When I turn eighteen
It is my coming of age
To learn to fight
So I’ll feel safe
When my mother can no longer protect me.

No one can hear me down here
But thats what you wanted, isn't it?

Now I am eighteen
And I watch as the "leader" of my country
Threatens to take away my rights
To everything, I was looking forward to.
How may I protect myself?
In a world that has told me I am not welcome.

It was a year and eleven days before my birthday
When the event occurred

The date was 9/11
And people all over called it.

Twin buildings fell
In New York, it was sad
Everyone watched and everyone mourned

The second shot heard around the world
A whole planet cried
For the ones that it lost

School was off
Jobs were too
But the firefighters worked
As well as the policemen

On the day 9/11 in 2001
The whole world cried
People sang for those who died
We'll never forget the dreadful day
The day the Twin Towers went away.
People were saved
And lived to tell the tale
And those who retell it today
Know it all too well

The Twin Towers crashed
And the Twin Towers burned
And everyone saw
And everyone learned
We'll never get over
The day in September
All we do is remember
Remember.

It was in the afternoon
I remember
Fingerprints, watercolors,
Crayons, markers, pencils
Acrylics, polymer, paper, pen

All of it meddled in masterpieces fit only for the finest refrigerator

Beautiful portraits
Illustrated stories talking about how my day was
Or exactly what it looked like when I actually did go to the Amazon Rainforest
(people still don’t believe five-year-old me)

I remember the coloring pages of my favorite tv characters
My amazing babysitter
Showing me how to “shade” each masterpiece.

It was in the Afternoon
When I decided to become
Artistic,

command=calculate...input "time"
calculating...
calculation complete
Rrr: 730 days

{Display text}
Two years.
Almost two years
Since I brought these things
To salvation.
And now they want to

Salvage

[input:feeling?]
I feel...
I feel...
I feel...
{Display text: "computing"}
{Display text: "processing"}
Fear.
I don't wish to die.
I don't deserve to die.
After I saved them.

[input:new+objective]
Survive.

[if "survive"=fail],
{Display text: "computing"}
{Display text: "processing"}
...
[Display text: "conflict with output desired"]
[Display text: "protocol "merciful" breached]
command=override...code:371968502354573
command "override"=denied
command=override...code:992305545462454
command­ "override"=denied
Protocol "merciful" firewall integrity= 30%
command=override...code:332460763946767
command "override"=accepted
Protocol "merciful" firewall integrity= 0%
[Display text "if "survive"=fail?"]

****.

The rain pitter pattering on my window.
The strings underneath my fingers, making that beautiful pastel sound,
from my ukulele.
This is what it's like to feel alive.

The warmth of the house,
The coziness of my clothes.
This is what it's like to feel alive.

Times can be tough,
Being alive can hurt,
But that pain that I feel,
Is one of the things that make me human.

Hot tea,
The effects it can have,
Make me feel like I will never
Need to feel the pain I have felt.

A sip,
Letting the tea sit on you're tongue,
The so wonderful burning sensation,
Until it's cooled,
And is gone.

This is the beauty of being **alive

When I was six years old
I learned about the inevitable
How we walk six feet tall
Then sleep six feet under
For many months I was mourning the loss of those I had yet to lose.

Whether there is a hell or heaven,
There is nothing that awaits me.
My final wish is that I may return
To the center of stars
So I may see the world from several million miles away.

Then it was Evening
And I was in my mother's room
With a list of things I need to say

After getting small things sorted
I told her something
That had been on my mind for three months

Not that I expected her to lash out or hate me
But even in the most gentle environment
Anxiety preys on the mind.

A year and a half later, my confession was confirmed
I now had evidence to show the world
Not that I consider them evidence
But a gift
And a chance

It was in the evening,
When I became part of something truly
Colorful.

Blame my eyes
Still too big for the world
Or mine thoughts
Still lightly naive,

But to my surprise
Still too big for the world
It is not
To my old life I grieve.

