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PenAndPadPoetry Jul 2015
I stand at a window
I remain motionless
as the heat from the burning cross presses on my window I feel it radiate in my skin, I can ******* own sweat.
I see men, my brothers, in white robes chanting
I've been taught I should be out there with them
I am invisible to them when I am not
this flag above us
brings memories

But not ones I want to remember but instead those  memories we hide we store in the back of our minds and forget until the next trigger

This is that time.

I see a boy, about 8 years old being held up and hurt
his body squirming with every hand that touches him
rather, hits him whips him and I watch
I watch as my brothers spew hate into his ears as if their words burned more than the cross
One grabs a rope.

This young boy with a potential life
becomes potential energy under a noose and a group of what is supposed to represent me.
and a flag that's supposed to represent where I live
All sound stops
I hear a light roar of the fire
but behind the laughter
I hear the struggle of the young black boy gasping for air

And I watch
PenAndPadPoetry Mar 2015
a fully make-up ridden face
a single streak, ruined
by a tear revealing skin of
an alter ego putting
his sadness
to rest
but he watches time drip
slower than a slipping goodbye of
a dying comedian
an audience cannot see
true emotion by a face
make-up ruined
they can't see his small ticks
his nose can't grow from
the lie that he is living
because its been replaced
with plastic containing true emotion
to bring life
to thousands
while his and theirs rock on a scale
slants his life into oxygen
but leaves the man behind the make-up
behind the red, blue.
PenAndPadPoetry Mar 2015
Glass half empty
Red wine swirls around the thin glass
As close as blood
You and I are as close as blood
Yet past anxieties haunt me more than a phobia of you leaving


Root word stay
So stay here
Become my roots and let me be your  suffix
No glasses on
Fire in place burning my eyes
As if the feeling of crying fire
Were normal
Smoke leaving my mouth
Like the final goodbye slipping away and filling a room
Now after months of nothing but a fluorescent light
The fire feels so good
She’s a fantastic disaster
masking facts that matter
In a sense she’ll be there after
With her grace, flowers and laughter
Be sure not to bow too fast
or forget to look right past her
With a word she’ll have you captured
entangled, mangled and mastered.
  Aug 2014 PenAndPadPoetry
Pour one out for me,
I got lost in translation,
Old english is nothing new,
We have our own words now,
Dreamt in the four a.m confrontations,
morose in morning glory sun,
destined to bloom another day
PenAndPadPoetry Aug 2014
Through a middle age crisis a father
farther away from his kids as he ever as
because like most games in his halfway over life,
he has lost.
he has lost his kids
he watches as their little red cheeked faces faces
walk away being yanked by a black hole of depression and drug addiction
simply getting away because she was their mother
the police didn't even evaluate her
but found an old charge to the father
and reignited it
and may as well of shocked him to death
because now he cannot see the kids
he cared about his whole first half of his life having
and now
must spend the rest
without  them.
PenAndPadPoetry Aug 2014
To everyone
And put to rest
In a coffin
I apologize to every single person that isn't apart of the majority
I apologize for a race so far into themselves they fail to see murals
Because lately all they've cared about is how simple a blank white canvas is
The only way to make art is to have color
Lately I've turned off the news because of how embarrassed I am
Of a country that undermines success of women
Takes rights from gay people
And openly ****** black boys and men and women in this country
But walk away to their white houses
With their white families
And teach their white kids
That this is America
That America isn't slowly turning into a second holocaust slowly killing off everyone who isn't their definition of pure
Except instead of chambers
This deadly gas is inhaled by us everyday
Because it hasn't stopped
And more people
That have seen
Black boys
Fall from a bullet
Walk away without conviction
This poem was written to make
Every splinter in a wood coffin of a Martyr to shake
To hear what I am saying
And not to accept my apology
For years of abolishment
But to understand that we don't all come from hate
And that every time I am told I am the problem
I just say I'm sorry
Of my race
Not me
Black fathers shouldn't have to call their sons to be safe when walking home
Mothers shouldn't have to tell daughters that it's okay to be just a housewife
It's only okay to do what you want
So do what you want
Stand up
And never stand down
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