i called him my city
and so
before our door closed shut,
he asked me one thing
why?;
"it is nothing close to the countryside" i said
"polluted,overpopulated
-filled with wretched souls and dingy structures
dusty air and noisy traffic
and yet;
ill always call it home"

An ounze of gold, found in a river
Assessed as a diamond, swallowed in an ocean
When we met in England.
All of Aisa is painted in platinum
Diamonds in Bankok, too sordid to be seen.
If you had rare sight, extinct 2900 BC
You may see race in the reflection of platisation
And the ability to chip it off is as harmonious as it gets.

If not superiority found you, and alimim forefathered you
To follow your blessed unique connection
Narcissus is not all around you, nor is any other God
What exists as greatness is only you.

In true great form should be existentialism
Instead you think you are untouchable
However ignorant I find it
When my mother bought me here as a piglet
She said I would always stand alone in stoicism.

Mercury is fine if you want to get poisoned
Venus ain't too shabby, but it's a little warm
Earth is overpopulated with **** and fools and noise and
Mars is dead
Jupiter's a constant storm
I adore Saturn and its gorgeous rings
When I rub their ridges, the planet sings
Uranus is too hard to say without cracking a grin
We can race a bobsled on Neptune, our space wolves would win
And we'll ride off to Pluto, declaring it a planet again

Our life puts the "Sh..." back in
"Chicago."

This pulse could race, slow to a dull thud or stop and curdle like the residents of a container of milk who've been left out, and still you will never love me.  

Gobs of waiter phlegm we never detect in our bowls of soup and teapots beg our forgiveness and howl for our affection, and are invisible.

But where is the crime in not loving
when we are not loved?
How could there be a crime in not loving,
when we are loved poorly?
Loved so poorly we cannot afford
to ask ourselves where is the crime,
thus implying innocence.

We put the "mice" back in
"monogamous."

tip-toeing, silent but for mere squeaks, nearly inaudible whispers,
furtive looks, and how we run away, screaming,
or, like mice and Chicagoans all, we freeze.

Aquiver with fear, iced up in the Polar Vortex, hands raised in the policeman's spotlight.

But where is the crime in not loving
when you are not loved, or loved poorly?
Loved so poorly we cannot afford to stand up straight,
We scurry close to building walls,
trying not to be seen or see each other as we curse our fate.

Where is the crime in not loving those whom we hate?

There is no crime, but still, not loving is the heart of all crime.
To feel so deeply unloved we wish to destroy ... you name it.
Blot out, ruin and erase them; our enemies, our families, lovers, and even the world herself.

Jab a knife into her verdant hide and twist until black blood flows.
Gouge out mountaintops seeking iron for our towers.
Remaking her grace to build our graveyard.

These vibrant phosphorescent tombstones, overpopulated pillars of mutual isolation reach up into the clouds.
Announcing to the universe, we trumpet a loneliness as profound as it is absurd and ugly.

When did loneliness in a crowded room become a goal?
Eavesdropping on inspiration; indolence.
Like my art, pockets of brilliance are found
in the wreckage of a market town
with nothing left to sell. All those discordant
ideals of escape and of nothingness.
Still waiting for that ***** of light
which must always break through.

Isolation becomes a component of personality;
a need for space in overpopulated surroundings.
Like my art, pockets of living
congregate in moments torn from the clock face,
in lines of laughter and grief; the five o'clock champagne.
All that revel in maladjustment,
all who laugh at death,
those who had given up on The Lie.

When did my life reduce to words and symbols;
stealing poetry from the street-preacher's leaflets?
Like my art, pockets of reason
form amongst the senselessness of meaning;
how love sits different on every tongue,
how wine hits sweetly only in the need to run.
I have grown tired of running away,
this stalwart need for acceptance.
A want for a panic room,
a need to fall to pieces, undisturbed.

