You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The

The intermittent, distant rumbling in the skies was suggestive of chronic flatulence. The sun struggled in futility to shine – like a crying child who had been forced to smile. Lightning flashed in quick successions, momentarily throwing brilliant streaks of white light across the room. The angry growl of thunder that followed was enough to send a troop of Howler monkeys scampering for safety.

The lights flickered as though unable to make up their minds to stay or not to. But apparently, the wind had zero tolerance for such petty indecisiveness. And like an enraged, stimulated, demented animal, it gusted through the windows and doors, hauling loose papers, light bulbs in every direction, shattering the bulbs to smithereens, as if to punish them for being so fickle. The lights died.

Thick black blankets eerily stretched across the skies with gusto, menacingly extinguishing whatever was left of the sun’s brilliance. More rumbles and flashes followed in royal herald of the impending storm. And in no time, slick sheets of rain torrentially came pouring down, cascading the roofs to form puddles almost as soon as they hit the ground.

​I looked in horror, fervently praying that whoever God had appointed to build the ark in our time had not diverted the funds. I was trapped in the office, and I knew exactly what this meant…flood, scarcity of buses, hiked transport fares, heavy taffic and very likely, at least one month of blackout.
It would be another three hours of steady downpour before the rain eventually stopped, as gracefully as it had been ushered in.
I picked up my bag, rolled up my trousers in earnest anticipation of the inevitable flood, and made my way home.

​To my utter bewilderment, there were no floods! The lights from the street lamps cast a soft golden glow on the slick roads, seemingly creating mirages of pools of water from afar off. But they were mere illusions. The gurgling sound coming from the underground drainage was proof of where all the water had gone. It was a strange sight. Like some alien cyborg from space had been fiddling with a time machine that had accidentally propelled us twenty years into the future.

My new world was a three-fold utopian dream. So surreal!
I could see beautiful, high-rise, state of the art edifices with mind-blowing architectural designs that blatantly seemed to defy the laws of gravity. I could see world-class hospitals that admitted ailing dignitaries from around the world and top-notch schools that offered scholarships to deserving indigenous and international students.
Sure enough, this was Nigeria! The Nigeria we all dreamed of.

And there was light…electricity! - In myriad of colours that seemed to have been dispersed from several colossal disco ***** via *“wireless fidelity” technology. I strained to hear the noise from generators, but I was disappointed. I couldn’t even hear the all too familiar cacophony of horns blaring, conductors shouting, loud discordant music, rattling vehicle engines etc. It was like everyone and everything had taken a crash course on orderliness.

I saw a vibrant transportation system that included high speed railway lines, paved road networks that looked like a child’s doodles, first-class air strips and efficient sea transportation.
I saw a working government - one that had provided the critical infrastructure for her people.

I saw a nation with a large industrialized economy, where the dividends of democracy had been delivered to the people by their government. One consciously founded on equity and honesty of purpose, and courageously sustained by unfaltering faithfulness and unwavering patriotism.      
A nation whose economic boost did not come solely from crude oil exploration and production, but also from crude oil refining, agriculture, manufacturing, infrastructure, food, services, tourism, automobiles, transportation, education etc.
A nation that thronged with international investors from all walks of life, who were not in the least afraid to invest in her.

And then, I saw her people. A people proud of their citizenship.
A people proud to be called NIGERIANS.
A people who were not given to religious, political, or tribal bigotry.
A people who individually and collectively, gallantly bore the torch of the vision of their heroes past.
A people who earnestly and persistently worked to see only goods “Made in Nigeria” sold in their markets.

Where there was once despair, I saw hope. Where there was once fear, i saw security. Where there was once disgruntlement, I saw satisfaction. Where there was once poverty, I saw wealth opportunities and where there was unemployment, I saw jobs. Death had given way to life and life to hope.

I started, as I felt something cold and wet trickle down my forehead. It was droplets of rain from a leak in the roof just above my head. I was still in my office, I never left. The rain had lulled me to sleep. Even more sadly, I realized it had all been a dream.
Slowly and regretfully, I packed my things and left for home. It was pitch black outside as I carefully waded through the polluted waters, jauntily holding my bag, more because I was afraid to lose it in the flood than in a hopeless bid to dignify the situation.

Two hours later, I crawled into bed. I did not have to turn the lights off…the electric poles had gone for a swim. A very long one.


© ONUGHA EBELE VICTORIA

Sometimes we wish
We were Americans

We would have aced the Spelling B's
Been athletes on scholarships
Or won beauty pageants

Our institutions would compete
And we would win prizes
For accomplishments

If we were Americans
We would thrive with competition

We would live the American Dream
And be rich and famous
I just know it

Sometimes we just wish
Our Scandinavian system favoured people with our talents
Our lack of compromise
More

Before I moved to New Mexico
I never thought that I deserved to be in college
Because In California I got bad grades, skipped classes,
Didn’t care about my life and played the victim in high school
Now I’m pursing an Associates and a Bachelor’s Degree
In Liberal art, education and creative writing

I wasn’t sure if I had what it takes to lean on God’s faith
To complete my classes and do well
In that secondary education knowledge
I but I passed my summer with a B+

In my life I’m known to be late for everything I attend
Yeah I was always on that black people time
Waking up at 4:00 am to get ready, eat
And also catch the bus to a summer class
That starts at 8:30am and ends 12:50pm
Every Friday for 3 months was difficult
But I learned to make sacrifices and
I never missed a day of class

I had a bad habit of being a procrastinating excuse maker
But I was tired of wasting time,
I hated proving people right about me
I was tired of my family treating me
Like I was a burden on them
And having haters trying to destroy my spirit
So I could do what they want me to do
So I pushed passed the negativity and I never fell behind

I’d never had a scholarship before
But my first year in Central New Mexico Community College
I received 2 scholarships and I’m going for another one

My mentor used to tell repeatedly
That anything in life that’s worthwhile takes hard work
So try, when it doesn’t work try again and
When you feel like giving up, try even harder
Because a man has no excuses, rich or poor

Now I know 100% that anything is possible with God
And a lot of effort on my part
So I won’t ever quit, I’ll stay motivated and hungry till I have nothing left
Because I’d rather die trying my best than live with regrets.

