Mannequin (By Choice)

A mannequin by choice
You know you’re not real
You believe you’re alive
But you can’t truly feel
You have flesh of plastic
A hardened heart of stone
Wires for veins
And rigid iron bones
You cry acid tears
Scorching the green grass
Burns solidified, like
The scars of your past
You truly blend in
A source of envy to your friends
Shaped like flawless art
With sleek glossy skin
You have the whole world
Yet have an empty soul
You lay in bed at night
Wondering where it will go
You have a thousands friends
Without having one
To be crafted by hands
Forever the product of someone
To be loved only in lust
For an instant you feel alive
Only to be left
Feeling dead inside
You feel the emptiness,
Of having no vision to see
To be trapped inside
An invented personality
A mannequin by choice
Crying out to be free
Behind solid glass
On display for the world to see
A vision an entire nation
Aspires to be
A mannequin by choice
Seeking its identity.


J.A. Wine

Bitter Poet

Bitter poet…

Sittin’ there with a blank stare
Suckin’ a blunt
With kinks in your nappy hair
A pen in one hand
A pad in another
As you attempt to emulate
The darker brother
With passion you write
Anger on a page

Bitter poet…

“Filled with un-channeled rage
Worthless nigga’
With nothing good to say”
But that’s just what some say

Bitter poet…

You continue to write
Pen mightier than the sword
Maybe you’ve struck a chord
Or perhaps a nerve
As in the last
Dead last in your class
A brilliant lazy ass nigga’
Trying to escape his caste
By venting with blue ink

Bitter poet…

Angry at the world
Or the injustice you see?
Personally you’re free
So what is it you see?

Bitter poet…

Lazy as can be

Bitter poet…

The price of freedom
Wasn’t free.


J.A. Wine