"Waste Management": A Poem by Royce Hall
Waste Management by Royce Hall (Chinyelu Alimayu)
May I put my bags down?
Is your place safe enough?
Is that table strong enough?
Are your floor boards sturdy enough?
Are your hands soft yet strong enough?
For truth. For emotions
I'm not waiting for your go-ahead
The letting of it all hanging out
The kicking up of my feet
The wiping off of my charm and stoicness
And your bosom or shoulder
The existence of my real shit
My crooked masterpiece
In a glass, shattered broken frame
No pieces, No bits or buts
No mask, No veil
No surface, Shallow
The trusting of you with me
All of me
My "not perfect"
My "don't know it all", My "not right"
My moods, My not too complicated complexities
My feelings, My past
My now, My handsome
My "ain't too pretty", My gritty
My absolute, My authenticity
My ups, My sideways
My accomplishments, My awkward, ocky
Icky, cocky, clumsy
Blank, blonde, confident
My Rasta X Loft loving, freeform
Warrior, tree hugging, latte
And mimosa sipping, "power to the people"
Blunt smoking while making plans to soon go fishing
My yellow rice and turkey wings
Mongolian seitan, sometimes vegan
Pescatarian, alkaline, electrified
Musician, actor, author who went to school
To become what I knew at the age of 5
Would be a veterinarian
My sticky, gooey
My "other people would be afraid to show"
My "maybe I grew up spoiled but know what it means to earn it"
My village mentality
Get this land and seeds
And sci-fi, fantasy
Lover of science, architecture and technology
My "assemble every piece of furniture in your house while I contemplate life decisions"
With tools and my shoes off
Content with snacks and my "cool" off
My "Not what people expect me to be"
The me I finally trust me
My quiet, My observant
My quirky, My wrong
My “what the hell?”, My be
My "not the product on the market", My "not the brand"
My wide, wide open
My loud and goofy
My ziplocks, satchels, manbags, murses
Duffels Or maybe
It resembles a weekender or
Or gym bag
It's not the size
It's what's in it
Let's sift through
Yours and mine
My dirty socks
up on your couch
Truth ain't always comfortable
And I'm not always this "cute"
Neither are you
And that's so attractive
But that may also depend on the day
How's and ever, our layers match
And that divine balance is...unusually yet sensibly beautiful
My pain, My laughs
Smile creasing cheeks that are tear stained
My wrinkled. My irregular
My tailored fit, My extraordinary
My odd, My tender
My sensitive, My reserved
My outgoing, My inquisitive nature
My angry, My peace
And my feet up
With no fucks
Or concerns given
Just be tended to.
To some it may not be much
To some it may be mind-blowing
But hell, we all come with a little luggage.
Some of us ignore it.
It all depends on how you look at it.
But there's loads truth in these bags
Carrying what has been learned
Held on to
And even, discarded.
A few items I'll keep
I'll carry it to the corner
Just walk with me to
Take out the garbage.
You can follow Royce on Instagram @iamroycehall