Let me tell y’all something:
The white man don’t care about our suffering.
The privilege is too bright to see us.

The white man don’t care about us.
The white man wants to see us get shot,
The white man wants to see us wither and perish.

But who built America on their backs,
Bare handed, and
Whipped into submission?

We did.

We will take back America.
We will take back our streets,
Paved with the blood and tears of our people.
This is our America.

Not whitewashed and stained red with racism.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “Stop! Don’t shoot!”
You shoot anyways.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “I can’t breathe.“
You continue to suffocate us.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “Help.”
You continue to let us suffer.

This is your America.
Where the president calls us thugs,
And threatens to shoot us and our freedom.

This is not my America.

This is your America.
Where you shoot us for having cell phones.
Where you terrorize our sons and daughters.
Where you **** us for being black.

Who gonna protect us?
Not cops drunk on their own power and superiority.
Not the president blinded by racism.
Not our white “allies” who stand by and watch us burn.

But if we burn,
You burn with us.

If you **** us,
You die with us.

We tried peace,
We tried awareness,
But we always end up with violence.

We’re scared,
But who can blame us?

You’re killing us with your American Dream,
You’re murdering us with your American Dream,
You’re suffocating us with your American Dream.

This is your America—
Not mine.

We will take back America.
We will take back our freedom
Or we will die trying.
And that is the American Dream.

I see it, right there.
That faint glimmering in your eyes.
It’s hope,
It’s inspiration,
No wait, it’s love?

It’s everything.

I see everything in your eyes.
I see long nights,
Early mornings, and
Sweet memories.

I see Leonine taking his first steps,
I see Luna on her first day to school,
I see two hands ring clad interlocked.

I see us,
And to me,
That’s everything.

Do you see it?
That sparkle in your eyes when you look at me.
I see it,
And I love it.

I love everything,
I love you,
I love us.

My one and only,
My love,
My everything.

That’s what I see.

(I snuck out of the house yesterday.)

Quietly,
Don’t make a sound.
Shh.

The window holds my reflection in it,
It tells me,
“Don’t do this.”
“This isn’t you.”

I ignore the pleas.
I unlatch the bars,
And lift the window open.
It squeaks.

Be quiet.
Don’t make a sound.

I pull the screen up along with the window,
I squeeze through the opening.
This is it.

I feel the grass under my feet,
Freshly misted with dew.
The crickets chirp,
“What are you doing?”

I continue on.

I run through the grass,
Leaving footprints behind as evidence.

My feet hit the pavement.
Rocks digging into skin.
The night renders me blind.

The moonlight shines down on me,
“Where are you going?”

I reply,
“To see my love.”

I’m half way down the street.
I feel you there with me.
I feel you warm right there.

The dogs caged in the neighbors yard howl,
“Turn back! You shouldn’t do this.”

I look at them,
With finger over lips.
Don’t make a sound.

I reach a slow.
Legs burning, out of breath.

A car slowly hums behind me.

I get in.

The seat hot against my thighs.

“Buckle up.”

I comply.
The engine turns over,
And everything that was forward is now behind.

We pull into an abandoned parking lot—
You know, the one by the 66 Diner.

The car stops.
Seats creaking,
You turn to me.

Windows fogged,
With your tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek.

Car dark,
With my tongue pressed to the inside of your teeth.

Quick,
Be quiet.

I have to be back by dawn—
No one can know that I left.

‘Till then.
The night is ours, Chase.

It’s 3 am and I’m writing poetry.
Not my usual go to love poem though.
(I promised multiple people I wouldn’t write anymore about that one person)
(You know that one guy.)
I’m writing poetry at 3 am.
(Not love poetry,)
Just poetry poetry.

I can’t write anymore poems about (missing) you,
(Wanting you,)( or even still loving you.)
(Yes, I remember my promise.)

So, I’ll write this—
My 3 am poem.

My poetry comes alive in the nighttime.
(Or should I say unreasonable hours of the day when I really should be asleep, but I think I might have borderline insomnia.)

My mind runs at a million miles per hour,
I think of everything at once.
Metaphors, onomatopoeia, and allusions.
And you know me,
I just can’t resist the perfect stanza.

I become fixated on it.
I tell myself no,
No, no, no,
You need to sleep.