We are surrounded by silliness.
Don't make it obvious, but look over your left shoulder.
Slowly.
There, not feet from your face sits silliness.
Something silly breeding and FedExing its brood
to the best and brightest corners of the earth,
ensuring equal part shadow for every ray of shine.
If you find yourself disbelieving, please turn on your Television set
and flip (at your own risk) through the charmless channels
hovering enigmatically inside Mr. Pixel the “Babysitter.”
“Reality” shows, as if we weren't neck deep in enough reality
for a thousand years worth of open bars,
lamenting on how seriously, serious this soiree of sorts seems to be,
neighbored by celebrity rehab shows,
housewives from all over the country
desperately seeking attention
and augmentation
or attention to their various augmentations,
  divorce courts with quirky judges,
pawn shops in the ghetto with true grit, or is it true **** …
hard to say but they have attitude!
The endless scripts pour into HollyWeird from somewhere far, far away
from anything vaguely resembling reality …
a little place called – the Jersey Shore.
(Wait did he say scripts?) But ...

Ah, hell, it needs no description or justification,
in the land of the Super Silly,
it is the trophy wife of King Silly Bo Billy himself.
And no more time to waste on silliness wrapped neatly in a magic tube.
No, no, silliness is loose, running amok through the streets,
jumping with it's eyes closed on your neighbor Ricky's industrial size trampoline.
(Ricky only lost one of his nine children  last year to “roof to trampoline” diving)
tragic, yet the other eight get a little more tuna casserole on Wednesdays.
Silliness is fearless. It charges helmet-less into oncoming traffic
singing Christmas jingles in Latin,  
mid-February with no regard to Lincoln
or the people he is said to have helped liberate.
It defies logic, gravity, good intention or worst (best) of all – common sense.
You will find it in every church no matter the dogma.
Every court room, police station, financial institution, school, university,
tall building with more glass than steel …
yes, silliness grows there like mold in a dingy basement
overpopulated with sprickets.

Silliness is a disease.

Not to be confused with silly smiles and clowns at the circus.
This is not the silliness of your youth, but the silliness of adults
who have sold their love of the moment
and lust for life for the deadly elixir of conformity.
Conditioned by an unrelenting tidal wave of negative energy
and condemnation, they sign their death certificates long before they die.
Dreams and happiness are replaced with life insurance policies,
401k's and 403b's. In this lies the silliness.
As the masses line up one by one at the top of the cliff
and follow in suit as the jumping begins.
Into the abyss they leap, medical and dental plan in one hand
and neatly mowed lawn in the other.
As the happy children play to their parents dismay,
the merry-go-round spins blissfully around
as daddy slowly drowns.

It was like we were wrenched from Morpheus' grasp and shaken, until our eyes adjusted to the harsh light and our bones stopped their clattering. We make like tea bags and steep in hot water, letting the dregs of the past day settle at our feet.

We drag our feet through the quicksand pavement and trudge through the black-tar roads to work. War is rampant in the world and in people's hearts, we see murders on screen and deceit in the streets, we're observers to the horrors of humanity. All we can do is watch with pained eyes.

Our minds are barraged with arguments and advertisements, ethics have been defenestrated, our worries overpopulated, our patience stretched thin and beaten cacophonously. Our consciousness is beaten down with pessimism, our thoughts devoid of hope.

Our souls weep at the state of things, the martyrs gather in drones at St. Peter's gates. We do good only so people will be good to us, we greet each other with half-smiles, and half-truths. At the end of the day we drag home, our consciences heavy with the burden thrown upon us.

But we meet again, we kiss, we embrace, and we join hands and strip ourselves of these mundane garments, we’re a mass of hands and skin and long sighs and worn-out smiles,

and with tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.

