4 boys 2 girls 1 mother

My father was absent for roll call in my emotional class

popular amongst his peers shaped like hour glass

waiting for him I would sit and watch the hours pass

so like the sands of time ( straight like a crooked line )

he passed through the thin space between my childhood and me being a man

of which I didn’t encounter again until he collected in a pile of ash

literally

so spiritually

I fear

The world tells me a son w/ no father can never be a true father to a son

The world tells me that the legacy I possess is only half fold and will never truly manifest and become whole

as I watch these condensed words crash down like tidal waves from their tongue

it sets in that my biggest fear is to half raise a crescent son

Romans 8:15-17  

The world says that I am just a man

Nobody special, just like everyone else

Nothing exceptional and although that’s never the way I truly felt

I gave in

How can you help anyone when you can’t defeat your own life’s sin

You can’t save anyone when for yourself you can barely fin

I cringe at those words because I’ve never felt that it was what I truly deserve

But at times it feels like their right

the writing on the wall appalls even those without sight

And even before I could read I felt the need to plant seeds

I am alone in this so why should I continue to fight

I hear the whispers that ask me why I am here and what gives me the right

Exodus 3:11 

It’s because of them that I feel this way

I will never forgive or forget

w/ out them I wouldn’t be this way

Colossians 3:

But maybe their right

I’ve always been a little obscure and a lot demure so I hid my light

Being ridiculed helped me feel miniscule and stand tall on an inverted pedestal

Rejection was my forte so I gave up on being liked

It was never for me

Blending in not possible when acceptance is your biggest obstacle

So even as an adult I think back and wonder what was wrong w/ me

1 Peter 2:  

Why am I so different

Maybe if I could sing or play the keys people would love me

Maybe if I could strum some strings or take vivid colors and paint these things

Then my purpose on this earth would be great

But all I have is some words and a voice

A heart and a choice

So let’s see how many lives that can save

All I can do is color pages w/ rage far to heavy for a man my age

A band w/ out a poet is still a band

Maybe one day God will help me do something better than what I can

1 Corinthians 12:

I know that I am better than all of these things

But even the new me can tell you why the old caged bird sings

I have two eyes that see the world but one that sees the Son

It is vastly outnumbered

The new me is just the old me is what this world says

James is still James even though the old James is dead

And gone

But for how long

2 Corinth 5: