purple-ing . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

( . . . just wanting to be loved)

we’re here in crowds of ourselves
chickens packing tight and smelling too
march’n blindly just like we’re told to do
carelessly bump’n all into one another
a drop of blood falls! from some body else
!and we run’n all over one another!
so making sure of being in the pecking too
swearing what we doing “it aint personal”
it’s just doing what you ‘spose’n to do
here nibbling on any body else
so long as it aint you 

we just syncopating lying and why-ing
try’n to shuffle ourselves into somebody else
so camouflage-ing how we all too scared
to even daring to be talking ‘bout nothing
run’n by just sit’n here say’n we running
staying like we is ‘cause we is as we is
believing the only thing here for’us left
is mixing the same old same old
with a whole heap of nothing else 

we getting higher and higher so pretending
we done learn how not be feeling alone
by flooding our empty veins of loneliness
with liquid arms of hallucinating porns
and plastic tombs of pixellating charms
serpentining the norms of social forms
so magically!POOF!we somebody new
feeling no pain ‘cause we numb
calling stagger’n swagger’n like we dumb
on and on we going aloning all alone
and celebrating our becoming no one

Copyright © 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

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