I Hope I Don't Miss My Stop

I hope I didn’t miss my stop.
Too caught up in the music, the melody, the melodrama of miscommunication.
I hope I didn’t miss my stop.
Too busy staring off into another lovers eyes, starting to believe the lies of my brain overriding my heart.
I hope I didn’t miss my stop.
It’s the same stop I always make after a long trip. Weary. Unwilling to submit to the idea that this station will always be vacant when I stop by.
I hope I didn’t miss my stop.
I hope I didn’t confuse a connection with a destination. A transfer with a terminal feeling of elation.
I hope I wasn’t dickmatized with a nice body and no aspirations.
A fuck buddy with no future.
A past figure with a foundation of forever.
I hope this journey brings me back to my stop.
Hopefully this is the long road. Less traveled. Of lessons learned lamenting through looking glass at concrete moments etched over in linoleum.
I feel like I’ve missed my stop.
They all look like. Tell me the same things. You were the last one that felt like home.
I want to be home. Not riding this bus of busy ideas, bustling bodies, and bawdy banter.
No matter how much I travel. I’ll always come back to…my stop.

ALIEN ANT FARM

I am not from here.
Don’t recognize your customs and your ways & means.
Your standards of poor.
Depravities and atrocities committed in the name of deities lesser than me.
You aliens. Ant like. Farmed as cattle.
Bred as sustenance and cannibal.
You make mockery of appearances uncomfortable in your own vessel
Glamoured modifications to be original.
Pack like in your mimicry.
Constantly looking towards an Alpha, content being a Beta, obsessed with the Omega
Forgetting that this language is younger than mine.
Infant like Ants. Alien Nature. Farming land producing no spoils.
Spoiled. Ungrateful. Unaware that gifts I’ve bestowed upon you should be mocked.
Drafted then call my fiction fantasy.
Fantastic.
Phantoms filled with folly and fear, failure.
Fractions of full falsehoods.
Fooled for fuckery, flashes in frying pans, food filleted, fermented meat.
Meet your higher power.
Leave these Farms. Ants. Alien although foreign should not always be unfamiliar.
Sometimes. I. Wonder. Have You Ever Considered. The Way You Look From Here.
I look at you and wonder.
And I don’t believe that your elitist ideal of being the only being.
Waiting for me to collide with your ideology to reassure your inflated ego.
To satisfy your justified juxtaposition that in infinity minute best describes you.
I create miracles as common as smiles.
You ask for moonbeams and mysticism.
I naturally levitate and you commission Otis to elevate to my level.
Rolling on vogues.
Languishing in your little boxes. On hillsides. That all look the same.
Unable to recognize the value I’ve added to your existence.
Unfeasible to walk in my shoes I gave you syncopation,
A cacophony of sounds, rhythms to connect you. You use it to divide.
Able to live a Golden Life. Content with Pyrite Masks.
You idiosyncratic Ants. Farmed for Harvest. Afraid of your Alien.
Maybe if I called myself by a different name you’d respond differently.
I am in moniker God unto myself.
Worshipping all others but me.
It would be so easy to but you’ve become unself-awared.
Unrealized power. Strong like ANT.
Potential. Untilled like FARMS.
ALIENATING my peace.