Lavender

Cracking like walnuts

between steel splints.

Sweat glints on my arms

as I strip the windows' tints.

They put dried weeds in a vase

and act like I'm out of place.

They serve food at the diner

and I ask for a taste.

Instead they give me the menu

stuck to my forehead with paste.

Stuck up and damn sure

fucked up.

If I lucked up and got sucked up their machine,

there'd be nothing left for me to get bucked up.

Their so-so explanations

and flimsy dip-shit promises

make me think of rusty nails

an amateur carpenter polishes.

My brain sparks lavender

a colorful challenge to the radio wave.

On land of debris,

my home is concave.

Slave after slave

in turn try to enslave me,

trying to deprive me

turning into ways to deprave me.

I maneuver like Ali

doing the rope a dope.

They back me up, I bob and weave,

and they think I can't cope.

Now, the brain weaves silk,

they got another thing coming.

I zap the brain wave

and make it stop humming.

They're certain it's a bluff,

they're certain they're tough.

But if they're so certain,

why do they keep trying to rough me up?

They are going to huff and puff,

but they're really just sheep,

trying to be wolves

but the bears are not the ones asleep.

Their fairy tale minds

turn into disastrous lives

full of violence and hate

and anything else that deprives.

It's the main reason

I spark lavender and weave silk.

I smooth it out

when there's no honey or milk.