Picture ya life on the subway –
Labeled a runaway.
Always taught to chase dreams, but catching them was never imagined.
On the train til infinity, where every malfunction exceeds a boundary.
The sky ain’t the limit, its the ticket.
What’s the difference?
I can see beyond the colors of the prism.
I have touched many moons.
Floating – weightless –
Patient.
Healing myself, still doctoring the wounds from when they severed the ties to my portal.
The only home I’ve known, now it just seems as if love don’t live here no more…
So I roam.
Telling the streets my secrets.
Leaving tattoos when I spit the words penetrate the skin.
The concrete cracks.
A Rose emerges.
The train door closes before I even look back…
I pricked myself on the thorns, I wail as the horn sounds…I realize
My overstanding reality is under attack.
-Vigilant Leighrick
Still in a room,
A broken mirror reflects flawless smiles of all those that once stared before it.
Gleaming eyes looking for themselves in fragments of light.
I can’t yet see through.
Walking…
My tears and the street lights create stained glass.
Looking at memories abandoned in pictures, and the pain that is sheltered, buried, and concealed in temples.
Implicitly.
Shattered and now broken open.
I pick up the pieces with the roughest edges first.
I cut myself — countless times.
It hurts not to scream!
As a child you are taught that silence is comforting,
Explicitly a fools gold, a dastardly violence.
The blood has been contaminated with secrecy.
Life’s own mystery;
What good is the knowledge of hystori if the truth never gets told?
Exposed.
Undressing wounds
I see myself in rare form….beautiful….
Vulnerable.
This bigger picture envisioned is actually a puzzle;
we are each others pieces.
There are no borders, filters, nor frames….
Regardless not everyone fits, still you are..
I do not have dreams. I have a large potraits of reality, everynight, and the next morning it all comes true. I am staring into a black screen, with nothing but frustration running through my mind. It’s begun to tire out my mind, and testing my feelings. Struggling to find the diamond in the rough, except diamonds are oh so cold, and I’m warm blooded. How would the ring fit around my heart? The beats steady pumping, my emotions are getting pimped, my thoughts are getting trampled, and the tears run down my lip.
Open Lab — let them operate on the chaos, putting together the pieces of Lady Chaot!c, and some touches of nuclear spit. The life I lead is unsafe. It’s true misery needs company. Only my company has gone bankrupt to the depths of life’s rotting anatomy. If I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul take, so it may be that I am a legend in Gods eyes.
With stress as the monkey on my back, unconditional love is feeding it banana’s. A volcano of sorrow has erupted. Is this such a way for a young black female to live her life? The fight for getting a decent education, but its shadow of confusion and uncontrollable exoticism is the only light. I’ll follow that with my heart instead of my mind.
That is why they call me Lady Chaotic, lyrically spiritual, but my opinions are explicit.
PROCLAMATION TRANSFORMATION 