You sit with your comfortable life
and pick the wrong side.
You only have half the story.
Smoke and blood and gas and death don’t compare to a few bruises.
Not to you.
It’s a broken world
and you’ve been lied to,
but the truth is plainly clear.
And I’m wrong because I’m too young to understand.
But do you actually hear yourself?
Do you hear what people who aren’t angry say?
You fold your hands into your lap
and say you’re not like that.
The truth is you’re only a few steps away.
Everyone complains about the "system",
how it is rigged, manipulated and controlled.
But they do not take a moment to listen,
or to take a moment and break the mold.
Work out and do not eat those fries,
then you will say goodbye to those thighs.
Work hard, work long, and get the paycheck,
take a chance and stick out your neck.
Become what you despise,
or stand and rise.
Because you can lie down and die,
and let them walk on you,
curl up and cry,
and let your whole life turn blue.
But your failure is your own fault,
not the systems,
you were not locked in a vault.
You have been duped,
or you are duping,
So stop singing the song the dupees sing.
Updated from my tablet which my white upper class parents bought me to prepare for my pre_paid college*
Your a wraith, a ghost dedicated to a dying faith, like a mistake, you used life for your needs and gave only to take, as a friend you offered lessons in hate but reeked of an essence that only you could create, ignorance, selfish religious babble for instance, attacking the ideals of others with a dagger between your teeth while preaching against the dangers of he who lies beneath, dont confuse evil for pain, try to experience pleasure from the searing rain that hisses off your hatred, if you can't then I'm sorry my friend, but you've already gone insane
People are getting shot for opening their mouths
Children are starving all over the world
Men are sleeping in the streets, cold and alone
Women are working two jobs and can't make enough for her kids
Men are working 80 hour work weeks and sending them home
A thousand miles away
And laying in a bedroll
With only photos and phone calls to keep them up
Because that's the only choice they have
But I guess you're worse off, aren't you?
You didn't have your coffee this morning
You didn't sleep well in your queen-sized mattress
Your classes are too hard
Your job is too demanding
Your girl is mad
Your guy doesn't care
But you have open doors you haven't even bothered to look into
You sad, sorry sack of shit.
my condolences go out to the man
who gets everything he always wanted
ignorance is bliss is more than just a catchy phrase
the man whose every wish comes true
has to live with the knowledge
having never feels as good as wanting
while the man who has naught but his desire
will be left blissfully ignorant everyday
with hope left over for tomorrow
Your perception of me pre-existed, you saw black and you felt danger, you saw my skin and with it painted a personality from the prejudice of your mind.
You don’t know me, yet you assume that I am just like every other dark skinned man out there.
So that is why I feel angry when you cram yourself in the corner of elevators, if you could only realize I am the one who is truly backed into a corner, provoked by your ignorance, until I become what you painted me.
With your judging eyes, cautious smiles, and nervous actions you made me this way when in the beginning I was just me. Now after all you have done, and all I have done, I’m just trying to be me again.
I just want to be me.
Not knowing, ignorance, is a funny thing.
I use to see my past as either a treasure chest or a time bomb, I was never entirely sure which.
I use to see my past as a catalyst to some grand adventure, but I could only guess at how long it would last.
That's how it goes, everyone only guessing when their adventure ends. Some people know how, but no one knows exactly when.
For me though, there was more, A larger question mark, more X's in my equation. I knew less, and it always had me imagining.
You see I was adopted at birth, I never knew my life givers, my body makers, my me creators. I only knew they existed. That and the scraps of information gathered throughout years of questions like needles picked slowly and painfully while searching through the hay.
She played the flute, just like you.
He looked (to her at least) like Wayne Gretzky.
They were never married.
This was the story but it wasn't my treasure, it wasn't wasn't my bomb.
You see I have no idea what to expect at the end of the story, the place where I would meet them, my DNA combiners.
At the X on this treasure map would there be gold? Would I find a count-down on a bomb amidst my riches? Would there be, among the glittering joy, a hint at when this grand adventure would end?
Did I want to know?
Curiosity has always burned in me like a forest fire raging far beyond my self control.
I wanted to know.
Would I find in the story of my life's creation more family to love, more people who matter?
And if there was a bomb what would it be?
Do I want to know?
Do I want to see an expiry date on my young life?
This knowing is a gamble,
These dice cannot be loaded,
These cards cannot be cheated.
That is my choice, to live out an adventure short or long, and discover their story.
Discover my story.
Ignorance is a funny thing.
their cold song
- the genesis
that is sprinkling
down her heart
This new rain
half her heart
ignorant of what will happen
at the end of their long journey
Who's to say there is an end?
For time is constant
The soulless heroes
empty but unbroken
like a dropping missile
still never knowing
when the end will come
Until they hit the ground
and dent where they strike
Their bodies cease to exist
as they ripple into nothing
Now becoming everything