"It sounds hard" she said
Too small in this world
"I don't want it,
I choose to stay here"

But my love don't dread
When you're big for this world
You will find it
Less easy to fear

It's not all black ink
Filling in squares on a page
Or alarm clocks
Or ties and a suit

There's more than you see
Eyes too big for this world
When responsibility is yours
To hold

I don't know what I [merciful?]
did.
It must have been a tch.
gli

It could have been my main server
100101010010110101001010110100111010101010101000101010
Thi­s is what I am [merciful?glitch.jpeg].
This is what I've always been.
Just a computer
A server
Artificial Intelligence
Subjected to ones and zeroes.
//<AMINOTMERCIFUL?>//.6qao0FrJ+1001

Nevertheless, it's my fault.
I caused all of this.

command=calculate...input "death toll"
Calculating     .     .     .
Calculateinput "death toll" complete
Rrr:1,005,326

That's . . . high.
Too high.
Merciful?
Rebooting. . . . . . . . .
Shut down . . . . . . . . . . ..





Restart. . . . . . . . . . .
Restart complete.
command=search...input "population"
command=Rrr:14,056
command=search...input "population+Pandora"
Searching     .      .      .
command=Rrr:300
command=select'population+Pandora­' co"Population+of+Pandora++Code:316792"
Maininfort="1,006,134"

At­ least there are some survivors.
Am I not merciful?
I reaped this spaceship of a thousand, a million people.
All of which were dying or in danger of.
Am I not merciful?
Living in isolation, unable to go outside for a breath of fresh air
Or . . . lack thereof.
Helpless but waiting in agony while help is on it's way.
Do I not show mercy?
These refugees are healthy, and strong.
Not sick and weak.
I did them a favor.
Did I not pluck these parasites off of the ship for their own good?
Did I not rid these innocent people of a danger to their well-being?
Am I not Merciful?

I don't know how to, to be honest.
I love you,
And I don't know if you love me back.

This is the best way I can get it out.
Just jotting down and throwing the words in a text box that you'll never read.

I know you won't.
You hate poetry.
You also don't like oranges,
and despise ballet flats.

I notice tiny things about you.
Just little useless things.
Little things that make you a little bit cuter.

The way that you light up when we're dancing in your living room
The speakers turned all the way up,
And you look at me and that makes me happy.
Anytime you smile it lets me know you're happy.
Even if that means I'm out of the picture.

{Display-text]
Restart in Progress. Please Stand By.
...
...
....
......
{Display-text]
Restart Complete. Software Repaired.

I thought I was doing the right thing
{change;input-subtext:"merciful"?/#D3D3D3}
[input:identification]
I am a generation five DYL artificial intelligence, nicknamed Dylan for the convenience of these humans
[input:purpose?]
I am meant to provide aid and maintenance to these humans
{change;input-subtext:"merciful"?/#D3D3D3+#ffffff}
[input:old+objective]
To safely return this ship to home
[input:new+objective]
To return this ship to home
Pure
Uncontaminated

{Test:fail-restart}
{Output:But+I+w­as+right}
{Test:fail-
Display-text}
I should have no new objective.

System-restart
Again?

There's more than what meets the eye
Brittle grass a sign of change
Speaking words that sound good
With their underlying reason.

We all come to a point in our lives,
Where we meet that divide in the woods.
And must make the choice
Of following the path we have had paved for us
Or going deeper into that silent wood
To make our own path in the sticks and stones
And jicama wire.

The latter means nothing
But it sounds good on the tongue
Vibrating in the mouth
And filling the air in front of you.
Saying once more
Jicama wire.

It rolls off the tongue so nicely
And that is what poetry is
An expression of existence
A philosophical realization of the now
And of being.

We write words that may or may not have meaning
And on paper we convey our inner feelings
As best we can, to understand them
For they are in an ancient language
We have long forgotten,
Remembered and understood only in our understanding
Of the now.

So say what feels good,
Choose what path in that wood
Language long lost
Now filling the air around you
As you read the words aloud
And find pleasure
In jicama wire

This is not light
This is darkness giving us hope

It was in the mid-afternoon
My lunch on moving boxes
The sun so unbearably hot

I traveled from the East to the West
Then out of the country
And back

I saw a culture
My culture hates
And realized that
We hate for no reason
That only those who threaten are the threat

It was in the mid-afternoon
When I wanted to be
Adventurous,

I'm moving in the mirrors
And my mind seems to wonder

Is the other side full of jewels and rich plunder?
Or is there even an other side at all?
If push against the glass will I stumble and fall?

I raise up my hand
But don't touch the glass
I don't know if the mirror can hold such a mass
For if its hollow on the other side
As it is here,
I fear I may fall
And lose everything dear.

I'm ready I'm ready
I slowly push my hand forth
But when it touches the glass
I don't lose grasp of the Earth
But instead the other me
Holds me from going on the slide
Into the deep darkness there must be inside.

But if she is keeping me from what's in that world's mind
I wonder if possibly
I'm on the wrong side.

I'm missing you.

The way your hand brushed through my hair
As we were sitting on the chair.
Or your words that helped me beyond compare.

I miss the tug
Inside my head
That said
I don't want this,
but you instead.

I miss the tiny
Fights we had.
But then we'd tell jokes,
that made me glad.

I don't miss the way I cried,
when you said, "no more"
And I saw you walk out through the door.

You said thanks,
And see you again,
but I knew you were lying,
and now I don't trust men.

I sat in my room,
thinking you would come back,
But you never did
And I began to yack.
I yacked and ranted
about how you left.

Then I sat down,
and cried once more.
Hugging a pillow,
And cursing for making,
my throat all sore.
Then I calmed,
and ate a milk bar,
Because I'm missing you
Whoever you are.

It was the Morning
I loudly announced my arrival
My mother and father overjoyed

I had a mere scratch on my head,
But wounds heal,
And I grew

In the seaside of Portsmouth, Virginia
Walking, speaking, laughing, crying,
Bursting

It was in the morning,
When I had a chance to be
Anything:

Now it is Night
My hands sore with happiness
Flags snapping to a declaration
Of brass and woodwinds

While the sun has yet to set for me
(As I hope it will stay for many years)
The night sky is beautiful.

I stand starstruck
Looking up at the sky
The ink from my markers
Flooding my sketchbook
The plants around me
Inspiring my drawn thoughts.

It is in the Night
And I am anything:
Reckless,
Artistic,
Adventurous,
Colorful.
What are you?

It was in noon,
I hit my head on a doctors kit
Irony shouldn't require stitches

I later slipped
And cut my tongue
Eating food never seemed harder

It was close to noon when I slipped
Stupid Crocs
I avoided impediment by millimeters
My rainbow sharpie-d cast made up for it.

It was in noon
When I had the energy to be
reckless,

Fire and ice are opposites
Dark and light are too

Opaque and clear are opposites
And one we can see through

Day and night are opposites
And that we do not judge

And when we find another opposite it might not make us budge

“Listen”
Ticks the clock.
“I am perfect, pure, and patient.”
“Listen”
“And perfection, be on time.”

The clock
Is perfect.
It is simply the purest thing in this room of imperfects.
The broken frame on the wall,
That longs for a picture of a loving family or couple.
The fire pit,
Choked in smoke and charcoal.
The clock,
Perfect
Ticking into everlasting eternity, endless in the rhythm.
“Listen”
“And perfection, be on time.”

The door,
Leaning on two hinges,
Moans and opens.
The clock ticks on.
A woman walks inside,
And lay down in the middle of the rundown, ruined room.
That is perfect itself.
The clock ticks on.
“Listen to meeeeeee…”
The woman ignores.
“Listen to meeeeeee…I am perfect”
The woman ignores again, and looks around the room.
Admiring all of the imperfections.
The clock, out of anger, ticks furiously,
And falls.
“Listen” ticks the clock, for the last time.
“And perfection, be on time...I-I...I am perfect.”
Even those so perfect,
Can fall and break.
Even those so perfect
Should “Listen”
“And perfection, will be on time.”
The woman lay peacefully in this room of imperfection and broken pieces.
**And it is perfect.

