I am misunderstood.
Because I am black & white,
Never showing one solid color.

Others believe that I have no ability to fly,
They criticize my abilities based off their undead opinions.
But I am a bird,
I can fly if I really want to.

I come off to them as something white,
Something nice,
Something loving,
Happy,
Shy,
And optimistic about things that no one cares about.

But I can be something black.
A reckless, risk taking bird,
That lives in cold, dark places,
And relies on my independence to survive the harsh world.

As much as you get to know me,
You will never actually meet me in my true color.
I am hidden beneath my fake appearance,
And the wayward shadows I carry on my heavy shoulders.

You can say whatever you want about me,
And use my colors and inability to fly as an excuse to hurt me.
But I believe that my useless wings and my conflicting colors are only useful to me,
I can use them to fly to places you will never see.

I could be misunderstood,
But I am the best flying, black & white penguin I could ever be.

-FJ

My heart goes to you,
To warm you when you're cold,
To guide you,
And to lessen the pain that is in yours.

My heart goes to you,
Because I am the sadness of the fathers’ aching hearts,
Of the fathers who lost their sons in a deadly battle,
And the fathers who can't keep their families safe.

My heart goes to you,
Because I am the taste of the leftover food in a rich man’s dumpster,
Of the families who can’t nourish,
Of the families who cry from pain and hunger.

My heart goes to you,
Because I am the silence of the happiness that left you.
I am the color of a strong martyr’s blood,
And I am the stillness of a dead man’s body.

My heart goes to you,
To the parents and children
That constantly struggle,
In the land of the dying.

Trees are growing and time is passing by,
A plant’s soul given for a ****** life’s sake.
When will time end; When is our time to die?

Birds rot on the same branch they learn to fly.
Leaves fall and grow; a man goes out to rake.
Trees are growing and time is passing by.

He lost his wife, he’s left with time to cry.
Enough time to fix what he did not break
When will time end; When is our time to die?

His son stares through father’s soul with a sigh,
Watching his father drown with his last drank.
Trees are growing and time is passing by.

While under the tree a grave will lie,
A man left taking with him a heartache.
When will time end; When is our time to die?

A family lived and was left to die,
A tree stands near without a frown to make.
Trees are growing and time is passing by.

-FJ

When I feel sick of the world,
I take a walk.
I find a place where I can be tightly curled.
I don’t talk.

A few streets away,
Is the swing set next door.
A few minutes I stay,
And think about everything, from the moon to the ocean floor.

Minutes pass by,
Maybe and hour.
Now, this place, I mustn't lie
Is the sacred place that calms my emotions, sweet and sour.

The place that I went to for childhood play,
Is the same place where I shed my tears.
The memories of my childhood will forever stay.
But I will never forget these years.

-FJ

Someone once asked me,
Where do you live?

Where do I live?
Do I live in a house?
A boat?
A tree?
A hole?

Moments later,
I looked up and directed them,
Turn around.
Walk 10 feet.
Turn right.
Run five miles straight.
Take a breath.
Search for a tree.
Climb it.
Take a bird's eye view.
Find the tallest object.
Run to it.
Touch it.
Come back here.

I asked,
Did you find my home?

They looked at me with utter confusion.
And I stared deadly into their conscious.
I said,
Look me deep in the eye,
Do you see a soul?
I used to live there,
But I lost it a long time ago.

-FJ

No sound, no image;
It’s like they don’t even exist

No one has the heart to look at them,
Thinking they will be looked down upon

Shunned by the world,
Left all to themselves.

If one trips and falls violently to their soul's grave,
Will anyone see them fall?

If one gets trampled by a hollowed fool,
Will anyone see them get hurt?

If one gets gets judged for something they can’t control,
Will anyone be there to wipe their tears?

In reality,
No one will be there for them.

They must find ways to cope,
Carve their skin and deprive from sleep.

There will be a day,
Where someone may rescue them out of the pit;

But until that person comes,
They are invisible.