A Poem About Norman Reedus

I mean, let’s be honest. Norman Reedus’s existence is just poetry waiting to happen. Am I right?

I’m totally right. This man is one of the weirdest, most talented people I have ever seen. He is just one of those people who you look at their life story, and you know that they are someone special. You just know that they were always meant to influence this world in their own uniquely beautiful way. His fan base is a reflection of that. He is such a multi-dimensional person, but so many people only see him for his jawline, or his character that he plays on AMC’s The Walking Dead. There is so much more to him than that. He is an amazing artist, in so many forms. He has an arsenal of coping mechanisms in the form of films, photography, sculptures, paintings, writings and so much more. He is a survivor, both on and off the television screen.

Titanium eye socket visionary.

A Boondock Saint

with a jawline

that could break a heart

Six Ways to Sunday.

Effortlessly engaging,

unapologetically weird as fuck.

An understudy who stole the show,

shattering expectations

like the windshield glass

from the car crash

landing him

cheek to cheek

with concrete,

broken bones and ripped seams.

Now the air

comes out crooked when he breathes

but he believes

in sneaking out of hospital rooms

to film Meetings In Berlin.

A workaholic

with a chocoholic sweet tooth

and a bitter bite.

Taking direction

and directing what he writes.

A self-sculpting photographer

capturing images that leave

Cigarette Burns on retinas,

like The Sun,

Coming Up Like A Big Bald Head.

Mimic the living,

Walk with The Dead,

where the contradiction of Dixon’s wings

silence the voices

of the demons

inked on Reedus’s shoulder.

Dabbling in almost every artistic medium that there is,

a source of multilevel inspiration.

Norman Reedus.

Artist

through and through.

A genre-enhancing illusionist

playing tricks

with a broken Rubik’s cube mind,

deep, Dark Harbored

and twisted,

seeing the world with such strong vision.

Yet.

all the world chooses to see

is Daryl Fucking Dixon.