It’s like passing a ******* kidney stone that doesn’t even exist, one that lingers and claws on your minds eye like a cyst upon creation

it’s a focus shift, a pool of indifference, a cry before an inner audience uninterested in the parchment, too jaded to focus and too faded to care

it’s an outside perspective on your own ******* process, “this guy’s mouthing off like he’s got something to say, who is this ******* and why should we care”

it’s when the ratio of happening to happenstance breaks the mold of your monotonous grind, when the words set to define the sounds of a generation fall into a digital pool of overpopulated subterfuge

It’s a deflated message and an idealist’s shift to anarchism,  too ******* at the cynics and too distraught to bother with a response

It’s like starting to *******,  giving yourself blue *****, and not calling yourself back for a second date

I used to be an intern for CD Tech Health Corps
I worked with stipend money
Through Trade Tech Community College
I was trained to learn about health in
The communities of Los Angeles, California
And how it affects us as individuals and as groups

Some things I already knew like how the government
Allows liquor stores, fast food restaurants and loan offices
To be overpopulated in middle class and ghetto communities
To cause: misery, addictions, and poor work ethic
But people got used to it, even though it’s obviously unfair

What I didn’t know is by law there is supposed to be
A limit on how many fast-food and liquor stores
There are on each corner in the community

I learned from watching the Michael Moore video called Sicko
That the pharmaceutical companies own the hospitals
And they pressure the doctors, nurses and other staff employees
To refuse to help some people if they don’t have health insurance
Or they make it difficult for the people who are qualified for it
By making these ridiculous rules and requirements

I saw a grown man cry to God for help, because he was very sick
But the insurance company wouldn’t cover his
Medical procedure… a few years later he died

I learned that: France, Canada, and England run their hospitals
With more efficiency and compassion than the United States:
A visit to the hospital is free; they provide safe transportation home,
Give patients money to catch a cab, and they believe in
Treating their citizens with resect whether they’re rich or poor

C’mon people we live in the most powerful country in the world
And we supposedly have the best health care system on earth
We should back up that reputation, embrace the Obama care
Or come up with a better health care program to help all of our citizens
And we should be more Godly about how we treat the less fortunate

We’re running out of time, wasting it
On *** and money and food and sleep.
And we sometimes forget to be happy.
We forget about important things
Like crowns made out of dandelions and kissing in the rain.
But I think I have figured it out.
I had to retrace my steps, start from the beginning

“When I was a kid I used to cut my wrists”

and if that’s not bad enough

I finally grasped that everyone else did too

And I can’t even remember why I wanted to die

But when YOUR daughter is found dead

pumped full of pills

and hate

How do you tell your wife?

do you even remember to cry?

Light up a cigarette

Pour yourself a drink

you try so hard to feel something so you won’t have to think

about the mortgage, the baby, the unemployment checks that stopped

coming last month.

And you’re bored.

But LIFE is not something that you watch.
I get confused when I hear complaints
about the kid next door
because he’s playing his guitar too loud

But his neighbors
never sit and enjoy the music.

There was a dark Friday
When eighteen thousand people were buried or never found in Japan,
and I heard people safe in America saying,
“well, the earth was really overpopulated.”
While I shed a tear for every single soul that would never get to go home again.
And it still didn’t feel like enough.

I’m still trying to figure it out but I know that
We’re just complex connections
of molecules and nerve endings
and blood cells, protons, neutrons.
And we’re NOT going to live forever.

And it’s not our fault that we can’t understand that there is no time to be worried

There is only feeling.
Scared feelings and blue feelings and numb feelings
and the blending of these things,
FEElings

finally create this thing we call love
and no, we don’t understand it.
all we know are
*** and money and food and sleep
and sometimes love gets lost in the days
and no, we don’t always remember that it’s there


I am forced to watch Hate being passed around the circle like a bottle of cheap wine
and everyone takes a sip, because it’s what you do.