By Shannon Pollard
©Summer 2012

On the First day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
A transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the second day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
Two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the third day of Xmas, my Dep Rep gave to me
No women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the fourth day of Xmas, my Dep Rep gave to me,
Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the fifth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
Five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the sixth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports team, two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the seventh day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the eighth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Eight cheater’s trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men!  Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the ninth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
nine pharma lobbyists,  eight cheaters’ trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties,  no women’s sports teams, two all gender locker rooms, and a transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the 10th day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters’ trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the 11th day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
11 lost scholarships, 10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters' trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women's sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skiv-vies!
On the 12th day of Xmas my Dem Rep gave to me,
12 preferred pronouns, 11 lost scholarships, 10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters' trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant ment! Four phalloplasties, no women's sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skiv-vies!

SO you decided to read my rant.
So why am I writing a rant?
Because I'm an angsty teenager, but my life is good so I'll write a semi-anonymous poem and maybe if someone reads it I'll think I matter or that I'm not that alone.
The funny thing is, I rarely read the poetry of others, but I expect others to read mine.
I have an entire book that few will read and yet I expect to get somewhere in life.
But I have food and good grades and loving friends and a girlfriend, so my life is good.
My life is good, but good leaves no room for the future.
I am afraid that I can't go on like this and one day it will all crash down on me.  
I don't want to be a drama queen, but I don't want to hole myself up.
I feel these extremes and try to even them out.
I don't want to be like my mother.
My mother is in my ear complaining about all that I do and though I'm afraid that those I love will leave me, I'm afraid she never will.
She's moving with me to the state in which the college that she so optimistically says will accept me is situated.
I'm afraid I'll never have a healthy relationship or know how to function.
I'm afraid of having no family, but I don't know how a good family works.
She is so much of me I don't know which of our feelings I feel.
I don't know what of me is real.
I try to stay down to earth but she sends me reeling and yet brings me down to where I belong.
I'm an all or nothing girl, but that's a bad habit I learned from my mother who screams for milk at mild spice and cries hysterically over people she claims to hate.
I try to be my own person, but as an only child, my companion has always been my own mind which means I became too much of the world around me, and thus not enough of an original person.
I feel that even the one thing I've always been praised for (my writing, and thus my mind,) has only been praised to fill the awkward silences after an unimportant person tries too hard.
I debated about not writing this because I was afraid that I write too often and that it amounts to too little.  
I always use that adjective about myself: "too."  I've said before though that in my case it should be said as "tew" as in "too much of that which is ew" and then I think of all that I am not, but rather, "nawt" (not enough of that which makes people say "aw")
I'm an all or nothing girl but I try to live in the middle grounds.  
I like something or I don't but I don't obsess.
I know where I want to be in life and will fight tooth and nail to get there, but I fear I may end my life if I am unable.
The funny thing is I don't seek fame, or riches, I just want something that wouldn't be so **** out of reach if I wasn't who I am.
I just want to get my phd in veterinary medicine and marry a wonderful girl and live without too many bills piling up.
But I still have trouble spelling veterinary even though I'm almost a straight A student but almost straight A isn't good enough to pay for my education.
Because I'm too white, not quite poor enough, not quite skilled enough, not noticeable enough.  
I'm just close enough to the norm that people expect I fit in somewhere so they leave me all behind, leaving me with nowhere to fit in.
They all think someone else will help me until no one does.
So I search for the people whom I can make feel special and I throw myself at them praying to feel like I belong, but it never quite feels real.
I want to crack into people and find whats real about them, show them all of my all too real flaws, but inside their shells are likable things, and I am like tamarind: too sweet, in need of salt and spice, and strange to harvest for flesh.  I could be useful, but there's always something not quite right.
I know everything I do is not quite right and sooner or later someone will pull the plug.  
And leave me.
And I'll be left alone, writing or reading or crying or sleeping.
I wanted to record my voice saying this, but I knew that people would be even less likely to notice my words then.  
I'm not the person whose writing wins awards, I'm not the plucky student whose hard work earns scholarships.
I fall between the cracks because I'm too good to deserve pity and not good enough to deserve praise.
I tried to draw to spare you all from this stupid rant but though I liked the shape of a few lines, they meant nothing.
Maybe that's my problem, that I seek meaning in everything.
That I can't make anything of meaning.
I don't know why anyone bothers with me.
I feel like they're lying to me.
I'm nobody.
I'm an all or nothing girl, but I'm either too much or not enough and that means I'm in between.
I am the or in either or, in yes or no, in succeed or fail.  
I would be happy with that if it meant that I could just get the few things I want in life, but even that is too much to ask for someone who's not eloquent enough, not charismatic enough, not good enough to get there.
I know this feeling won't stay, because I'll bounce back to the opposite extreme of loving life.
I'm an all or nothing girl and even though I know in a lot of ways I have it all, right now, I'm feeling nothing.
And I'm afraid these feelings won't leave me.

A poem a day takes the pain away.
"It could always be worse"
That's what they all would say.

If it could always be worse,
Then why don't your words make it better?
Don't diminish what I'm feeling,
Simply bc someone's circumstances were harder.

A town was destroyed,
Lives stripped away.
My family and home still in tact,
But I too felt the wrath of that 22nd May.

The ****** and the bruised,
Don't forget the whaling sirens,
Continually speeding by for the first 48 hours.

Anything to help,
Water to the families
Prayers for the refugees.

Thank goodness it wasn't destroyed,
That football field.
What else would have sufficed?
To house the bodies,
In number, nearly 165.

Prayer and tears cannot rectify,
The pain and the hurt evident in mine eye.

