i breathed in the smoke
that charred my lungs
in hopes that you had seen
the smoke that caused
my chords to crack
and left my voice so mean
but you who whispers softly
and you who speaks with care
could not seem to understand
why i chose the poison air.
you said i am
d i s g u s t i n g
you said i should get
h e l p
so yes you maybe scorned me.
and yes you maybe saw.
and that was what i asked for.
when for you i broke the law
All that I think is mine,
All that I think is me,
is a summation of what I've been told,
of what I've been instructed to see.
'Who am I' is not the question.
The crisis is not one of identity.
Don't be misled, my friends.
The real illusion is this 'me'.
There is nothing new inside there.
Just scribbled notes and summaries.
A bunch of borrowed opinions
And some stolen memories.
I know I can talk and share today.
I can scream to make some noise.
But I hope by the day I die,
I'll have somehow, found my voice.
Your song is like a clover field
Always at ease
Rolling like the streamless hills
Your body right here next to me
Within the grass
And on the wind
Ever is your voice to be
And even when I’m not in sight
To see your jawline ever slight
As you sing a clover field to sleep
I know your voice
As I know your eyes
And the way much like your song implies
That you are peaceful and at ease
Like a field of clover
You’re lucky to me
Looks like a diamond
yet fragile as glass,
A noisy and chaotic world
of words never spoken
A small voice about to crack
Never noticed by anyone
Only to be heard by
the reflection on the mirror.
Everything gets piled up,
everywhere is a mess.
Just waiting to trigger
the bomb inside
Finally the hidden dome
cracked and broke;
it let itself out
revealing all the secrets.
During this time of vulnerability
resonance comes in-
It builds a new world
this time with open doors.
Honey I carry you in my heart,
If you want I can tore it apart,
My dreams are alive coz of you,
My hopes will raise when I think of you,
In my mind I draw your face,
Your memories are on my life's surface,
I hear your laughter in my voice,
Bringing tears to my eyes,
I can read my future on your face,
For me you are a book of God's grace,
So Far away yet so near,
You are the reason I alive here,
I know one day we will dance,
Sharing a blissfull glance,
Tears of joy flow from our eyes,
Nature will sing in divine voice,
Stars will salute, blessings will shower,
I know soon our day will come,
On that day Angels say "Hazi
Here is your women, here is your woman,"
Yes Honey you are my woman,
You are my woman.
Happy women's day to my Gorgeous woman.
In his address to Congress,
The Donald brazenly
revealed plans to spread fear through
a brand new agency.
It will report and list all crimes
by each new immigrant,
to heighten paranoia's spread
amongst the ignorant.
By fanning fiery flames of fear,
the bigots shall rejoice,
and they shall love the agency
that Trump is naming "VOICE".
Now, I propose an agency
to give another choice,
that balances the propaganda
to be spread by VOICE...
An agency that recognizes
Donald's vile role
as chief hatemonger of the world.
It shall be named, "A$$HOLE".
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/GleMlZYaxtI
Written: March 5, 2017
I like people from the south who talk slow like
honey pouring out of a teddy bear and into a glass
of tea like your last year of high school slow I like listening
to things men say to women outside of bars on Friday nights
like yeah I’m really into meditation I like hearing I love you fall
out of someone’s mouth when they didn’t really mean it to I like
hearing you say it too I like to lay on the couch and hear people
drive by on their way home to their couches I like hearing
two babies talk to each other to hear them learn how to
make sounds into words I like to hear your voice change
depending on the time of day I like to hear the
way you say my name
You stole my voice, but I let
you lock it away. Behind neck kisses,
lazy Sundays, and “who’s texting yous.”
Don’t worry baby,
I found it between the cracks
of your fingers, wrapped
around my neck, you tried to stop
the word vomit. Nice try.
You can’t mute
me. Watch me throw up,
watch me wail.
Your ego is deafening, as if you were afraid
of mine being louder than yours.
Well, I’m fucking screaming,
and I hope your ear drums shatter.
You can’t shush me.
My voice is not cracking,
bitch, did I stutter?
But, no hard feelings, right? ’Cause this
new dude says he likes it when I
may be heavy with water
but it is strong.
My voice carries.
It carried my burdens
when my shoulders weren't strong enough.
It carried ships of men over the edge
because they wouldn't pull over
and ask for directions.
It carried far enough
to pull you into my currents
so you could draw a map
of my cliffs and trenches
and never lose your bearings.