And that’s when I plug my ears

contemplating why God didn’t give us instruction manuals

but I’ll try my best to figure it out

I’ve got a thirst for a life that I can’t live
And i’m stuck in my head again
I guess it’ll all have only ever been daydreams
And when they find my body
They’ll say reality tore her apart at the seams
Her hands were too small
To catch all the rain that fell
So she drowned in a river
Of empty pain
I didn’t know it was possible
To feel empty
And to hurt
At once
My limbs sting
With everything
I never was
With never having been enough
And you’ll say
Baby (maybe)
How could you do this?
And I’ll whisper
From my ***** grave
I loved you just the same
I love you just the same
Sometimes
Life
Is just too much
Were getting overpopulated you know
Too many of us here
It’s a big planet you know
Give it a hundred years maybe
And we’ll all be gone
You can forget about great-grandchildren
I’m doing us a favor you know
One less person on the planet
I don’t want to live insignificantly
I had big things planned
I was going to do everything
And more
I don’t know how I ever believed this when I have trouble walking out the door
Or taking a crowded bus
Or looking someone in the eye
I’m doing us a favor you know
I only ever caused you pain
And dismay
And you only ever pushed me away.

i saw dark gods walking the earth
tall strong broken women and men
with hearts connected and on fire
i saw children playing in peace
and growing in love
i smelled health and abundance
in the winds of change

what should we do when
doing is outdated?
we shall lie upon a mountain
and call out to the heavens
and drink nectar from only
the juiciest of fruits and
realize our Truth and sameness

we made music so we could remember
our true selves we wrote
poems and moved our bodies
to rhythms no one ever knew
i saw our lands overflowing with
the milk we extracted and
pasteurized and bottled
and delivered but never drank
being intolerant of the lacking
flavor in dry white toast

we are the very lands we
couldn’t bury our ancestors in
we couldn’t let anyone
take the seeds they’d sewn
the ancient ones
the ones who planted the seeds
for us seeds that overpopulated
an unsuspecting nation
on the brink of collapse

Theres something
I would like to ask

Sitting in this coffee shop
Watching as time laps

In this country that we live
A part of a mass

Yet divided
Amongst social class

I imagine now a cow
Eating green grass

And kids
Being sent to class

Learning
Green is what lasts

As we eat
We raise a glass

While somewhere
A cow eats green grass

Overpopulated and overgrown
Do the farmers farm too fast?

Evergreen soldiers at the whim of Alraus
I've had a recurrent dream of the enlisted warriors
abandoning their post , occupying the fertile grassland
in a chess type move to gain control
Free of shade , of root-bound thirst , of choking
moss gathering unchallenged in overpopulated arbors
A celebration courtesy of the Robin Knights , the Chickadee troubadours ,
the Cardinal gentlemen at the Court of Queen Chestnut
Slash , sugar , loblolly and white oak
Persimmon , hickory , honey locust and dogwood
The myrrh of gardenia , magnolia , honeysuckle and tea rose
Earthen red clay , white sand , black loam and kaolin
Grasshopper cellist , cricket flautist , a chuckling crow with a
Spanish guitar
The toad trombones , a bluebird violin solo , a mockingbird reads
a touching poem that even sways the worker ants into a brief pause
The Old Forest becomes pasture and the grassland young woodland
The dove cue the night , the katydids croon to the moon ,
the bullfrogs 'pooka-dooka' and the lovers swoon* ...

In an overpopulated world, vanity is necessary for survival. The need of the self, above all else, becomes a main factor in the daily pursuit of happiness. Anyone who’s made a difference was extremely aware of themselves, and that was the difference. Humankind is raised to do so, or at least the strongest among it are.



The depression came and went like strong tides. It seemed to be controlled by some satellite, indeed, some forlorn object which she could neither control nor pinpoint. Still, the presence was always there, surging predictably in what she considered routine cycles. “Is my entire life to be lived like this?” She looked for meaning in it. She looked for meaning in the root of it. The cause was disappointing.



