How dare I meander through the woods,
And touch the trees with my fingers?
Nature wails loudly like a siren,
Yet here among the trees humankind lingers.

The grass crunches under my feet,
It might as well be the skulls of the innocent.
Nature exists as a cruel force but
Compared to people it is benevolent.

Smoke trails from chimneys to the sky,
Like black ink staining bright pages.
Mother Nature’s very tears consist of acid,
Which has accumulated throughout the ages.

Forests are ravaged so that we can have amenities,
Have the desired fabrics, papers, and things of the like.
Humans draw from nature as if it is expendable,
And the environment cannot retaliate nor strike.

When a child is beaten by his parents,
The world is aghast,
For how could one so young
Motivate hatred so vast?

Yet so few weep for nature,
Which in essence is that same crying child.
Unable to raise a hand in defense
Against destruction that is so wild.

Our fingers are stained with Mother Nature’s blood,
Yet we dare to bask in Her beauty.
We have failed to protect her
And we have abandoned our duty.

The summer heat holds me today,
As I stroll and ponder my life.
The leaves are colorful as children play,
Living lives that are barren of strife.

My feet slap against the sidewalk,
Clouds roll across the blue sky.
The concrete is covered in chalk,
Birds squawk in the air as they fly.

Not all lives of children are without mayhem,
Shadows passing over even the littlest hearts.
These innocent little people are condemned
Before their lives even begin to start.

The human nature is a curious one.
Our emotions range from pure to despicable,
Some people having none,
It can be complex or predictable.

I learned many lessons as a child,
I watched a man drive his fist into my mother,
Lived a life that was so wild,
As my brother and I clung to each other.

I learned to fear alcohol as if it were alive,
Fear the drinker whose lips the poison passed through.
Years later I am picking up the pieces, as I strive,
To feel less sky blue.

Cigarette between my fingers,
I watch the smoke drift away;
Not normally a smoker,
But I am today.

Smoke meant to ****,
Somehow makes me feel alive.
I inhale it as deep as possible,
But internally I cry.

Who am I?
I do not know.
Time to carry on
This tiring show.

Derick knew what he had done,
To earn the impression of delinquency.
He had broken the law many times,
And fought with people frequently.

His mother branded him a danger,
To society and himself.
His father branded him a stranger,
His real son lived upon a shelf.

"See this boy here?" his dad would say,
Tapping a photograph of young Derick.
He remembered that day,
When life had been more generic.

That was before his father slouched alone,
Bottle in palm of hand,
Talking to women on the phone,
What a role model, what a man.

"I see the boy," Derrick said,
His voice quiet as night.
"But I don't see the man,
Who prompted me to fight."

Little Derik came across his father,
Back then, talking to his women,
He managed to anger the man,
Who hit him then claimed to be kiddin'.

His father flushed with anger,
He hit his son in the face.
"Don't you dare say that,
You know your place!"

Derick, he was deemed society's menace,
Few cared that his father drove him so,
I hope that you will judge less,
For you simply never know.

We are taught to conceal aspects of ourselves,
When they do not fit society's perception of normal.
Even the negative aspects that ought to be dealt with,
We conceal in a steadfast way, making them more formal.

Denying something makes it stronger,
Even when it is an awful thing.
That is why acceptance and appropriate action is warranted,
Rather than these same songs of denial we sing.

Mental programming, it is killing us all.
Mental programming, it is how we fall.
Mental programming, what an insistent call.
Mental programming - we must stand tall.

I see the sunrise every day,
But then the darkness takes it away.
I'm not allowed good things,
Sorrow is what life brings.

Hoping for new days, new ways,
To breathe.
Seeing possibilities, what a tease,
To me.

If I could just reach them, teach them,
To respect me .
Then maybe, just maybe, I would....
Be free.

When I made the decision to leave behind everything that I loved, it wasn't my choice, it wasn't me giving you enough.

When I endowed with you my trust, it wasn't my intention to surrender to your endless suffering attention.

I was never enough for you, never the boy you wanted, I never earned your hate, always avoiding being confronted.

