I am lead through the valleys
But I fear no evil
I swagger from side to side
As I hear cheers from
The people
I wear a dunce cap perhaps,
Not a crown of thorns
I peer up through my tears
To see a cloud of storms
I am stoned and it pierces the flesh
To my bones
My stomachs turning as I see
Them burning my poems
I reach my final destination,
The celebration continues
I am condemned for scripting
Sexual innuendos
Or not writing quite like other
Men do
Not to mention, countless
other sins too
Two pencils, one planted in the
Ground protruding
Me being God is
Not what I’m eluding
What I’m doing is stating
I’m godlike
I was made in God’s
Image, right?
Okay, don’t lose sight of
This visual sisters and
Brothers
The other pen perpendicular
But attached to the other
One of my palms are nailed
To one end
But my right hand is nailed
To the point of the pen
My feet are not nailed,
But they’re dangling
My head tilted to
The side angling
My throat strangling
From thirst
My critics down below
Throw their worst
Sticks, stones and verbal
Assaults at me
If I fell off this penciled cross
Who would catch me?

“I awake to me glaring up into the Heavens and my God staring back at me. No words are exchanged, but his wink gives me all of the truth I need to know”

I pick up my pen, scoop up my poems from the ashes and keep doin’ what I’m doin…