Grasp hold of
The friends you were able to get ahold of.

Proud of this town I call home,
Banded together.
But my school, a whole other story on it's own,

I lived, breathed, what was just a building.
My faith in a structure,
Security and normality soon ripped from feelings.

The boxcar children?
The boxed mall children.
Diploma in a shopping bag,
Earned through PowerPoint presentations and 9GAG.

Thank goodness for glassed in boxes,
How else would I have been able to think?
Those tanks have awesome acoustics,
And hey couples can use them for **** tricks.

Build a fort of cardboard,
Film a music video that'll win zero awards!

Throw ping pong ***** over the walls,
Practice ACT while you hear the drama kids doing bird calls.

Can't use photoshop?
There's a class for that.
"Teacher" can't help with trig?
Here's an F for that.

Grief counselors available 24/7.
Doors are also always open,
So go get some lunch at the 7/11.

Took advantage of naïveté,
Skipped school to deal with that 22nd May.

But hey! Prom was still awesome,
And the seniors got scholarships,
So it's alright that my gpa was messed with.
Heck, I was a junior, easily forgotten.

Off to bigger, better things!
Forget the past,
Endure the change.

Hello MSSU or Crowder.
Community college "fo dayz"

This is how we deal with windstorms, in the little old land of Jomo.
The town banded together, but school....
It's more broken than ever.

They turn ya loose and you'll move on,
Cuz for a few years ya had a laptop,
And hey that's enough to build your future upon!

Sine waves, perpetual motion
Centripetal force, density of the ocean
Associates, Bachelors
Student Ambassadors
Register, register, schedules, grades
Grants and scholarships, tuition is paid
No snooze button, turn off the alarm
Losing some sleep.  It's ok, though, no harm
Friendly teachers and **** instructors
Digital logic and semiconductors
Homework, classwork, essays, papers
Last minute class of procrastinators
Get up, get blazed.  'Fore school, 'nutha blunt
High while accepting student of the month
Higher than you, and my grades, too, are higher
How smart would I be if I put out the fire?
Gen. Ed., English, Mathematics, Psychology
Now on to the good stuff, much richer chronology
Top of my class, highest grade in the program
In just a few years, I'll have money in BOTH hands
This hand-to-mouth **** ain't for me
I'm tired of living week-to-week
Broke, tired, and hungry day after day
But when payday comes, it'll be here to stay
You don't have to do as I do
But my feet are too small to fill these big shoes
If you think I can't fill them, then surely you're trippin'
But do whatcha do, cause my burgers need flippin'

In outer space, there are 10 particular stars that are the brightest. They are part of important constellations that people search for their whole life by name. The brightest star is Sirius, because of its magnitude.
You are my Sirius.
I searched and searched and searched millions of constellations, looking for the brightest star and I found you.
I am like the regular stars of the universe which do not contain such a spectacular magnitude and would never be able to reach the superiority of Sirius.
You Sirius, are the kind of boy someone would write a book or produce a movie about, because you are literally a star.
At least ten girls in school admire you because of your magnitude and your being, and maybe they sit there and write about you too.
I've been searching for you my whole life and here you are in front of me, for at least two hours of a day.
I don't know what to do now that you're so close and I don't want to ***** up. I wish my intelligence could be enough for you, but Sirius, you are the brightest of them all, and there are brighter stars out there that admire you.
there are less skinny,less lankier stars that stare at you
there are more brilliant, smarter stars that yearn for you
there are stars that don't laugh like an asthmatic,
there are stars that have themselves in order and know where they are going and what scholarships they will receive because of their brilliance.
man, i may be the most annoying, stick skinny, unintelligent, asthmatic star out there, but at least i perceive you as my Sirius. **no other star sees you brighter than how blindingly bright i see you.

The next time you want to ban
brown skin from your white land ,
consider the crimson floods spilt
on burnt clay from red flesh.

You want brownfolk in this country
like we wanted pox in our quilts.
As our history is ripped to tattered patches
and replaced by a white silken sheet. 

But this is the land of the free
and this is the home of the brave.
And when I say brave
I don't mean that caricature
drawn on the front of a baseball jersey,
with buck teeth,
a bird feather
and  a tomahawk motion.

I mean the brave souls
that took a last stand
against the Custers
and the Mayflowers
and colonial white powers.
I mean the Sitting Bulls and Geronimos
who’s histories are rewritten
in Old Spaghetti Westerns.
Where John Wayne is always the hero,
and our people aren’t even cast
to play our own roles. 

Hollywood won't stoop to blackface
but red face is PC. 
Perfect Aryan models advertise American Apparel,
one authentic-looking headdress
and fifty-dollar native design
crop top tank tops
are like spoils to the victor.
It's enough to make one sick.

This is America,
where they steal your culture
and sell it back to you
at ten times the price.
Those faux hide moccasins,
**** on old tradition,
turn centuries old struggle
into a fashion faux-pas.  

I once had a conversation with a girl
whose skin was made of privilege.
She said, ”I thought Native Americans
wanted to live on reservations..?”
Let that resonate. Repeat.
as if we were getting a room
at the Four Seasons.

It was called the trail of tears
not the trail of whimsical wonder.
But in this white washed world
invasion is called settling
genocide is industry
and poverty is tax-free.

Our heritage is endangered,
our veins are *****-diluted
but at least we have those scholarships
which, I suppose, we’ll use
to cram our brains
with a history
that never belonged to us.

Perhaps, all of those centuries ago,
we should have thought to build a wall,
you know, to keep the immigrants out.
We could have stood at the border
with picket signs of self-deluded righteousness
lungs filled with hate
for a different colored human
shouting, "Go home, Alien,
your dreams are illegal here!"

I lost the pounds.
I dyed my hair blonde.
I joined the volleyball team.
I stopped wasting my time at church.
I gave away my virginity to the first guy who asked for it.
I dropped all of my AP classes.
I created a Facebook account.
I started wearing different clothes.
I swapped out my lame friends for a new set of popular and pretty friends.

