Joseph Aki Poem by Bryan Lordeus

Who am I?
I am someone not worth concerning yourself
A person, even myself i would not help
You would either burn me at stakes or kill me through stealth
Yet not before I end my own story quickly
Like skipping to the last page
Or cutting straight to the black screen
I despise my poor standings yet stand stagnant on my hatred towards the wealthy
I am quick to criticize
But doesn't utilize my own critical eyes on myself
A broken child looking at life through broken lenses
And a malfunctioning optical sense
Whether that makes sense or not
Won't matter since I don't make cents
But a penny for my thoughts made me more well-off than I thought
Rich in every avenue
My monopoly in this game of life
It gets personal
Like my Self being and personality versus the principalities
And the powers at be
This conflict is similar to Armies waging war on the God Of War
I find identity in both opposing sides
So what doesn't makes me, makes I

What am I?
I know not what I am
But I know what I am not
I am not the type to be stereotyped
But rather the type that types words
pronounce nouns and proclaims verbs
civilize syllables and advertises adjectives
I am the brightest moon at high noon
The dark sun at night that forebodes doom
A complementary paradox
I am what I am
But am I what Myself makes me to be?
A man with a plan
Old child gone wild
Young elder that knows better
Possess the intelligence of a fetus that puts people in fetal positions and
The IQ of a living dead that dines daily on daily bread

Where am I?
White surburbias
Downtown offices filled with insomniacs
Third-World countries
Man-made fantasies
Within parallel lines
At the crossroads and the road leading to Calvary
inside the stomachs of wailing childen
Outside the perimeter of circles of influence
In orbit around cliques
Black neighborhoods without the neighbor
On shoulders and Beside necks like an angel and a demon
Everywhere, nowhere, and somewhere down there
At anyplace and at any moment
At some place someone is at,
Alas, you can find my Self on a blank map
An empty Atlas maps where I'm at

Lastly, what are you?
An ignorant walking bag of sin and skin who are you?
What are you going to stand for?
Are you a revolutionary without the molotov?
Instead, perched on your couch
Screaming at the tv screen
Waiting for the world to change
Not knowing
That the revolution will not be broadcasted
Nor follow commercial advertising
A freethinker with your mind in chains?
Forgetful of your own imprisonment?
true freedom comes from true knowledge
said Joseph, the once All-Knowing Intellectual