She grew up to be a tall American stunner. She didn’t have to try to be slender and she didn’t have to try to be pretty—she merely was. This realization didn’t occur until she was eleven years old, though, and she went through childhood being gawky, wishing she was privileged and had male parts. As a younger girl, she noticed the gender differences among her peers in the ways they interacted. In elementary school, during recess, it was assumed that the boys would dominate the basketball courts and other “balled” sports and the girls stuck with jump ropes, hopscotch and jungle gyms. This carried on outside of school also.



The boys of the neighborhood would play games outside, showing off their competition, athleticism and strength, and she too wanted to play. She was occasionally allowed to partake in such activities of privilege, and her cousin who was similar in age lived across the street. “It’s okay, she can play with us,” he’d vouch for her, but if the majority ruled her out, she had to leave. Depending on who was present, the situation played out differently. “She’s a girl!” was the general excuse to not include her.



One day, however, the neighborhood boys did allow her to play a game with them. This game involved throwing and catching a ball, but whoever had the ball was targeted and sought after to be “smeared”. She felt proud that the boys finally decided to include her, although she didn’t question why they didn’t at first—the acceptance itself was enough for her. She stood on the field eagerly, reaching out her arms when she saw the ball fly in her direction and calling out to have the ball passed to her. They wouldn’t.



She was an obstacle, something to avoid running into another body that served no use to the boys, and therefore she was ignored. She was slighted by this, but retained her optimism and ran around in proximity, pretending to be involved. After several minutes of this, one boy, who was about to be smeared and had no other options of passing, tossed the ball to her. Thrilled, she caught it and ran. She was chased by the boys because she had the object they wanted, but once she gave it away, they immediately lost interest and chased whoever had it. That was the way the game was played.



The ball was passed to her twice again after the first time, before a particularly aggressive boy, who she recognized as one of the boys not wanting her to play, tripped her. She did not possess the ball, but he targeted her for some reason which she did not know. She stood up and resumed playing, but his aggressively towards her resumed, and he tripped her again. This time the other boys noticed. He laughed audibly and the other boys stared. Her humiliation caused her to shed tears, and the humiliation was further extended by this weakness. The drive of anger was stronger, however, and something inside her desperately and obsessively stirred.

She rose, and the act of standing up charged her wildly, so much that the drive of attacking him seemed like something she couldn’t suppress. She ran over to him and tackled him. She leapt towards him and forced him on the ground, and he pulled her shirt and tried to pin her down. She kept her legs strong and loose, maneuvering her body on top of his in a straddle he couldn’t escape. She looked down at his wretched face of what she viewed as hatred and she punched it again and again, cocking her right fist back and giving relentless blows as she could deliver them. He thrusted his hips up, knocking her off balance and slung his arm across, slapping her face and knocking her over.



They aggressively rolled around on the ground, and the other boys stared in amazement at the bizarre display. She felt the need to crush him, to hurt him, to show him pain he wouldn’t expect from her. She was awakened and aroused, strong and determined, and the rush of fighting gave her strength to use her body in ways she never before imagined. She regained her position on top of him, locking her legs against his side and began repeatedly scratching his face until she felt his skin cells collecting under her nails. The power she felt encouraged her to scratch harder, and his squirming body and scrunched face crying out in discomfort began to grow red. Lines of blood scattered across his face in vertical and diagonal directions, and her relentless lust for making him pay hampered her ability to measure the price paid.



A neighbor’s door opened, and before she could see who might see her, she rose up and ran away. The boys who stood staring rushed to the boy on the ground with the scratched face, ignoring her flee. She ran across to her house before anyone could notice. She never looked back, and when she got home, she hid under her bed for hours. During these hours, she felt the fear of having challenged conventions, and having lost control as a result. The combination made her feel in control for the first time in her six years of existence. Eventually her mother came into her room and asked what she was doing. “Nothing,” she sheepishly responded. She crawled out and left the room. Her mother’s initial concern subsided, as she knew her daughter was a queer girl.

there he was
arriving on main street
carrying a backpack
and a suitcase

both stuffed with
papers

“WELCOME TO THE TOWN
OF FORGOTTEN POETS.”
said the shadows that
watched from the
windows
of nearby buildings

He didn’t like the
sound of their
voices

but he sighed
and dragged his
tired feet along

they were almost as
tired as his soul
and just as hurt

He'll have to live on the
streets,
for the town
was overpopulated

. One scar from someone who was supposed to be the one to hold me up through my life. No instead she abandoned me, left me like some trash on the side of a road.

