I am the hypocrisy

The bearer of my own
Extension towards what I cannot
understand but me still carry
each of seven faces
balance fourteen holes forward
over this plugged set of word
forms

Ishmael! I am the same I am
The one who wants no desires
a machine that feeds on air
a horrible contrast white
juxtaposing the beauty of black
me my truths’ lies those around
boiling from my skins
each layer pains because pain is
nothing but metalloid arsenic rubbing nothing
digging deep when I find I find my model
has been discontinued
put on back dusty shelves back in the
contemporary thought processes of this locality
this social construct this what we
call reality I am
hypocricy