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Pinkish Pixels of the Most High

February 16, 2016

by Acemandese Hall aka The Guy Who Doesn't Write Poetry Anymore aka AAH ... aah, now you've got it

 

Pinkish pixels in my mind,

seems that I believed your lies.

I’m glee with angst and don’t know why.

If tears were truth, would you still cry?

So many crosses, yet some mixed,

everyone’s added their own twist.

Melanin, mulatto bliss,

you act as if we’ve never kissed.

 

All the pictures do seem bleached,

don’t know which thoughts I should keep.

Which is worse, white lies or breach

the bond between you, ONE, and me?

So many choices, which is which,

everyone’s fiending for a fix.

Melanin, mulatto bliss,

you act as if we’ve never kissed.

 

Destroy my pain, what will I wear?

There’s no cloth worthy to bear?

Guess we’re just, oblivious …

Isn't it obvious?

 

Unremarkable, am I? I am, aren't I?

The Genius is Genius at being a Genius of me, but why?

Because the focus isn't to be you, but to be me, the Most High.

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