By Arcassin Burnham

I don't really count my blessings
If I did,
I'd keep a notepad,
I haven't really learned my lessons
If I did
I'd be on the right path,
Or a bunch of outskirts pushing and landing
In my way and putting voices in my head to
Help me take away the pain of feeling the
Pressure to move forward in my life and
Better myself in this cruel and sick twisted
Planet where there are all false teaches,
No more fake speeches,
No more stars in the sky for people's reaches,
No more fun or sunshine
For the people that get stepped on and
Ridiculed,
No more keeping folks in line for all these
Stupid rules,
Things have been getting real vacant
leaving my life to struggle,
I will not die a coward.

/

I've been on my own since the day
has gone
all my friends are gone
I'm just still at home
of course I'm all alone
I'm just waiting on......
the right day
I've been on my own since the day has gone
the skies are red
I'm feeling dead,
but I wanna die the right way
with something lodged in my head
I've been on my own.

His eyes penetrate the mirror,
And the glass penetrates him back.
Tears rain down his cheeks,
And his semblance undergoes a crack.

His head hits the pillow,
His eyelashes flutter along to dreams.
Mother watches with weepy eyes,
Then sunlight through the window beams.

His heart flutters like a leaf in a breeze,
Excited by the man before his eyes.
For years he has struggled
With this affection he was taught to despise.

Even as his heart tells him what to do,
The boy continues to hide his truth.
It seems there is much to lose,
It seems a way to ruin his youth.

But the secret ails him—
A condition untreated.
Without exploration,
His heart remains defeated.

Destruction clasps onto him, an iron grip,
And his demons come alive.
He begins to hate himself,
Struggling to survive.

Hatred finds him during his adolescence—
Like a deadly blade wishing him dead.
To survive, he learns a simple truth—
His beliefs must be shed.

Now a cloak of happiness hangs from his shoulders—
His boyfriend is in his arms.
He has parted with society’s silly notions,
Of which only dealt him harm.

Nine to eleven years
dedicated,
frustrated,
overworked,
but loyal,
put time in
at the expense
of family and friends.

Events missed,
but work required
you push yourself.
Till, your stressed,
and oh so tired.
That is the job,
and for every year in
you might get a raise
and some time for vacation.

Forty to eighty plus hours a week;
Eyes blur as you swerve
driving home.

Thud, thud, thud, thud,

The safety treads save the day.
You make it home ok,
kiss your kids goodnight,
and your gone before
they head off to school.

Nine to eleven years
but after the buyout,
I mean after the merger
the main office is moved
and you are let go.

In the holy pursuit
of capitalistic growth
business is righteous.
The free market is god.
Now you have no job
And you find loyalty means squat.

your purity gives
The sky fine lustre
And your rays
Make the earth glorious