All though I can't blame her I mean she would have to look at me the rest of her life, I’m a daily reminder of what happened to her and she hates me for that.

I cant help it though, but you know what aren't your parents suppose to love you unconditionally?

Scar number two…. Oh and don’t forget about being ***** by someone you trusted with your life, the person you are suppose to go to in times of need.

You're expected to **** it up and continue on in life as if nothing ever happened. Why is that? Society society society its always labeled people as this or that.

If you were beat up then its your fault you ****** someone off, being bullied….

My personal favorite being ***** is your fault “what were you wearing”, “were you asking for it”, “what were you doing”???????

I mean since you were wearing shorts you wanted it to happen. No, the word means no how about people listen to what the girls saying not what shes wearing.

Shorts or a dress doesn't give you automatic permission to do whatever you want, if her mouth is saying no then the answer is no.

You can't just buy peoples love, trafficking makes me sick those are people nobodys property.

This is an overpopulated planet, selfish people killing and hurting one another. How do you cope with it?

i used to think this corner of your heart would be overpopulated,
but i was so wrong;
i now know this corner of your heart is empty,
all except for me;
i have begun to realize how alone i really am now,
with only this small piece of you left;
i've been thinking of what i wouldn't give to get more,
because it'd take to long to think of what i would;
Dearest, im lonely, and cold, and so very tired in this little corner of yours.
please come back. ~cp

A little poem stirs me awake
in the morning, before the alarm goes off.
It follows me around as I brush my teeth -
dashing left and then right, pecking
continuously at my unkempt scalp

In the afternoon it is the shadow
that sweeps the dusty street behind me,
imitating my short heavy steps
pretending to be on its own journey

I nudge it gently away as I enter the office
but it is the words floating from my boss' mouth,
the hot tea warming my assistant's cup
the glass windows as they swing back and forth,
and the tiny drops of water that magically
turn to air as soon as the cleaner's mop leaves the floor

In the evening when I sit to read a book
it ghosts ahead of my eyes,
stooping after every few words
to put the next into a plastic bin,
transforming the page
into a crossword puzzle

Until finally I throw up my arms
shuffle to the overpopulated table
and begin to unravel the message
sent from the neural galaxy
that was awake when the rest of me died

Soaking my eyes up on your sweat
Choking my lungs out on regret
Making the world revolve again
Just to show him I'm still not dead.

Weigh you way through the mirror
Be able to look at yourself fully
From behind.
Negotiate with your mind
To prove that your not that blind.

After all, what do we seek?
When shall is shan't we can not speak
With legs queerly crossed
Left to weep
They made us smell our own two feet.

You, me and underestimated overpopulated us,
clenched in the grasp we willingly created.

I come from a moldy house
With human tall grass,
I grew up with water balloon fights, Saturday morning cartoons,
And the child like imagination I still carry.

Happiness, sunshine, and rainbows were all I ever was.
Things like gangs, ****, and even death
Were all unknown to a child’s mind.

I come from the lazes, the loud mouths,
The goof-offs, the gammers,
The writers, the poets, and the crazies.

