pockets

                                         

i’m rifling through the pockets in my mind.

every deliberation, hope, reflection, and speculation

unveiled for the world to see.

fantasies, memories, and flashbacks under the scrutinizing eyes

of those who carry doubt and hatred in their back pockets

as if they are objects of urgency.

scorn and venom; the main ingredients of their persona.

those who fuel the fire of exclusion and ridicule

watch as my proverbial dog-eared to-do lists and my sole secrets

spill out, drifting to the floor            one      by        one.

each casting a pronounced, poignant aura into the room.

the heavier things; the prejudiced juxtapositions clatter to the floor.

they shake the vast vicinity with their candor

leaving me bare and exposed;                                detached from refuge

my mental possessions float above and around me like ash.

 rise

scarred and wounded rhymes      from the dust,

pushing me to my knees; I begin to gather the pieces that remain.