Do I feel better?
Of course I do!
Well...
Sort of...
I mean,
Yeah, I lost my college scholarships.
Yeah, I hate my new friends.
Yeah, I'm not going to graduate on time.
Yeah, I'm stuck with a kid that I'm not ready for.
Yeah, I have to live on the streets.
Yeah, I hate my job.
Yeah, I've lost everything that's dear to me,

But...

I should be happy, right?
People said that I needed to change,
So that's what I did.
I was sick of hearing that I could be better...
Sick of hearing that I was too innocent for life.
So,
I took matters into my own hands.

I gave in.

Women like
the skyscraper
He's cultured
so dapper
And on paper how
we perceive things
it goes along
way too print

His hands showing
nakedly walks of hints
He's up to stunts
Whose the one to blame
What credibility made
you want an
old flame
Or to write like you
never danced
  nakedly before

Feeling lost after the glow
graveyard shift hours slow
Her body like the naked
breeze air show

Ever Sunday brunch
Was divinity like
Velvet

Naked but it
never shines
In Philadelphia
The College boy
Alpha he loved Rina
Moaning for Lisa

Those Scholarships
And his lady
Left stains on his
white collar
Business trips
The fantasy-scape
Like the ship of her
naked tip nail's
Going to the
****** Islands sail

He got the writer
all roped into him
Like her poem was
his script let it arrive
with him

And their words
Were like no other trip
Admiration another naked
talk vacation
But in reality, they weren't
naked to be fantasied
To contemplate is
this really
Our time for fate
The temptation is
always there
Like the cross leg road
He's the intersection
My mind is inside all
his fragments

To meet our perception
Like a writer's block
Goes a long way
to anyone
Reaction
The kiss lipstick color beyond naked
Fit so well French Connection
Language goes beyond
anyone that is naked
Salacious, Delicious,
Ambitious, Notorious
Amourous, naked generous
Without being naked
Delirious
Golden naked mounds
He groans and it's
quite normal
to be yourself and growl
like Wolf or a Fox
She's the Triscuit
He loves his Southern
tasting biscuits
He puts his suit on
Dash of pepper
and salt

Are the stars at fault
Over his shoulder
He wraps her around
She felt a freeze
Wanting to hear the
naked truth
She was his cherry
He played his basketball dunk
Her naked cream
The naked writer
in between got drunk

Her leg crosses and
He's the tie being
crossed she was in
her flip flops
The writer kept her heart
of his message with
cute pups
Well the naked writer
received An unusual box
and she was naked LOL

i never bought the whole dark academia thing.
sure, ****** and drugs and *** are torrid and dark when you're from a rich family,
when you've never woken up to the news of your childhood best friend being shot to death,
when you haven't seen your family and friends fall into the seductive cesspool of opioid addiction,
when half of your class was pregnant by the time senior year rolled around.
the academic upper class thinks what working class kids go through is sexier when the backdrop of the overdose is chandeliers and silk,
instead of a small town parking lot at 3am.
my aesthetic reality of academia is scholarships, it's leather jackets and nicotine addictions
it's having the only fifteen-year-old car in the campus parking lot and hoping to find a plug before the first week of classes.
it's not sleeping between work and class and partying. it's being the only one whose dad isn't buddies with the guy giving me an internship.
it's lonely. it's the crippling loneliness of not understanding upper class social cues,
it's reading crime and punishment in the slivers of time between work and work and class and more work
and emphasizing with raskalnikov so much it makes your teeth ache.
it's coughing up blood.
it's having health insurance for the first time in college and still not using it.
it's drowning, it's fighting, it's violent and heroic and painful and
never knowing
if you'll actually
make it.

The distance between what we say and what we mean
The difference between what I need you to hear
And what you hear when I speak
Between what you need and what you say

That's the place where it hurts
That's the place where love turns into poison
And weapons

It should be so simple because I'm your little girl and you're my Dad
Who took me for walks on railroad tracks
And let me bring home every rock that I thought was special
You filled your pockets with them, you never told me they were just quartz
You read me stories and had a pickup truck named Betsy
Who couldn't drive past an ice cream shop without stopping because she was special too
You took me camping and swimming and hiking
(I canoe, canoe canoe?)
And played the Grateful Dead
You were so good at being a Dad

I remember you sitting me down and telling me that I'd always be your number one
That you would love me no matter what I did
I was just a kid
And I believed

But I grew up
And you got older and scareder and sadder
Things got a lot harder

I stopped being little, stopped being a piece of you
That must have hurt
Because you forgot your promise
You built a world of expectations and as it grew
So did the distance between you, and the good in you
You can be so mean
And the worst part is that I feel guilty for being mad at you
Because I know that you're just scared
Really really scared
I understand
I do

It's terrifying to love things that are not you
What if they leave?
What if they hurt you?
What if they don't love you enough?
Or the way that you want them to?
It's hard to have faith
Especially if you're not used to faith being had in you
But can't you see how much weight your fears put on me?

I wish you had faith in me
I wish you saw my good intentions
And respected me for my strengths
I wish I could be who I am around you
I am smart and opinionated and unafraid
I think critically and see the best in people
But those are the things in me that you seem to hate
I never thought it could hurt so much to feel disliked

It brings out the worst in me

So I hide
Because it is impossible to take care of both of us at the same time
If I take care of myself, it hurts you
If I take care of you, it hurts me

When we talk you ask me about money
And school
And money
And my future plans
And money
Have I called the dentist?
Done my taxes?
Applied for scholarships?