From sunshine to isolation,
Sandy beaches to hard concrete
A lone fixed house to an overpopulated town house.
Struggling daily just to put food on the table.
Keeping up the grades just to get to that end of the bridge we call high school.
Bearing false happiness just to get through life

I come from the breaking sweat father breaks every day.
I am from the goals and dreams my parents have accomplished

I come from the center of the universe
  Growing wings and flying down to the Earth below,
Landing on the majestic, blue calm waters.
Like that lone forbidden fruit gently falling off the sacred tall

From sea to shining sea,
The land of the free.
It's America, so beautiful,
So so wonderful.
Where mothers and fathers divorce over petty thing,
Where the gang life is a supported thing.
The kids are over stressed with the standardized tests,
As if cyber and real life bullying doesn't exist.
Where tales of heroes get trampled by movie stars,
Where beauty for women leave them to starve.
Where the round plump adults use fad diets,
A congress fillled with big fat liars.
Education is stressed but no jobs available,
Where real political and social issues are swept under the table.
Scandals get shame,
Pornstars bask in fame.
Where love only matters if it's between a man and woman,
Where no one cares about no one.
So many measly votes don't even count,
Where rumors get around.
Kids want to be gangsters and pimps,
They cuss and go about unpunished.
Where corrupt corporations rules us all,
We watch as poor families fall.
Everybody is homeless,
Everybody is jobless.
We're drowning in debt caused by our own selves,
Don't forget the government's debt as well.
Where women sexually assault and abuse just the same as any man,
Where PTSD sufferers hide as much as they can.
Where people are pill poppers from all the chaos and insanity,
Where people suffer with their own vanity.
Where writers and artists die slowly from the culture,
Where everybody seems to be starved vultures.
You're a citizen for sure so long as you're an Anglo man,
Senior citizens no longer counts as human.
Where people don't love anymore,
Where there are no committed relationships anymore.
Where friends stab each other in the back,
Where everybody has their own plans.
Where people can sleep around with everybody,
It's one big giant ****.
Where everyone comes from a broken home,
Where everyone is glued to their phones.
Where Tattooed people aren't even real people,
Don't even get me started on transvestite and homosexuals.
Where people in churches don't even follow their religion,
Sometimes they are the ones who commit the most sin.
Where everyone who's different and walks away from the majority,
They are seen as freaks.
Oh America, so beautiful and sweet,
Done from your polluted oceans to your ***** streets.
Where your trees die and become furniture or get wasted,
Where everywhere is overpopulated.
Your roads always full of cars full of anger,
Your air is so polluted everywhere.
Your constitution is changed so many times,
Where your laws never changed completely to suit the times.
Your female citizens ******' are controlled by old ideals and white corrupted men,
Who are over voted and over represented.
You're swimming in debt in the trillions worth,
There's so much pollution in the earth.
Oh America you are taunted and seen as fools around the world,
Yet you stay together dear sweet girl.
Oh America let's not forget the good in you,
Don't be so blue.
You have people who love you,
People who would fight for you.
You proved the world wrong in so many scenarios back then,
You've been several friends.
We forget that you were created off the sweat and tears of our men and women.
We have changed so much,
We have learned so much.
We have seen great people that stood for change,
Despite your young age.
We were immigrants when we came,
And we did many bad things to be here today.
But the past is the past,
We must change at last.
It's time for us to stop being the idiots and prove everyone wrong,
For now it's time for us to get along.
Sweet America, oh my sweet,
Let's help you remember why we're free.

Will you hold me when I'm too sad to move?

Buy me watermelon and watch me eat it with chopsticks.

Show me that I'm not alone in a world that's overpopulated.

Observe how I pick leaves from trees while I walk.

Could you help me understand myself because I'm uneasy about it.

Sit by me.

No, go away.

I need to be alone.

Wait, I need someone.

Notice my frown when I try to dissect the thought I just had.

I'm confused.

Stare at my feet as I carefully place them over each crack.

Sidewalks are stupid.

Consider that I might not feel anything.

Consider that I might be overwhelmed.

I'm confident.

I'm worthless.

I'm scared of dying.

I want to die.

I'll say I'm listening.

