#poetry task

Kobe Bryant had a borderline obsession for winning. He started off as a young rookie who hungered to become the greatest of all time and would fight for the win through any means necessary. 

he’s living in the 21st century taking it by the reins emerging from the ashes of a repressed fame they tried to strap him to dark oak but he ripped off that duct tape now even mj be asking how much more he can take

they say, “no one man should have all that power” but that Nixon shit only takes him farther stop sniffing, he’s sniffing off the powder your 21st century schizoid man

propagate the record, the war chant, the field’s open pull up in a golden chariot, he’s rolling and all the suburb kids yell “wait for it, wait for it” so watch him do it better than anybody you’ve ever seen do it now flame up the hog, the logs, and bring the girls in show off the lightning, they’re gasping and sighing embodying every characteristic of the egotistic he knows, he’s so fucking gifted in this blacksmith world, he’s the one chosen and he won’t listen when you cry, he leaves in the morning with two stacks of gold on a cold mattress no time for words, won’t stay for a moment so he traipses through a valley of shoes and Louis clothing furs in Mongolian, sitting pretty on Versace sofas Was it worth it all? “Yes!” he screams, and he’ll show it Knowing better than to let a heart win him over

he just needed time alone with his own faults brush the blame on someone else so he could open up his own vault “bitch, tryna tear me down?” Please, he won’t hesitate he’s been hurt, so in spurt he accepts all the basics reality is catching up with him fighting his inner child, but it's winning custody learned only Vegas highways lead straight to the hall of fame and what genius wasn’t just a little bit insane?

Mamba, Malcolm, Michael Jackson a black power man in an Italian worship family they say he is an abomination of the blood inside him and yet they still wonder why he keeps on hiding? at the end of the day, goddamn it he’s killing this shit they know damn well he’s killing this shit he doesn’t need your bread, dad he’s stepping foot on Wall Street Belfort knows what’s gonna happen to him

and they say “no one man should have all that power” but that nixon shit only takes him farther stop sniffing, he’s sniffing off the powder your 21st century schizoid man

now this will be a beautiful death flying to the sunlight waxed wings set alight waxed wings set alight

These images are what I had in mind when writing the poem. I like how the sun and shadows came in patches. The minimal sunlight came off to me as truly beautiful, and I highlighted it in the following lines for my poem.

run my finger through the gaps

i read the spaces in between words

run my finger through the gaps

of your ethereal sunshine

for in the patches of your shadow

are what is most beautiful:

stairwells

airports

family mart stopovers halfway to the beach

midnights

streetlights

& movie theaters right after you leave

quiet so, are the liminal spaces of your earth

the short breath before you cry

a whisper of a smile

so i wrap them in a box

and swear back and forth