None of those things have any bearing on me

We haven't talked for months
I'm not going to call you and say that I'm sorry
I'm so sorry, but not for the reasons you think I should be
I'm sorry we can't just talk
I'm sorry it's hard for us to be around each other
I'm sorry we resent each other
I'm sorry that I miss you so much, but am so afraid to talk to you
I don't want to be scared of you
I'm sorry that there is a room in my head that holds memories of you lashing out at me
I just want you to remember that you love me
If you could remember that and let go of everything else
I would call

That's a promise

LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 7


“Read me some more of your poems,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon and went to get the box that contained his poems in the  closet. He looked through the stack and selected several of them, then sat down next to Bian on the living room sofa.

“The first one I’d like to share with you is titled SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS.


SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS

When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky is big and blue,
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.

On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.

In the morning when the sun first shines,
the hired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old ranch houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to begin another day of hard labor.

On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together,
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, the Hereford cow,
is there to care
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother’s milk.

About 60 miles to the north
and a little to the west,
The sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe:
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.

The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in Ulysses.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theater.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.

Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth,
sown together by miles of barbed-wire fences,
spreads interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless, little country towns,
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals,
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin
and ruler straight,
flanked on either side
by telephone poles and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.

But things, things aren’t too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa’s growing green
and irrigation’s coming in.
Rain’s been real good
and the cattle market’s really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it’s got all that the big towns got–
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.


“The next poem is SIMONE, SIMONE," said Jon.


SIMONE, SIMONE

Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
please come to me
and bear your breast
for me to rest
my weary head
and shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone.


“The final poem, Bian, is TREE LIMBS,” said Jon.


TREE LIMBS

A long time ago,
I used to lie on my bed
and look out my window
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.

And I used to watch the cars
as they traveled by,
some fast, some slow,
from right to left, and left to right,
and wonder where they were going to
and coming from.

Once from my window
I hit a bus with my BB gun.
I was scared
because I knew I wasn’t
supposed to shoot buses,
even though it was kind of fun.

And sometimes I used
to hide behind my curtains
and watch the pretty
girls walk by my house
in their swimming suits
coming back from
the pool in the park.

But mostly I just used to lie
on my bed and think,
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.


“I love not only your poetry, Jon, but also how you read each one,” said Bian.

Jon gave her a kiss.

They drove to the tip of Cape Cod to watch the sunset, then drove back to the Twenty-Eight Atlantic to have dinner. Bian ordered oysters, lobster “Carbonara,” kale salad, and scallops. Jon had salmon tartare, chowder, baby green salad, and grilled octopus.

“Well, I’m excited!” Jon said. “We have a tremendous amount of planning to do, but we will have the experience of our lifetimes, and my greatest pleasure will be sharing it with you.”

“D’accord!” said Bian.

you're scared. you're scared of a lot of things. you're scared of people seeing through you. "oh my god, you're gay?" you're scared of going to sleep and waking up to the news that your sick mother took her last breath while you were having nightmares about her dying. that's funny. having nightmares and waking up to the exact same nightmare coming true. you're also scared of falling out of love. but you're not scared of your lover leaving you, no, because pain, that you're accustomed to, but guilt? not really.

you're scared. you're scared of running out of time. everywhere you look, people are doing better than you. they have scholarships, they're going places. you're still here, and you're scared that you'll always be here. what would they say when they get back? "poor fellow can't afford further education. how do you get a job?"

you're scared. your hands are shaking. people are trying hard to be your friend, but you know you can't be a good one. you've lost a couple of them. you say the wrong things once in a while but as far as you're concerned, once in a while is enough. boom. disaster. everything which comes out of your mouth is like a ticking bomb, waiting for someone to find a fault in it and figure out that you're not actually as nice as you pretend to be.

you're scared. you feel like you're keeping secrets, but you can't seem to entangle your own thoughts to know what they are. you feel anxious around people you see as being far superior than you are, so you end up hating them. you also feel anxious around people you can see yourself in, so you end up hating them too. they sit next to you at a table and your heart beats fast, your palms turn sweaty, you just want to get out of here. why do you not like these people? is it because they're different from you? is it because you want to be them?

you're scared. you're scared of revealing your sins, of being burned at the stake, or in terms of the 21st century, shunned by the society. you're scared of looking at the rorshach ink blot. you're scared of describing what you see to your psychiatrist. you imagine your psychiatrist thinking, '*******, this patient is ****** up.' you imagine avoiding eye contact with everyone in your pool of contacts, and you're afraid that pool might slowly **** your family in too. you're not diagnosed with anxiety, but you might as well be.

Kids with guns
playing hostage outside
my kitchen window
trapping their sister in the chicken coop
behind the tenement house

Kids with funds
riding scholarships to Harvard
saying someday I’ll be the one
who pushes that little red button

Kids with needles
saying at the end of all this
I will wine and dine the devil
to persist my own mess
they go off so silently

we all turn to memory
and fade to the black flickering
insides of eyelids and run out film reels
the bottom of oceans and the bedrock of glaciers
the whole earth will hum for half a second
before the next bang hits

I never planned to drop out of high school
but I never planned on wanting to **** myself either
so that’s just how it goes

And now I’m in college a year early
and I’m watching everyone around me getting into
serious relationships and having babies
and actually graduating with full scholarships to real universities
and moving in together like real grown people starting real lives

and here I am still missing you
still going to counseling every week
and failing my second semester worse than the first

here I am having to consider if going to a
mental hospital for 6 months is really the only thing ive got left

my mother says when I get out I could really start my life
you know, have real relationships
and not do drugs or have promiscuous ***
but what does she really even know about that

am I about to find out why the caged bird sings?

I turn eighteen in a little over 7 months
and I really don’t want to spend the time leading up to that
having a prescribed time to eat
and take my medication
and when to go to sleep

this isn’t how life is supposed to be

people say it isn’t easy
but killing yourself is seen as cowardly

well, we didn’t even have a choice of whether we wanted life or not
we were just put here because we won the race

so don’t talk to me about cowardice

(Not really a poem, but I wanted to share).