You hated when I would cry, hating me, cursing me, telling me to die.

And now the thin red marks, lining my wrists, show everyone how much I will never be missed.

When my life ends soon, they should all blame you, the one who said never to yourself should you stay true.

Strength does not just exist,
It grows over time,
And if you poison the soil,
It will never transcend grime.

Flowers spring up when nurtured,
But wither away when left alone;
Winter will **** them also,
This has been continually shown.

The process needs the right environment,
Or it will never be completed.
And as you pick yourself up from the dirt,
You will wonder why you are always defeated.

Like whispers in the wind,
My words have gone.
What can I say?
What excuse can I don?

Being silent is easier,
Than conveying this grief.
The death of who I was,
The birth of disbelief?

Inching through life,
A broken shell.
I thought I had hit rock bottom,
But yet again I fell.

I stare into a stranger's eyes,
When I look in the mirror.
But behind the dull look
Is an overwhelming fear.

What if this never changes?
What if I can't come back?
If I'm gone forever?
If myself I'll always lack?

But more so than that,
I'm afraid of myself.
The atrocities I commit,
Cannot be good for my health.

I'm supposed to heal?
When I hate who I am?
Is that even possible,
Or is even trying a sham?

Take your medication.
Like candy each day.
If it's not working,
Then take it twice a day.

You don't feel like yourself?
You're complaining about that?
I thought after what you've done,
You'd be patting me on the back.

I guess it is better to be numb.
Than to feel this weight.
When I took that knife to my throat,
I had already decided my fate.

Like whispers in the wind,
My words have gone.
What can I say?
What excuse can I don?

Send me to prison.
The joke's on you.
It can't be worse
Than what I put myself through.

Take me away,
From this "life" that I lead.
It has grown unfamiliar,
So please hear my plea.

I don't know me,
But my family pretends to.
"We'll talk about it," they say.
But then we never do.

So judge me and hate me,
Critique and berate me.
Because even I
Cannot stand the sight of me.

My hope is sequestered in a black void; it is hopelessly adrift in a tumultuous mass of negativity that devours any veins of light that dare to reveal themselves.

I would follow it into the blackness if the thick, poisonous tendrils of gloom didn't bar my way. It seems that any heartfelt attempts at breaking down the blockage results in terrible growth of the tendrils, and so I'm emptily bound; my emotion has seeped into nonexistence.

Silver boulder nestled upon the grass,
As the surface collects the sheer sunlight.
This stone retains the warmth which does not last,
While my fingers against the hard stone write.

The rock absorbs cold air upon nighttime,
Adapts to each climate it is within.
Diverse foliage surrounds all which doth chime,
Sounds of nature are to beauty akin.

I rest upon the stone, feeling the air,
A force which grasps like a warm and fond hand.
Sunlight filters through the sparse trees, so fair,
While some music cues in my head, unplanned.

This is my place—solace from all truth,
A place which does ignite my life, my youth.

Often do men conceal their true emotions,
Because flawed are all of the earth's people.
Movies make men believe risky notions,
Not to shed tears lest they forsake steeple.

The eyes of children are filled with light,
The eyes of children know not of plight.
The eyes of children are innocent,
But purity's death is imminent.

Children become slaves to this world,
This world that tells them to obey,
Slaps trauma onto their souls,
Reprimands them when they play.

Too many kids, tears in their eyes,
Stare into mirrors, faces they despise.
Too many scars, on too many wrists,
Too much instability, too many shifts.

Some kids have known only pain,
Seen petrifying things from early age.
These kids must overcome,
Turn the world's book to a new page.

These kids are the ones who can teach,
These kids are the ones who see,
They see the world is broken,
This is not how it should be.

Sometimes when I stare into mirrors,
I see an array of illusions.
I have a hard time knowing if they're truths,
Or if they are delusions.

For example, sometimes I look and see gross skin,
But then someone will tell me I'm glowing.
I'll look into the glass and see nothing worthwhile,
Because my fat neck is showing.

