What is the point of chaos
But to excavate our breathing
To curse or praise the life that we’re received in
To make us question the pretense of our dispositions
To move us to our final missions
To gather pen and write about our senses
To make poets and poetry listen
Because what is one without the other
But listless
Shiftless
Gift-less
Are there no gifts in words
That never read us
The silent imaginary tears
That only fear us
Can be wiped away by Gods hands
We aren’t here to reprimand
Or re-brand
Do we do this
Because we can
I’m tired of exploring the meanings
Trying to make existence make sense
For any number of reasons
If we aren’t bleeding and wounded
Are we even living
What is the virtue of your praying
If not persuading
Do you hold power over God
In your disdaining
Who the hell do we think we are reigning
When we don’t control our very lives
It’s all a hoax
It’s all a guise
There is no point
It’s all a lie
You one day breathe
You one day die
The trick of it is
To make a difference
-ride or die…

