Yellow Brick Road

As I jabbed
the man across
from me
in the face, I feel
his soul and ego
enter my fists.
They’re becoming heavy,
I’ve broken so many
noses, hurt too many
people. I’ve changed
my ways, but do
people really change?
My heart feels like
glass, light and
fragile. Being in
denial that
I hate myself.
I fight like Tyson:
close and vicious, the
same in bed. My
poetry is beautiful
but my sex
never killed a human.
My hands are
heavier than a
cinder block in a
graveyard full of people’s
hopes and dreams;
I want someone to love
me, hug me, kiss me, cuddle me.
She’ll loosen the weight
of my death machines,
and turn the glass in
my chest to flesh.

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