The Struggle by H. Newberry

I stare outward around myself

vision fracturing with what I see

and I wonder in wounded horror-

have we always been...

frightened? selfish? complacent? ignorant?

As anthems and pledges and slogans

chant in tones of mindless devotion

my ears grow numb from trying to make sense-
have we always been...
self-serving? apathetic? un-evolved? fragmented?

My mind flips through the sheets of damages

peeled from the flesh of so many

and I ache to understand-
have we always been...
callous? base? cowardly? greedy?

My God-

I watch what could have been

a human soul retreating

from this world once more

and I can no longer hide

from the fact that we

have never been anything

other than masquerading animals

solitary in our pens

placated by our toys

making love to our pockets

and selling our children

on street corners

to the wolves

who reign inside us.

© 2015 - H. Newberry

Naked by H. Newberry

Let's get naked,

peel off all the lies

makeup and hair gel,

and wipe the stains of

red and pink shit

off our lips.

We can swap sins

like madams in a

brothel bartering virginity

to see who can sell it fastest.

We'll curl up - eager-

in a tight space

where the whispers

of our confessions are

the only tangible things

weaving a world

out of something

more real than the

glossy, billboard life

we're pretending to live.

Let's strip for real

and have a real life

kind of moment

where I listen as you

crack open the cages

that make you cringe,

the ones you hide

under paint and powder

and when you're done

I'll unlock mine

and show you all the

god-awful, self inflicted

wounds I threw on other

people who were just

me in a different skin.

Then we'll huddle in

this place truth will build,

made safe by each others crimes

and we'll compare notes

on how we traded

"Love Thy Neighbor"

for "Fuck You- Me First"

and gave away "Love Thy Self"

for the discount, knock off

of "Soul For Sale - Cheap"

and how we confused

a high, tight ass

and big, fat bank roll

for the prefect Gods.

How we spent lifetimes

selling sweat and insecurity

like a couple of old whores

strutting around on a sloping stage,

the prancing stagger of our days

lived out on a greasy, imaginary catwalk

going nowhere but down

really,

really

fast...

 © 2016, H. Newberry