Wynn’s Quarter-life Manifesto
4/27/2014 at 12:25am (post midnight)

First Section – Regrets:  These are things to learn from in the future.
. I regret expecting myself to understand the deeper meaning behind all of life’s recent transitions.
. I regret not spending more time appreciating nature without technology.
. I regret putting awful unhealthy foods into my body too often.
. I regret obsessing over the way my body looks too often instead of listening to how it feels.
. I regret abandoning most of my volunteer work and attending less social activism events.
. I regret getting an industrial ear piercing.
. I regret taking it out within just a few months, even more.
. I regret not overcoming my fear of driving entirely yet, but it is in progress.
. I regret spending so much money on late night drinking at bars trying to meet strangers, instead of spending it doing more fun things with friends.

Second Section – Reliefs:  These are things to celebrate I have done.
. I am relieved I let love walk out of the door, not once, but twice - I can wait until the time is right.
. I am relieved I was accepted to law school and a PhD program with great scholarships to boot.
. I am relieved my family honestly tries to embrace things which make me different or less relate-able to.
. I am relieved I have accepted that *** can be an ordinary thing and should not be feared.
. I am relieved that I choose to value it regardless and still maintain some of my old-fashioned values.
. I am relieved that it took me 22 years on this planet to become slightly jaded – longer than most.
. I am relieved I am capable of change and adapting to difficulties, even if those changes confuse me.

Third Section – Reality: These are things I need to be more realistic and grounded about.
. Life goes on no matter how lonely you get or how much you want to be in a relationship.
. If I want to achieve difficult goals, they require a few things in addition to harder effort, including more sleep, effective stress-coping strategies, positive empowerment, and breaks – remembering to laugh.
. Communication requires listening and so in order to be a better friend it is important to listen more.
. Don’t be that person who always complains.  A lot of people are really jealous of you for their reasons.
. Say hello to people, even strangers, and smile – how they’re feeling today is important.
. Not everything is about you.

Fourth Section – Relish:  These are things to sincerely appreciate.
. Relish friendships, please – they can come and go so appreciate them for what they’re worth.
. Relish relish, ketchup, mustard, mayo, and even the horseradish – variety is a great thing.
. Relish a calm night by yourself finding new music.
. Relish when you discover interesting things about yourself you’d yet to learn.
. Relish material things you own like a bed, more than one pillow or a tv maybe, a closet with clothes.
. Relish being born as who you were.
. Relish having become who you are today.
. Relish your willingness and opportunity to work towards who you want to be.

I always thought I was special
At least that's what I was told
The burden of expectations brought me down
I compare myself to others
Probably too much, but I look at what they have
Scholarships for art, music, sports, science
I'm none of those
My pen and paper are tucked away
My painting wasn't a Mona Lisa smiling
Nor was it an exact replica of the London Bridge made out of toothpicks
I sat in the back trying to figure out what note came next
I asked the teacher to tune my own violin
I sat out of most games and was told constantly that I would play in the game
More of a waiting game
I would see how warm and dry I could keep a bench
What talents did I have?
Well society told me I had none
I can make people happy but also annoy them in the same process
Trying to keep up with today and tomorrow
Buying coffee so that they would see past my flaws
I'm still searching for that talent that I can be know for.

I’m a fresh out of high school, freshman, at college.
I got scholarships and grants,
So to my mind I pay homage.
It’s granted that I’m a scholar,
Ready for the next look.
Made my way to school, no cash for textbooks,
I can work my way around that,
But that was only the beginning,
Then my mind got caught up in the time I was spending.
Mood started dropping in the letters I was sending,
Moms got worried cause my grades started slipping,
And matters got worst when my girl started tripping,
Couple trips to my home,
Family matters rise,
School coming to an end,
Stress at an all time high.

First summer out of college I get guns to my brain,
Out of school and in the city, the drama remains.
They never pulled the trigger
But my hood still shooting for me.
My problems getting bigger,
But my mom still rooting for me.
So I got to keep fighting,
With the dark truths you threw before me.
I stand in this line to success,
And everyone getting through before me.
I’m not making excuses;
I’m just trying to tell you the story.
I wouldn’t say I lost my way
Rather my way lost me,
So I have to change my ways,
Because losing is costly.
I refuse to be lost just as I refuse to lose,
I was just misplaced,
Just as you do a pair of shoes,
But I found where I was,
And I’m ready to move.

I am not a college dropout,
Just fell really hard,
I did fail some classes but won’t be classified as a failure.
I just failed to recognize seriousness of my decline,
Decided on readmission and I’ll admit I was denied.
My past had a grasp that was too hard to shake,
And it’s still trying to grab me back to that mental state.
Hood mentality, but I won’t diverge from my reality.
I will not return to the state of mind
That tries to keep me down.
Memories will be the keepsake,
That state tried to beat me down.
You think I climbed in this position only to drop out?
The only thing I’m dropping is bad habits
And regretted mistakes,
All of which are trying to block my escape.
I just want to leave the past in the past,
And just pass every class
That’s thrown in my face.

I will deny anyone or anything that states…
“I have to face the fact that failure is my fate.”

So it's Thursday morning
I'm lying on my bed
And with my phone between my hands
I try to get a new high score on the new game
You know the one- that one with a bird?
Yeah, that one.

My carpet is completely covered
In confetti of various shapes and sizes
Different colours, different smells
I really need to vacuum
But I'm comfortable right here
Oh look! One hundred points already!

Mom keeps telling me to get a job
Her reminders are like *****
Never ending and numbing my brain
But I'm comfortable laying on my bed
Woah, one hour gone already!
Where does time go?

So is it true that everything came from nothing
That there was one massive explosion?  
Did someone put us all here
Like the universe is one big jigsaw?
Five hundred points!
I'm getting good at this.

I wonder what my old schoolmates are doing
I heard some got scholarships in America
A couple went to university
While a bunch are in prison
A thousand points!
I should tweet about this.

The church bell in the distance strikes twelve
I wonder what I am doing here
I feel like my life is like a pencil without lead
Where am I going?