Other times I will feel attractive,
As I stare into my own brown eyes,
Which I convince myself smolder,
Mocha orbs that are wise.

But then someone will point out a pimple,
And tell me I don't look that great.
I am starting to think illusions
Are all that make up my face.

My future seems set in stone,
The path before me, known.
Spent in solace, all alone.
Hiding from what I can't atone,

When solitude finds me in life,
I find my own inner peace.
Having experienced strife
Is better than for life to cease.

We are a lucky species, to be so aware,
To not only see colors but to bestow them names.
To write poems about their flare,
To capture ice, to capture flames.

So when I am morose,
And diamonds drop from my eyes.
Time passes, the wind blows,
And I remember what it means to be alive.

The noise never falters away,
What it is, I cannot say.
It plays in my head like a twisted song,
It tells me what I am doing wrong.

Sometimes it seems to play aloud,
And I question why others don't see its shroud.
But my mind is what is slipping,
The seams are tearing, ripping.

I am not crazy. But I do suffer.
I tell myself to be tougher.
But words are nothing in the face of fear.
They are nothing to stop my tears.

I dream of silence, it seems grand.
I dream of a different time, different land.
Books take me far, I escape it all.
But one day, I might still fall.

My tears have caught in my eye sockets,
Far back where they cannot pass.
I yearn for the temporary relief of their flowing,
But that relief would not last.

Once the tears dried up,
Resolve trickling back into my mind,
Self-hatred would be the only feeling,
The only thing I would find.

So, crying is not worth it,
Though I feel ready to explode.
I have run far from my past,
When the tears always flowed.

To return now, to break down my wall,
Of cold, placid emotion,
I think that would be a fall,
Some sort of pitiful demotion.

I once compared myself to a flower,
But flowers seem to wither apart.
They cannot withstand the cold,
Nor can they endure a dark heart.

Flowers exhibit fragility like nothing else,
And that is how I viewed myself.
Looking back on my life, now,
I see the sins I have kept on a shelf.

I see the things I have hidden from the world,
The traits that sleep deep inside of me.
Attributes of which I should be ashamed,
Truths I will never set free.

The monster which taunted me,
It has left a blatant mark.
Pulling me so close,
And placing its hand upon my heart.

I fear that is what I have become,
Not a flower, nor a part of nature at all.
The changes that I have made,
They have led me to my downfall.

When I was a boy,
My heart resembled a rose,
Which could not see chaos,
My innocence did show.

When I became a young man,
The rose, it grew thorns,
Dark, hardened bits formed
When I was made to mourn.

It seemed life handed death to me,
Like it was running out of time,
Running out of time to break me,
That conclusion I did find.

But those deaths have not affected me
Like the living tragedies have,
And the living tragedies drive me closer,
To thoughts I once never had.

Here I am, reaching the end of adolescence,
A time that is meant to form us as people.
Here I am, feeling that I deserve more grief,
That I have always been inherently evil.

The horizon offers much for me,
But I fear it will not come easily.
Then again, it could not be worse
Than what life has dealt me habitually.

So, onward I will march,
As I have done for quite a while.
Though the bullets strike me often,
I will somehow endure this trial.

Protect these children,
Who have grown up without care,
Knowing technological screens better than
Loving stares.

These children who develop
Perverse minds before even hitting puberty;
That type of parenting is a disastrous,
Sick sort of cruelty.

Raise your children to know human touch,
And radiating love that comes from within;
Don't accustom them to finding enjoyment
In the virtual worlds they play in.

Children are still developing and
It is your duty as parents to protect their innocence;
To safeguard their beautiful minds that are barren of
The world's filth; falter not in this for even an instant.

To fail this is to admit that you have
Poisoned beauty in one of its finest forms;
I do not care what social rules you have to break,
Never break or conform.

If you succeed, your kids' light won't go out,
Even when they age and the world gets darker,
They will remember the values taught
By those who would not give into slaughter.

Do not slaughter innocence, for it seldom peeks
Through the rampant corruption of this world;
And I fear sometimes that it will be quenched
Or become undetectable like water vapor tightly furled.

