My bones are young. They know this land. They were created, formed, and tendered in this land, but my blood. She is ancient. My blood speaks of my ancestors. She cries out from injustice. From pain and suffering. Her strength is unmeasured. My blood demands justice. Her power building, supported by my mothers and my grandmothers. We will not let you destroy us.

I wanted to write but poetry doesn't flow through me like it used to. It sits in stagnation. Just like the rest of me. We sit together with nowhere to go.

I am tired, but it’s a special kind of tired that seeps into the bones.

I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet

My addiction to online shopping stems from the very simple idea that I have something I’m waiting for so I can’t **** my self yet. So I rather be broke than dead, but throughout the wait I beat myself ******. Count the hairs on my head. Wishing for some kind of release. Receiving my package just to do it all over again.