Untitled Poem (or perhaps “Unlabeled”)

FIRST, an update:
1) Expression Session! For those who have my twitter, instagram, Facebook, or g+, you might have seen that I’m hosting an open mic event here in Warsaw, Wednesday, March 11th! Poetry, story telling, singing, music, it’s exciting.
2) I will be in Turin, Italy to perform (flying out March 12th) and I was trying to decide what poems to perform when this new “Untitled” Poem (actually as I type this, I might call it “Unlabeled”!) popped into my head. MAYBE?

So I looked at the mirror today
and I must say,
I’m pretty jealous of y’all,
you get to see this face every day.
While I do admire my handsome features,
I decided to look past my youth
and discovered something that doesn’t quite suit
me, still.
________________________________________________
Sometimes, at will,
I carry the burden of countless decades of the
blood, sweat, and tears, that made it possible for me
to dive deep into the realms of poetry.
Other times, I try not to identify
with this; I don’t like to be marginalized.
When I happen to carry the weight,
I’m quickly reminded by the large rate
of jokes of my actual tone
followed by the implications of “not enough”.
________________________________________________
But when I claim no association, it’s as if the rough
stares increase with frequent aggravation.
I’m not saying I change for the masses,
but it’s fucking confusing as each day passes
to be told the opposite of what I am.
It doesn’t matter if you don’t
see what’s different, it still won’t
deter the unnaturally suspicious figures
who figure that I am an embodiment
of whatever renders them completely impotent.
________________________________________________
So, why you mad, bro?
Do you really feel
that I am here to steal
from you? I guess nothing I do will
ever appeal
to your compassion.
So this happens,
you try to take out your frustration
by labeling me as a thug despite my college education.
________________________________________________
But that’s alright, do whatever you please.
I’m too busy and don’t care to appease
to your small view,
and who knew
that I would hear my words in Chinese?
I’ve accepted the fire that’s turned desire
to obsession pushing me to ascend higher
and making my coherent thoughts tighter.
Now there’s just one thing to make me a better climber;
I really need to stop flinching when my students mispronounce “Niger”.

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