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.

The stars beam down at us,
Smiling as we cruise,
Flickering within the city sky.
We have nothing to lose.

Burdens have been left behind,
Where people have discarded reality.
We have escaped the broken woman,
Managed once more to evade fatality.

Our drive cannot last forever,
But I wish that it could.
If I were able to become lost in the night,
Then I surely and happily would.

The sun kissed your features,
As if its light knew no other home,
As if its illumination existed solely for you.
The sun bowed to you.

The wind rustled your hair,
Your jade eyes beamed with radiant youth.
Nothing chained us at that moment,
The world was the canvas for our brush.

Your long fingers intertwined with mine,
I turned your face to place a kiss there.
You had warmed my insides,
Taught me to command my own fate.

My words peep through
The veil of literature,
Like a cautious creature
With wary eyes.

My words, they swim,
Through these oceans of thought,
Darting swiftly with fear
That they might be preyed upon.

My words often fly through the sky,
Where creative feelings linger high,
But they hide among the clouds
So that they will not be grounded.

My words, I try to use them masterfully
So that I will not be quieted but rather heard.
Still, I must make sure I contribute my message,
No matter how I deliver it.

I am losing years to complacency.
Adrift in a city I don't understand.
Without those I love,
With none holding my hand.

When I wake each day,
The sun is still bright.
When I lie down to bed,
I can still sleep at night.

I do not dream anymore.
Good nor bad.
I do not experience as strongly,
Feelings of happy or sad.

So though the sun rises,
And the night falls,
I am lost in my own chaos,
Trapped behind these walls.

This is not a poem, just letting you know.

Do I believe in a god?
The short answer: not really.

    Now, allow me to expand. I can't believe in a god anymore. Evolution is very understandable, if you really open your mind to it. The idea isn't that humans evolved directly from monkeys, but that monkeys and humans share a common ancestor. Other than that, according to the bible, Earth is a lot younger than is reasonable; scientists are able to test dirt, and rock, to date the age of our planet. Many Christians believe the earth to be only 6000 - 15000 years old. That is ridiculous. By testing ancient rock in Australia, scientists have determined that Earth is probably around 4.54 billion years old.

    Another scientific reason that I believe God, and religion, is probably malarkey, is that there isn't a single speck of proof. Supposed miracles aren't proof. Faith is not proof. There is NO proof. Also, the fact that scientists can strip down most anything and look at the chemicals and other substances that make it up seems to go against the idea that an all-powerful, perfect creator poofed everything into existence. Scientists are able to explain how everything happens - gravity, orbiting, radiation, etc.

    If it was all created by a magical being, I think it'd be impossible to analyze and pick apart the way we've managed to. We've managed to cure diseases, increase life spans, and do remarkable things with science, and yet it is all dismissed. There are more scientific reasons I don't believe, but let's move on.

    I also have ethical objections; I don't believe that an "all-loving" god would subject young children to cancer, ravage innocent people with natural disasters, or **** a bunch of Egyptian adults/children because the pharaoh refuses to listen to God. That's right, I'm citing Exodus 11:5, when God proclaims that all first-born sons will die if the pharaoh will not allow the Jewish people to leave.

    I don't understand how an all-loving god would allow ******, ****, and other atrocities. I don't understand why an all-loving god would create some of his children as homosexuals only to **** them for something that they cannot alter. I don't understand why an all-loving god would proclaim women as inferior, and say that slaves must be obedient to their masters. I believe that we are at a point, as the human species, that these things and whether they're ethical is being brought to the fore-front of discussion.

    Quite simply: I don't believe in God. I can't anymore, and I refuse to even entertain the idea. If there is a god, he is either cruel, or very detached and nonchalant. Others may believe as they want, but I believe that the wrong type of religious people are holding us back as a species; preaching hate, delivering scripture meant to inferiorate and belittle people with differences. If religion can alter itself, and become more facilitating, more loving, more encouraging, then perhaps it will no longer hold us back.

    But right now, it is. And that's MY belief.