“Verisimilitude,” a personal poem I found in my USB drive.

I found this poem, “Verisimilitude,” in one of my USB drives. I wrote it as my “Diversity Project” for a Music Education course I took in Music School. At that time (circ. 2009) I was in the heart of dealing with my self-image, sexual identity, my eating disorder and my commitment to life.

I read it with amazement as I FEEL into the moments in which I wrote this piece.

I read it with respect for the character experiencing his reality.

I read it with gratitude for what has happened since and for what I did not commit.

It is incredible, the mount of isolation we could feel when we are in such a negative emotional space. This piece is a result of such vibration. Take a glimpse into that reality of mine as you read this, my  work from that time.

-With Love, Ramses

*****

Epigraph

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5)

***

Verisimilitude

by Ramses Rodriguez, 2009

His eyes brood.

They narrow and sharpen like the razor tongue of a garden serpent. His intention? Simply to speak his mind. Bullets of salty sweat pour out of his amber forehead and collect at his finely plucked brows.

Ah, yes! He wears a bit of eye liner!

He says it is sleek. A compliment to his thin, masculine body, A partner to the clean lines and shock-color that adorn his garments: Glistening leather shoes, feathery suede, and black the color of choice.

Ah, yes! His hair has rhythm- Texture galore!

And colored to impress the only thing that matters to him. The dark tone of earth caresses his scalp like a monoxide fog, And a little bit of salt always makes things taste better.

And the emery board is a friend, a weapon of choice…

Its strident strides across the nail give it power;

The chattering: tantalizing the effects it yields.

A scowl in return.

The perfect couple made their way to pastoral-hood. Pentecostal Barbie and Ken straighten their backs and balance pencils on their chins. A cold turn at the neck and a glare, “we’ll pray for those gays” they say.

Oh, and the color of his “hot couture!”

Light is dimmed as it pours onto his identity. It is absorbed by his mere existence. According to Who Gothic spires are the only thing radiating from is aura.

Oh, and the darker the better!

He’ll have shades of death with little accessories of hope any day. It is the perfect dialogue: The silhouette of a God and the semblance of a demon.

And still the emery board is a friend, a weapon of choice…

Its strident strides across the nail give it power;

The chattering: tantalizing the effects it yields.

“Oh, how I long to be that mound of plastic fingered by society and loved by all!”

“Oh, Mr. Todd, yes, we all deserve to be kissed by the soil-crusted lips and covered by the blanket of the earth!”

“Oh, even you, Bengy my friend, morn for Quentin, for it is real to have sentiment when the clock goes unbroken!”

And, Yes. Matell is our heaven: defects are discarded and perfection is embraced.

So clearly the emery board is a friend, a weapon of choice…

Its strident strides across the nail Give it power;

The chattering: tantalizing the effects it yields.

He Gouges that face, those wrists, and those legs. He makes little train tracks of anger and rage on his material. His little army of scalpels tare away at his pigment and veneer. He’s gets rid of himself- quickly, hastily.

The wounds are real. They’ll fester with puss and crust over into a scar. He stares at his mirror and witnesses the judgment from the synthetic that is all but elusive.

He wipes the sweat and rubies off his face and leans into the mirror. The smell of breath fogs his reflection; he whispers aloud “all because its you.”

He shoots himself.

That’s easy for me to say.

 

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