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I was looking for a subject where I talked only about me and I think this one is it, love poems for a black king. I have been looking for it and have not been finding it anywhere. I think I am asking too much of the world or too much from one person. Or maybe I am too much for one person.
What is it like to have all of the answers and none of the answers. Thats about as certain as I feel now. Always looking at both sides and sitting in between.
I have to get off the fence some time and I am looking for a certainty that there is someone that can show love to a black king. I dont think I can even remember back to what I thought love would be. The thoughts are like vultures that circle me constantly cawing and waiting for the proper reaction to strike.
I think they need to hear fear, that one note where you dont even look up anymore. You just go with the flow and try to make the best of things. And this is the thread that is woven into my poetry. Going back and forth and not making any progress. At least that is what it looks like from the outside.
A simple request, love for a black king, met with such defiant resistance that is boggles the mind to understand why it is so. There is the major pain, why is it so when it could be so much more. Of what could have been and of what is and there I am again.
Sitting on the fence.