Dang! Game over. Oh well, I'll try again later.
My phone's out of battery.
I see the pile of college assignments on my desk
I get up and go make lunch.

You can hear the voices of our peers
Being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways
To the street corner to score a dime bag.

Bright, insightful kandi kids freezing
In search of warmth from something to believe in
Hopin’ those will encourage them
To look forward to see another day.

Where our economy has made financial prudence clear
The price tag of university tuition’s skyrocket
The refused, the ones with hope
But no money or scholarships;
Tread the streets
With the echoes of electro-house
Pulsing in their skulls.

Those who strip themselves down
And shred their own morals
To scraps just to find themselves
And to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown,
To ascertain what they are,
Who they are and why.

The bewilderment of adulthood,
The abundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities,
Missed trains and lost contacts.

Everything went astray
But hope crash in
They wear the armour
Facing the giants of their lives
They conquered
Became champions of this new generation!

(3/13/14 @xirlleelang)

The Thought of growing older to become nothing.
The embarrassment of failure even when you try something.
Something to make it in life, become a "big shot".
You think you pass, you've made great effort, but you're taken back.
The fear of failure itself allows you to fail.
Being laughed at in the end, no longer head but tail.
There was a time I use to be head,
but now all that's dead.
They lied! They lied! TRY TRY and SUCCEED.
Scholarships, Ivy League, rich, fast cars, to which I feed,
My mind on to be,
They lied, no chance for me.
I've been trying for a long time, Failed me yet.
I study really hard, feel good, still fail? I don't get.
An Ivy League School was where I placed by bet.
but now it seems like there're change of plans, no cars, no money, no fast jet.
I make it known to everyone, my friends and family from now.
If i end up on the road side, no education, and eat with cows.
For education and a life worth living cannot be bought.
I tend to take action of my suicidal thought.

IF FEELING DEPRESSED AFTER  READING THIS POEM ,PLEASE ENSURE TO READ http://perfecttruths.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-word-from-wise.html

It's hard not knowing where you stand
Cutting corners
Gluing ends
You never really had to deal with the fear of not having enough
Until you were the first to want more
They never had a child that knew she deserved and was capable of more
There was always enough
Until dreams got bigger than daddy's apartment
Bigger than the tan house on the corner
Bigger than the two puppies mama brought home so each daughter had a cuddle buddy
That's when things started slowing down
When mama started saying no
When daddy's tone started to sound less like baby girl can have whatever she wants to
Calls about taxes fafsas and loans
It's when the excitement about a full scholarship died down and the beginning of why didn't you do more scholarships, why didn't you win..
It's when you start feeling a guilt for wanting to invest in things you've never seen and mama says your money could go to something else and you start getting fearful that she may start enforcing where your own hard earned money goes.
It's when you know it's time to move on.

In the last night I lie awake
I won't question my life’s wake
I'll leave my heart's garden a few less weeds to rake.
I'll try to plant a few flowers,
Replace ones that died in my dark hours,
Sprinkle some seed and grow a few trees
Amidst the fresh wet grass dancing in early April’s breeze.

I hope the scene is serene providing shade from the sun
For my son.
I told that man he could have the world
He may not be in this world but I feel like he’ll be my world

Lately in my world I’ve been a bit otherworldly
On the moon pondering, are these thoughts just coming too early?
What if I have so many years still in me to live,
Filled with so much good will still left in me to give?

My prodigal son could come to fruition
Or a daughter, too smart, scholarships to axe the tuition
Someone a vivid image of all I wanted to be
A recurring dream of what my younger self said I would be.
It feels like I blacked out for several years without shame
I parted ways with so many people I couldn’t list names
And raised by certain people that I’d place claims
Of abandonment treating my childhood like a game
Or a waged war between battling armies
I swear to god my offspring would never feel this raceless apartheid
That it felt like sometimes, nothing seemed to be worse
Than growing up stuck wondering if your gifts are a curse.

I wish someday I either guide myself or my child
Into the warm light brought upon by hope and a smile
Cast upon them by my potential and graceful reconcile...

I’m one with my actions; past, present and future
Knowing regret is simply just a useless venture
So all I can do is be good for now and teach to be better later
While I try to shun the demons of my past that cater



What I insisted I would be—its never in doubt.
Either make a difference myself or bestow it on someone else
So they could end my journey if I fail,
Conduct my train of thoughts, turn them to actions that I derailed.

I’m stuck in accepted limbo unsure of what I can accomplish
Leo DiCaprio incepted spinning a thimble in anguish
To see if someday I’ll dive through a clouded finish line
Million feet up with my thoughts of how it worked out in due time


If I see or create the beautiful soul that I wanted to be
If I’ve given all I can to someone else to be a better me
There’s nothing left for me to give, nothing more you can take
In the last night I lie awake.

