if there was one god
and he refused to give me wealth and all that is beautiful
then i will be without hope

but
there are a thousand gods
at least one of them will let you love me
half as much as i do you


so i will keep praying

Down this rabbit hole again
Emotional roller coaster ride of pain

Heart dancing to the beat that chaos sings
Feet lost in place, two dead twins

Down this rabbit hole I go
Dry tears down my cheeks flow

Turn the corner one last time again
This never ending ride of pain

i do not fear that which moves in the shadows at night
nor that which crawls or slithers through corners and crevices
i do not fear that which has sharp teeth
or claws like a tyrannosaur rex
i do not fear taxes or inflation or economic depression
or things that go BOOM

my only fear is to wake up in a world where everybody
loves the same color
prefers the same wine
believes in the same gods
talks about the same issues
and live the same lives

to wake up in such a world, would be the end of my world

For seven odd seasons I felt you rock your self to sleep.

Seventy miles or seven inches, your heart beat synced with mine and I could feel you as you did me.

An empty life till I was seventeen, it took seven tries, seven trials, seven lonely walks down seven flights to break the curse of sevens.

Seven scares, seventy seven days and seven hours left the magic dead, buried seven feet deep, my heart torn into seven million pieces.

I dream of seventy. The seven thousand hours it will take to piece this heart together, to get it to beat once again.

I dream of seventy. My heart, old, patched, will beat once more. Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeeeeeep!

conFusion

emotions RUN rampant

inDeCision

like the path of moonSoon windS

screams, Yells and cries

Music in discoRd

fear aLL around

elepHants traMple on grasses

grasses, NOWHERE to hide

young plead with old

OLD PLEAD WITH DEATH

I consider myself to be an earthy person
Tree hugging Gaea worshiping son of the sun
My roots go deep and spread wide like hip hop culture
I bear no fruits
I carry no flowers
My story is written on the stripes of my bark
My essence brewed into bitters, putting hairs on the chest of men while coercing them to feed on my purpose
Live to serve
I die to serve no one

My father is an *******
Like ******* come his father was an ******* too.  
I am not my father’s son!

My father stands for everything wrong with patriarchy. Everything he stood for he learned from his father.
I am not my father’s son!

My father wishes his son will forgive him. My father’s father wished his son will understand his path was different.
I am not my father’s son!

I may have come from his ***** but my ***** are bigger than his.
I may have called him Papa  growing up, but he certainly was never my father.
I may have watched him hurt woman after woman,
Watched mother’s tears flood the living room floor, left in disarray child after child after child after child...
I may have been hurt one too many times to ever remember that I am my father’s son.

Today, I am my father’s sun!
I will shine a light on this darkness that bore me
Driving away the night of hatred he leaves behind
Bringing a dawn of forgiveness, awakening hearts left in the cold.

I do consider myself an earthy person
Roots deep and wide

A fruit once
Of a tree with rotten branches.

Slipping into nothingness, slowly and quietly,
I realize my worth living would only gain interest when I die
No one understands or care
Nobody wishes to understand or care
I do not understand or care to
This is the manifesto of the walking dead
I am dead inside so I live no more on the outside
It is from within that I speak
Deep within the abyss of my soul
Dead within
This is the last speech of the living dead
I fear for my soul, my life, my flesh
I fear for what is to become of my essence
I do not speak of decay or of posterity
I fear for my significance
The answer to why I'm here- now
Who will take my place?
Who would continue the crusade, the cry, the plea for sanity?
Who will fight for rationality in my stead?
I am dead within and soon would be just dead
Between now and then, I will fight
This is the cry of the dead

Mornings are the worst.
Your eyes struggle to adjust to the dimly lit room
The sun pushing against the dark fabric of your curtains to get a glimpse of your misery
The birds tease you with their singing knowing very well you can never be as happy as them
As free,
As high

You unfurl yourself from the fetal position you always find yourself in
The only position you find comfort in because it reminds you of a time that you were unborn with promises of a miscarriage
It reminds you of what Papa said when he found those bruises on your face
He said,
Son
When those bullies hit you you better hit back
But if you can’t my son
Ball up
Get into that position and protect the important stuff
Protect your face because it will hide your shame
Protect your genitals for that will ensure that if you lose this fight, your kids will have the chance to win it someday

You promised Papa you will never have children

Mornings are the worst you see
Blankets weigh down on your chest
An anchor keeping you in place
The hang man’s knot tied around your wrist and every turn of your head you feel the noose tighten around your neck
Think nice thoughts you think
Remember that joke that always gets you smiling
Reach for your phone like it was the last straw that will keep you from sinking further into the abyss
YouTube is your friend
Maybe Comedy Central
What the **** did Trump do this time?
You remind yourself to breath
To repeat to yourself these words of comfort
Mornings are the worst
Noon will be better.
Mornings are the worst
Noon will be better
Mornings are the worst
Noon will be better


You find comfort in these words
Knowing very well that
Mornings are the just the repeat button to replay your misery.
Over and over and over again.

Looking in the mirror I see a man look back.

I know very little about where he has been or where he will end up.
I only wish to be a part of the journey he is on.

I see the face looking back at me, staring deep into my eyes and deep into my soul.

I felt his sadness as he did mine.
A tear crept down my cheeks as it did his.

In that we are the same; filled with deep rooted sadness about our inadequacies, weighted down by our rudimentary understanding of this universe.

The man in the mirror looks away in disappointment.
I could not bare his sight too.
I know he is as disappointed in me as I in him and he in himself.

For what made me an average man, if not the man in the mirror.