What is Real - Poem

Truthful as an autopsy 

Underscored in porcelain 

Drawing breaths like the air

Was thick hashsheesh from 

Coals on top of tinfoil

Walking with a wider gate

Like I reverted back 

To when men were apes

Everything is everything 

And nothing is nothing

Close to truth

But learning makes me blue

So live it up!

Deaths around the coroner 

I know enough Spanish to fool my friends

But I can’t fool the Mexicans 

I stuffed my problems 

In a shelf

Until my problems 

Began to smell

There is only the right thing to do

And the wrong thing makes two

Why do we suffer most 

By our own unsteady hand?

I wear all these scars

like I’m sporting my own brand

A statistic in many ways

Obscured and lost in the parade

Sent a glitter bomb in the mail

So the feds tossed me in the wrong jail

I swore that I was innocent 

But I’m Too superstitious 

to swear to god on it

I told them every puddle is a lake

The polygraph results were vague

It is written we were made from clay

And the fiery ones all flew away

Open like an unread book

That moths and beetles overtook 

Relics, gems and precious things

Are still among external things

You’ve looked low and high

For solutions and answers

But they were there the whole time

As close to you as your insides

But The battles and wars 

Fought In the fields 

Convinced us all

What’s out there 

is what is real