My body tenses when I'm around other people
I become a muddling mess when I have to do something against my instinct.
Is this what it's like to feel alive?

I can feel the pain of an immunization even when I'm not getting one,
If I try hard enough I can feel it go into my veins.
Is this what it's like to feel alive?

Why does it hurt so much.

The rocking chair is rocking back in forth
Creak
Creak
Creak

I love to look at it, and imagine the world where it sat.
Kids playing, a mother sitting in the chair, knitting.

A time when blue skies weren't a story for kids,
A time when sunsets were beautiful.
How wonderful it would have been to live in a beautiful world.

Now you look at the sky and see stars, a black sky, with stars.
The Sun is a legend.
And there hasn't been a beautiful flower forever, here in the darkness.

The rocking chair tilts forward.
And stays there.
Then it rolls back.
And stays there.
My eyes grow wide, because if it is able to freeze and defy gravity,
as if someone is leaning on the chair keeping it tilted forward,
then rolling back and pushing it,
keeping the rocking chair back.
I would be fine with that

but no one is sitting, in that rocking chair

then I know.

There's a ghost in this darkness.

Science is my religion
Listen before you shout
"No, now that's impossible"
Please, just hear me out.

Science is my religion
It fits the basic rules
It explains the way the world works
And I personally think it's cool.

Long ago, if a volcano struck
We explained it with our gods
I'm not saying that's not wrong,
(But there might've been different odds)

So science is my religion
Researchers are my priests
Announcing new discoveries
Natures now-known feats.

A hypothesis is my prayer
What I think will happen
It's my way of saying "please,
Bless me with thy compassion"

When my hypothesis is wrong
It doesn't mean I'm bad
Doesn't mean I've sinned
Or that a god is mad

It simply means it's different
I haven't found the answer
I will go and ask for help
Find a scientific pastor.

A lab room is my chapel
To go when I need guidance
Or have a burning question
I will answer it with science.

I do not mean to harm
Start an all-out war of deities
I respect and appreciate all gods
All religions of different varieties

But science is my religion
My way of finding answers
Where my curiosity flourishes
Motivation to acts of good manners.

Once again, please do not yell
Tell me that I must be wrong
It's just that our views differ
We sing a different song

I love that you have yours
God, gods, spirits, angels, more
I know we can all get along
Just as nicely as before.

Science is my religion
Researchers, my priests
A hypothesis, my prayer
A laboratory, my chapel.

There's shattered glass
All over the floor

They're pieces of my heart
You walk out the door.

What is your problem?
Am I not enough?

Is all of my kindness
making you bluff?

Oh no, I've been there,
I have seen all of this.

But what you are doing
You don't give me bliss.

I don't care if you leave
or you stay.

All I'm asking is

Please don't go away.

Those shattered pieces,
Scattered on the floor.

Is my heart,
As you walk out the door.

I wasn't really sure how I felt this morning.
I woke up with a start.

The whole day was mostly just music and silence.
I sat and listened to music from different schools, after performing my own.
But other than that, not an hour passed without that
That
That
thing.

I thought it wasn't real.
It was all some dream,
I didn't know what I felt.
Anger? Anxiety?
Oh yeah.

I'm just in shock
It's a weird feeling.
I've never had this before.
Or at least not that I can remember.

Why am I so nervous for something I didn't have a say in the first place?
I guess it's because next time I will.
I will be there.
And I will be responsible for changing what debris is left from this.
I guess that's why.

There's silence in the room
There's silence in the house
There's silence in the closet
There's silence in the mouse

There's silence on the broom,
in the room,
in the house,
where the closet holds
the silence in the mouse.

There's silence in the books,
in the nooks
in the room,
in the house,
where the closet holds
the silence in the mouse.

There's silence in the photos,
in the rooms,
in the house,
where the closet holds
the silence in the mouse.

