just wanted to make people laugh and smile, the clown simply created his own circus, but just like unworthy spectators, they wanted money back for their ticket purchase and their version of a refund was cashing out on his misfortune, see they say a picture is worth a thousand words but what is the price paid when those who are suppose to love you abandon you, fathers, who never wanted to go to bat for you, even though a bat man is what they created, a mother, who lies crossed at the intersections of mental asylums and lost journals, hit you the minute you thought it was safe to step into the crosswalk, and when you didn’t wanna walk, you took the subway, only to realize the underground is a representation of life without love, fast and empty, with the exception of men, who wanna do more harm than good, so now, the comedian becomes the crybaby, which turns into the crazed maniac, which turns into the cold blooded killer, and all people wanna say now is how we didn’t see this coming, (haha) now the jokes on them and the laughter they proclaim is the best medicine, is nothing more than chocolate covered percocets, see I learned a long time ago, some people are silently begging for hugs and words of affirmation but instead they get f***ed over, by the hands of many, and I don’t know whether I wanna label it molestation or masturbation, either way, trauma is f***ing real, so sometimes, to prevent from losing your f***ing mind, you gotta form your own smile to laugh at your own trials, you might have to dye your hair green for attention, because people are more in love with dead human faces than the ones of the actual living, and who would’ve ever thought that a white face, would have to put on white face, and joker is the only confirmed case of white privilege being non existent in a white body, so now we understand why he found comfort in a sister, cause privilege is a missing entity for black folk and people only relate to what they can gravitate towards, (haha) I gotta joke Moorey, knock, knock, who’s there, it’s the poet, who signs up at the top of the list but he can’t get his moment because they kick him down to the bottom, because he is not deemed as part of the in crowd, so his pen becomes a gun, his metaphors become hollow points, his tone is the shot heard round the world and an audience sadly becomes his unsuspecting victims, hey y’all, one more joke, nah, I got a riddle, what do you call mentally challenged, an outcast and destitute, with a mirror at home(haha), your only friend in the world….
