If These Walls Could Talk...

by A.J. Jones 8 months ago in surreal poetry

The Disorganized Juxtaposition of Depression

If These Walls Could Talk...
Urban Graffiti Wall

I can not stand where I could once walk or run where I would once dance

Standing firm in sinking sand is as dangerous as ghost riding the whip in a motorized wheelchair going 100 miles an hour while trying to do a hand stand.

If these walls could talk!

Being oppressed is like systematically pressed like a pair of freshly creased greens in Ryker's Island.

Leaving me like most people depressed like Crazy-Eyes trying to decompress trying to figure out if Orange is the New Black while watching Gilligan's Island.

I am still trying to rationalize the logic of trying to feel better about being pissed off while being pissed on by the powers that be or R Kelly because they told me it was Candy Rain after asking me," If I could stand the rain?"

Soul?

For Real?

Drug and alcohol can't numb my pain.

I am asking to God to wash my sins clean with gain again.

If these walls could talk!

I feel like I have to Get Out because I do not want to be trapped in the Matrix while keep the Silence of the Lambs.

I don't want Blow so pass me a red or a green pill so I can live and then learn while living in the Village of the Damned.

The Black Knight's kryptonite was a crip tonight that shot Blueface for wearing red Yeezy's; leaving Kevin Hart yelling to the world on the news,"Let Me Explain." while could do nothing.

What Now?

Are you serious funny while laughing at my pain?

Help Me!

Help!

Me!

Nigga!

Help Me!

If these walls could talk!

Lord knows, I am so frustrated that I could beat their ass like O.J. Simpson beat the state of California.

Don't assume anything because I don't say much, because I'm hungry?

I'm not a killer, so don't push me; nothing smell better than fresh sugar cookies.

Sometimes I do feel so lost like Stevie Wonder driving at night with the high beams on.

Jesus take the wheel!

Game recognize game.

Real recognize real while real eyes realize real lies.

If these walls could talk!

I can see clearly now the rain is gone, but how are the skies blue during red dawn or did Jesus come back this morning?

Red Rum is that liquid libation for blood thirsty kill mongers we will call domestic terrorists, but they call us thugs, but Bobby Seale and Huey Newton said,"we're black panthers."

90% of hip hop on the radio is junk because rappers are recording albums mumbling booty chatter, but when these same chumps yell, "dump Trump" were supposed to take them seriously?

Simple Graffiti

It's been a week already wandering round the wilderness for 400 years under supremacy.

Miss me with the messed up messy tea spilled in Mr. Roger's neighborhood sending the misfit muppets to that underfunded nursery called juvy down on Sesame Street.

Go Diego go and help Dora the explorer find Jesus; because you clearly have no clues to find out where is the world is Carmen San Diego, but I digress.

If these wall could talk!

I couldn't care less about a beehive or an annoying B named Cardi with bloody shoes talking about murder moves, but would also pay good money to see Nicki Minaj get eaten by an anaconda.

I have all this craziness in mind and I just can't stand it all...

These folks done got the drop on me!

My back is against the wall!

Help me!

Help!

Me!

Nigga!

Help Me!

Heaven only knows!

If these walls could talk!

surreal poetry
A.J. Jones
A.J. Jones
Read next: Poem: New Life
A.J. Jones

6'5 Saxophonic Poetic Minister. Writer, producer, poet, and independent artist. College Athletics Wage Advocate, ADOS, advocate for reparations, advocate for HBCUs, Advocate for Arts in the Schools, and Advocate for Black Church Musicians

See all posts by A.J. Jones