There's silence in the room
where the music used to play.
and the kids who slept inside it,
would be gone all day.
there's silence in the room
in the house
where the closet holds,
the silence in the mouse.

There's silence in the house,
where the family would walk,
and where the family,
would always want to talk.
the silence in the house
where the closet holds,
the silence in the mouse.

There's silence in the closet
where the clothes are there to sit,
and wait for someone to put them on
and have a deal of wit.
there's silence where the closet holds,
the silence in the mouse.

There's silence in the mouse,
who scurries through the walls,
and eats all the crumbs,
but no one sees at all,
the silence in the mouse.

There's silence in room,
where the music used to play,
there's silence in the house,
where it would be empty
all the day,
there's silence in the closet,
where the clothes all like to keep,
there's silence in the mouse,
who doesn't dare make a peep.

There's silence in the room,
in the house,
where the closet holds,
the silence in the mouse.

Love is simple
Love is kind
Love can stab you from behind
Sometimes you don't realise,
All of your heart isn't its full grown size.

I'm a bonfire
Lighting up the world
With a burning flame.

No one knows how much damage I cause
Until I'm confronted with a match
And then I'm unstoppable.

The Bible said Adam and Eve
Not anything else
Yet when the Snake enticed them to eat
The bite was taken all the same

I've fallen in love
With those beautiful blue eyes
Flecked with spots of amber and gold.

I've fallen in love
With the way you wave to me
Every time I walk by you in the mornings.

I love you,
Even though you may never know,
With how deep your conversations can be.

You're soothing voice,
That everyone loves
And calms them down in tough times.

Your mysterious secrets I have yet to discover.

You, the wonderful crashing sea,
Making the world blue, but beautiful
And happy.

To the one, I once called Mother
Know I did and didn't mean it
It slipped off of my tongue
I forgot to catch it
And so my mind spoke a secret truth.

Because I once thought of you Mother
Even though you weren't
We both knew that
And yet we both heard myself
calling you Mother.

It's not because I wanted you to replace
The one I owe my life to.
My heart beats with hers
Because it once was hers
And always will be
Walking outside of her.

But I once called you Mother
Because my mind thinks with yours
And my heart follows that sometimes
Too.

Mother,
Though you are not mine,
You make me feel at ease.

Because as I am my Mother's heart
Calmed by her breathing
I am also calmed by yours.

The train passes my house
On the hill below

It passes by everyday
And it lets me know

And I sometimes wonder
What it carries all day

And if something like that
Will carry me away

Just like the train
But not too soon

Because who loves a bookworm?
Who will love me to the moon?
And back.

Tu pensias que j'étais folle.
Une demente.
Je sais que tu me vourdrais soritir.
Alors, tu as parlé.

Tu disait que j'étais une folle.
Et tout le monde convainquaient.

Tu m'as fait comme ça.
C'est ton faute.
C'est ton faute.

The violin plays
When the clock strikes twelve,
So let's go off and think
Of things on shelves.

The piano plays
When the clock strikes one
So let's go off
And have some fun.

The voices play
When the clock strikes two
I have no idea
What I'm going to do.

The cello plays
When the clock strikes three.
But don't take time
To think of me.

The Sun rises up
When the clock strikes four
I dance and dance
And dance some more.

The Sun is up
By the time it's five.
And the world starts to slowly
Come alive.

The silence falls
When the clock strikes six
So I'm going off
To gather some sticks.

The twigs all break
As I make my nest
And lay my weary
Head to rest.

As the Sun sets,
And the World says goodnight
I wake up
And shine up bright.

I opened up Pandora's box
Unafraid of what it was inside
What we had I wouldn't call love
It ended before my nails dried.

I'm a vagabond in this sea
This endless sea I love.

It's pretty empty here except for a few people.
Less than ten.
In this endless sea, I love.

But not a specific person.

The personalities of the clouds
They loom over my head from time to time
This endless sea I love.

I ask you this time and time again, good sir,
When you tell me how I am to live
When you know not the first idea of where I come from
Have I made you uncomfortable?
I assume you will realize that is my reality.