Mausoleum
The demons are circling,
closing in with their
Tiki torches and protests
for confederate flags,
and I'm not surprised. These devils
I've seen before with pitchforks, lynchings, dogs
and hoses and I've survived it all, but this illness
in my brain lies in wait with more intensity than any
clan can. It's funny how depression and white power
want the same destiny for me. There isn't a known
cure for either one, but I've dedicated my whole life
as a warlock searching books for a counter spell
to this curse, depressed monkeys on my back.
The sight of you brings a smile
to my face. A simple
hello turns me into the center
of the universe. I know this
seems weird but I like you,
a lot and the clouds shrouding
my sunny days are gone when I see you.
I see the next fifty years of us
in your face. The medicated lobotomy
disappears and I become a mausoleum,
willing to share all of our skeletons,
all of our secrets together. All I want
is a love that makes me feel innocent,
again, like a naive little boy. A wizard
wishing he could will away
the haunting words of the clan,
and the alt-right, but my black magic isn't enough
without your love. The sound of your voice is what
my whole existence has led up to. Enslaved
on a slave ship, carried a cross across
my branded backside in past generations,
all for this. The feeling of your hands
on my scalp
birthed thousands of stars in my chest. My spells
when well cast last lifetimes, and I know I'm appearing
like a strange deranged man but with all the hate I face
I just want to take a shot of love. You can't heal me of this
ailment, not alone at least, and I'm aware of this,
but my depression becomes a figment of my imagination
around you. I just want to sing your praises, reanimate
the dead and dance every time I think of you.
I know I've only known you for a short time,
but I can confidently say I love you,
for the very first time, I'm in love with the man
in the mirror the face, looking back at me
and it feels so refreshing to admit that.