But here I am,
Writing, writing, writing.

And guess what?
I even write in my sleep.
My dreams create prose better than I ever could.

It’s a tragedy that I’m sure even Shakespeare was a victim of.

Writers don’t sleep,
Poets don’t sleep,
No one does.

Or else everything falls apart.

You forget how commas work,
You forget how to spell the word ‘Apricot’,
And you forget the meaning of it all.

You forget the reason for writing,
You forget the passion of spoken word.

The only sleep that a poet will ever receive is when they are truly immortalized in their work.

And as you can see,
That is not happening anytime soon for me.

So, I’ll stay up every night.
Trying to remember the meaning of oxymoron,
With the word eulogy on the tip of my tongue.

You’ll never understand me,
And that’s alright.

Other poets will never understand me,
And that’s just fine.

All we’ll ever understand about each other is that words don’t sleep,
And it seems that neither will we.

(-The Poetic Insomniacs, 3:12 am)

Call me obsessive,
I’m just a passionate lover.

I lay awake at night,
I look at the ceiling thinking of you.
Sometimes I never sleep.

I’m not obsessive,
Just in passionate love.

I stay in bed all day,
I close my eyes dreaming of you.
Sometimes I never wanna wake up.

I still have your clothes,
Some never washed.
I put them on and pretend I’m you.

I sit in front of the mirror,
I touch myself as you.

Call me obsessive,
I’m just your passionate lover.

I take hot showers.
I let the water cascade over me with eyes open
So I see the shape of you.

You stand in the shower with me,
Hair wet, and bright blue eyes that come alive.

I let the air cloud,
I let the windows fog.
I suffocate myself to hallucinate you.

Not obsessive,
Just passion filled.

I just want to love you,
I just want to hold you.
I want to wear your skin,
Feel you hot and fleshy around me.

I lay on the ground where you’ve walked,
I touch the areas you used to inhabit.
I still feel you here, I still feel you there.

I want to be hurt by you again,
I want to be bawling and weeping in love with you.

You’re obsessed,
I’m simply passion based.

You can’t hate me for that.

I want to be you,
I want to have you,
I want to be loved by you.

I’m obsessed,
Borderline obsessed.

And completely passionate.
About you.

I want to be tongue tied with you,
Not the way you’d think.
Not stumbling over words we could only dream of how to pronounce,
Not stuttering over the phrase ‘I love you’,
Not spitting out each other’s names every time we reach a high.

I want to be in knots with you,
Tongues twisted into each other,
I want to drool with you.

I want every word to come out in mumbles,
I don’t want anyone to ever understand us.
(Then again, they never did.)

I want to feel disgusted with ourselves,
I want to taste your last meal,
And I don’t care what it was.

I want to inhale your exhale,
I want to tangle uvulas together.

Sick, isn’t it?
Revoltingly simple.

I want our teeth to clash,
I wouldn’t even complain if we chipped one.
(The government can pay for our fillings.)

I want to feel your every taste bud tasting mine.
I want to do a dna test with your spit,
Only to find out that we were past life lovers in each other’s bodies.

I want to scare everyone who dares to look our way,
We can mumble and groan like zombies.
We can grumble and moan like newlyweds.

I want to feel spit dripping down our chins,
I want to look stupid with you.

We can be all knotty,
Just slip yours into mine.

(Tongues, I mean.)

You stole my religion,
And left me faithless.
That’s what happens when you love so hard that you switch places.

I’m into *** and drugs,
Not a prayer in sight.

You’re into baptisms and bibles,
I bet you pray every night.

I used to be envious,
I used to covet thy neighbor,
But now: I don’t care.

I’m into cheating and lying,
I’ll never tell the truth.

You’re into virtue and life after dying,
You’re in the “battalion of youth”.

I’m the lost little lamb,
You’ve taken my place in the flock.

I’m lost to the wilderness,
You’re the sudden block.

I sleep with the snakes,
You can imagine the venom in me.

You sleep in the clouds,
You fly with angels so free.

I’m okay that I’m evil,
It’s alright to be bad.

I know the life you took from me,
I remember the life that I had.

I’m leaving the nest soon,
Mama bird will never know.

But soon my dark heart will consume me,
And eventually it’ll start to show.