And all the glory fades into the dirt.
Seeping into the ground and spread out to bloom in fields of homosexuality
And I have felt society pick me like an apple from a tree,
bite down and spit me out
like a seed into a pile with the rest of them.
I’m just a bad seed in the Garden of Eden waiting to bloom.
And they are fighting a war, with manufactured flags that have been
laid out, ironed, and processed by people that have separated us.
With washed out colors and overly pigmented pride, just to be monochromatic on the inside.
And this does not define us, it’s just a piece of our individuality,
molded and formed to think we have immortality.
This convention of love has been destroyed and endangered by nothing more than sour apples.
I am not ashamed or honored of who am, I have just fallen free from the tree.
I am proud of who I am, but I have not taken pride on what delimits me.
Am I the apple of Adams eye, crossfaded by the serpent’s silence,
waiting for Eve’s perspiration on the fall of man?
I begin to feel violated by the world, perceiving me from man to dust.
So I hang myself back on the tree, and wait for the world to once again perceive me.
Owen Rodriguez resides in Chicago where he spends most of his time making short films, writing, and drawing. His love for creating art is processed by his need/want to explore ideas and thoughts that are rarely touched on or are taboo in society. He is quickly drawn to old films, fiction, and pop culture for inspiration; using it to interpret subcultures. He is currently working on two short films and comprising a collection of poetry of his own.