Let me say thank you
Thank you to all the cold faces
  without a home to sleep in
To all the stray cats wandering dark alleys
  empty of everything but our trash
Thank you  to a world that would rather
  be blind than compassionate
Thank you to all the intelligent, god fearing
  men who refuse to give up on war
To all our children who will die out in the
  battlefield just to keep grave diggers
    and empty promises in business
Thank you to a world that sees more value
  in profits than in lives
After all the earth is overpopulated and the
  rich could never be too rich
Thank you for the illusion of freedom
Thank you for hiding slavery in plain sight
Thank you for throwing out more than
  enough food to feed the hungry
Thank you for all the empty houses and
  overcrowded shelters
Thank you for this world full of ****...

Thank you...

Because out there somewhere, hiding in all
the cracks and crevices of all your filth
Beauty is hiding and it is not alone
Hope is planting its seeds and they are all
  trying to save you  children
And teach them a better way to live.
To take the blinders off their heads and let
  them see you for the monster you truly
     are
A world gone mad with greed, a world that
  has  replaced its hearts blood with cold
     steel and bank notes
Thank you to a world that is running out of
  time while perpetuating the lie that
     everything will be fine
Thank you to the end we cannot know
Will there be money in the bank with no
   one to spend it
Or will there be poor people with beautiful
  hearts and more than enough love to
     share

Justice.
I see it everywhere.
I make the changes necessary,
To keep everything fair.

But some people,
They refuse to accept, 
That things can change.
"Since they didn't in the past, so they won't now."

I have my voice.
And you know I'll shout.
I'll scream the words of peace,
Speak up or you will drown!

Can't handle injustice,
In any sense at all.
Am I the only one conscious?
I see it after all.

My mind is God,
And that is where heaven lies.
Overpopulated, polluted,
The ADD keeps it disguised.

There the judges judge.
And make my thoughts carry on.
Where they hum the notes.
Of this Justice song.

I have my voice.
And you know I'll shout.
I'll scream the words of peace,
Speak up or you will drown!

Life is overpopulated with actions.
Misconceptions.
Misunderstandings.
And then miss the real point all together.
Always stepping over each others sentences.
To claim right to a land.
That no one wanted in the first place.
Distasteful means.
To a bittersweet ending.
The victor go the spoils.
Only it is life that spoils.
For if there can only be one to stand at the top.
Then at what point.
Did aiming for such heights.
Define such arbitrary scenery.
How strange to ponder.
Just when exactly did the surroundings grow so.
Desolate.
For there is only blackness below now.
A steep ascention to this final decision.
Has left only sanity to fall.
But One can stall no further.
As the distance has come forth.
And plummet I shall.
Whichever way it may be.

I had some very sick, sad dreams about you.
Not the ones you forget in the morning,
upon the smell of honey and a clean earth after rain.
The ones that leave you wounded and drenched
in your own doubt, frustration, bitter remorse.
I blame you for littering seedlings in our path,
leaving my world overpopulated
and washed out with a malicious, endless green.
I had some very sick, sad dreams about you.

Last night I chanted your name into darkened
bathroom glass.
3 times, 9 times, 12.

Hearing nothing, I pressed heart and hands into the drywall,
scraped across rough timber studs
broken off nailheads
felt plaster cake across the backside of my eyelids
as the tops of feet slid over the faucet spigot.

In this manner it is laid visible that words only measure their
weight in context of observable actions.
How much skin are three words worth?
When does lack of sleep meet a limit when laid parallel to “best friend”
, and the connotations seeming safest?
What combination of variables finally bludgeons a heart
until it caves from overpopulated one way streets?

During showers, I understand that I don’t know how to be a friend.
I am an attic where things are stored. If you look
closely her face will appear in my windows,
safe amongst the cardboard and baby photos.

I woke up after midnight on three separate occasions
not from sleep. A sort
of dreaming. Your voice pulled taut against my pier.
So I build fires to shine your way back ashore.

Where we linger, smitten and unhurried.