Author
Poet
Screenwriter
Hoodlum
Breeze Vincinz
BREEZE LOVE SOUL
SWEET MARCUS
© Breeze Vincinz
there’s only one god
sweet marcus
and i am not him or her
and they got your email address
sweet marcus
they got your phone number
sweet marcus
i am not who you should look to
for your absolute salvation
and i am nothing more than a dude
on intellectual vacation
i’m on a cerebral sabbatical
and emotional overtime
and you think that’s makes me worthy
of your accolated chimes
but i am nothing more than
a dude in a studio with cold water
who eats ramen noodles for dinner
takes the bus in rush hour
sweet marcus
i never meant to hurt you
and you hurt anyway
i never meant to go so far
and it’s runaway
you wanted me to define you
i told you that was a myth
you already have definitions
find somebody to share them with
sweet marcus
i am no messiah
sweet marcus
i am no liar
i am not perfect and complete
sweet marcus
i am not even grown
i need a mountain of money and apologies
sweet marcus
to pay off the people i owe
sweet marcus
don’t be bruised by the world
and their indecent lashes
you can be your own phoenix
and rise from your own ashes
you don’t need anyone
to tell you you're a gem
there’s only one god
and i am not her or him
i am nothing more than
a dude in a studio with cold water
who eats ramen noodles for dinner
takes the bus in rush hour
sweet marcus
i never meant to hurt you
i swear i never meant to hurt you
I wrote this poem about a dude who reached out to me years ago, overestimating my social media influence (this was about a decade before social media), and asked for my assistance in spreading the word about his latex allergy. As I remember, his request for increasing awareness turned into an uncomfortable infatuation, random indecent proposals, and intense unprotected sexual propositions. And while I interpreted the whole encounter as a simple, manipulative con job to get some raw booty, what it actually turned out to be was an extremely ill and lonely guy with no social skills in desperate need of some attention and affection. I was too young to understand what was happening or to fully commit to what seemed like an “all-or-nothing” tragic love story... so I just balked and ended all communication. Much to his chagrin, his constant pleas for friendship and companionship became more frequent and more intense with no response from me. When I finally did, I never got a response back. And because we were virtually strangers, there was no one I could contact to confirm or deny his identity, whereabouts, or safety. I could have dodged a bullet, but I equally could have inspired his self-inflicted bullet wound. To this day, I do not know.
Writer's Notes
Writer's Notes
I wrote this poem about a dude who reached out to me years ago, overestimating my social media influence (this was about a decade before social media), and asked for my assistance in spreading the word about his latex allergy. As I remember, his request for increasing awareness turned into an uncomfortable infatuation, random indecent proposals, and intense unprotected sexual propositions. And while I interpreted the whole encounter as a simple, manipulative con job to get some raw booty, what it actually turned out to be was an extremely ill and lonely guy with no social skills in desperate need of some attention and affection. I was too young to understand what was happening or to fully commit to what seemed like an “all-or-nothing” tragic love story... so I just balked and ended all communication. Much to his chagrin, his constant pleas for friendship and companionship became more frequent and more intense with no response from me. When I finally did, I never got a response back. And because we were virtually strangers, there was no one I could contact to confirm or deny his identity, whereabouts, or safety. I could have dodged a bullet, but I equally could have inspired his self-inflicted bullet wound. To this day, I do not know.
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