I guess I should start off by telling you all, my name is a secret, which shouldn't matter anyways, because it would be nothing special with out the secrets. You can all call me, X, and my lover, O, which is ironic because I've never really kissed her. Oh that's another thing: I'm a lesbian who has seemed to lock herself up in the closet and can't find the key in the dark. I'm writing this now, because if I don't I think it might **** me. Maybe not the pops-pills or puts-a-gun-to-my-head kinda way but in the way where my heart is shattered and drops down into the pit of my stomach. The kind of **** me where I drink for the rest of my life every tuesday because that's when you would get drunk too and tell me you love me. Oh this is the worst part everybody: I'm in love with a straight girl who happens to be my best friend. I swear it didn't start out like this, but I dreamt of her one night when I was sick. She came to me in the middle of the night dressed in white silk and softly caressed my cheek. The next morning I had to text her, to see her words. She loved me too, for the first year. And I did a lot of thimgs wrong and hurt her so much, it cost me her love. See, she would hold my hand and press her head into my neck. We would lie on the roof and watch the stars fade and I'd draw gallaxies on her palm and plant kisses on her collar bone. Sometimes we'd both cry for the love of each other. I'd write her a song and she'd tell me whe couldn't live without me. Even with other people around, her hand would slip under the blankets and try to memorize my fingerprints. Then things started to change, because she started to talk to guys, which is normal for a 15 year old girl.  So I would cry myself to sleep and get drunk and send her mean text messages about how she hurt me and I hated the boys who got to see her green eyes so close and place their hands on her hip because she didn't do that with me anymore so she musn't love me as she said. Ill be honest with you, I broke the girl I love. As the years passed,  we faced so many hardships that I lost count. I was getting better at hold my feelings inside, its not like it was her fault,  I never told her that I loved her. I began to feel her slip away from me, which was a peculiar feeling because she had always held on so tight, so I'd get her drunk and tell her that I missed her so she'd let me hold her and in the morning I'd fake a headache and pretend it was the tequila talking. After a year of mostly self inflicted depression, I began to heal. Set boundaries for myself. I could go hours at a time without thinking of her name. She saw more boys, she had ***. The whole time she would tell me about it I had to hold my hands behindymy back to hide their shaking and swallow the bile rising from my throat. I hurt, but it got easier. I would slowly fade out of her life everytime she struck up a new fling because it was so obvious to me that she didn't need me anymore and I was just a burden. I began to let go of my anger when we'd be sitting in the car with her half listening to me when I was talking, with her phone glued to her hamd, texting her boy. After awhile I learned to be comfortale with the silence.she's leaving for college soon, and me being a year older,  I'm just the stay-in-your-home-town **** up that I always knew I would be, even with all the scholarships lined up and my parents willing to shell out thousands to let me pursue my dreams. I'm not gonna lie to you.. I flunked my algebra 2 class on purpose because I couldn't bare the thought of leaving her, even if she was happy to see me go. She knows I love her, maybe just not in what way because I can't help my self sometimes and I have to tell her that she's beautiful or that her eyes remind me of galaxies and her smile of sunsets. But I don't think she truly knows. As I said, shes going to college soon and even though its only two hours away, I know this is it. The last months of our friendship. You see, I won't be able to party with her on the weekends and watch her lock the doors of foreign bedrooms with a guy clinging to her waist. I used to think I was a terrible person for wanting to leave her like this but I honestly think its the best way. This is the time of her life when she'll be making life long friends, she won't need me. I can honestly say that ill miss her smile and her laugh and the way she breathes. Ill miss her shoulder blades, and her bad jokes, and her sass. Ill miss her warmth. But I will live.  I'm not good enough for her.. could never provide correctly or give her our own children.  Ill be the first to admit that I'm filled with flaws, I'm not beautiful, and I probably wouldn't love me either, I just need this page to keep me sane. You see, she knows of all my other accounts on here but now I'm just X. I like being X, its a nice letter.  I'm so sorry I've bored you with my life story, I'm just confused on why I hate myself when I have so much love to give, so this is me coping. Imwant you to know that everytime I write it'll probably be about her. If you've read this whole thing to the bottom, then thank you for listening, it honestly means a lot.

Take a look at me.

Wonder how I got here.

No, really- wonder,
don't assume,
because maybe that's humanity's
biggest problem.
Everybody thinks they're smart enough
to tell the story just by looking at its cover.

I am white. I am so white it's painful,
so pale I know the frustration
of never having found a foundation
in my color,
of having to settle,
of being too much of an inconvenience
to make a shade for.
But there is privilege in this;
there is no denying that,
none whatsoever,
and please know:  I am not denying anything.  
I can't.  It is true.
My privilege is skin deep,
bone deep,
inescapable and ever evident,
but it did not get me here today.
Not entirely.

Because no matter how white I am,
my soul has never fit in.
It must be a motley of colors.
I am so white,
yet I'm not white enough-
eating alone and wearing the wrong clothes,
unable to read music
because we couldn't afford piano lessons,
and now that we have the money for birthday parties
no one will ever come.

I am ten shades less tan
than the preferred caucasian
and they will never, ever let me forget it.

I am judged the moment someone sees my family
because suddenly, the puzzle pieces must fit-
that's why she's successful,
she's a rich white girl-
except fortunate parents doesn't automatically
mean you get everything,
doesn't mean I didn't do chores,
doesn't ever mean I got paid for A's
or that college help was guaranteed.

I had to earn it.  
A's were expected, chores a duty,
allowances non-existent.
I fought for my success and only then
was I promised assistance
to get through college without drowning in bills,
yet even then
I still had six figures to consider
and weeks' worth of scholarship papers
just to make it out with anything to my name.
Privilege was present,
but privilege was not the reason
I won enough scholarships
to make it through.
I worked.
(It is possible for a white woman to work,
as much as I've heard that it isn't.)

My skin won't tell you that I've suffered,
quite the opposite.
My skin won't admit the times
that I pulled at it, hated it,
the days I wanted to make my pallor permanent
and the day gooseflesh trembled
beneath a blade.
It can't tell you about the tears
or the panic attacks
or the abandonment or depression or inexplicable grief
for joy I never knew,
belonging I never experienced,
and privilege that could not protect me from assault
or hatred,
because most of you wouldn't be listening anyway.

I promise,
there are reasons for my self-loathing.

But you won't know it,
won't even realize it exists as a subplot,
if you refuse to open my book
and learn my story
because my cover is white.

You won't realize that
I am scared to let my friends meet my family.
You won't know I've lost friends after they have.

You won't know that I care,
that I'm angry too,
so furious my teeth are cracking
but I can't say a word.
I am not supposed to.
I have been scolded for it.

Everyone says
not to judge a book by its cover,
yet they still do,
tossing novels aside every day
because their binding is displeasing.
Maybe some of the authors before me
wrote horrible stories,
but you stand to discover an unexpected favorite
if you can give others a chance.

And you stand to find a fellow motleyed soul
by opening that shiny new book you can't trust,
don't want to trust,
and testing the waters of the first delicate page.