Do not call my father the dying man,
for his weakness' are not his failure but virtue and a testament of his character.

Do not call my father the dying man,
for while his breathing is labored, every breath is taken with valor and inner strength

Do not call my father the dying man,
for while his eyes are glazed, his heart remains true, his mind unbroken

Do not call my father the dying man,
for while his fingers tremble, and his body is frail; his spirit speaks volumes

Do not call my father the dying man,
for while he is sick, he is no burden, no shameful person

Do not call our father the dead man,
for he always lives within our thoughts,
The memories, the dreams, and the questions that will never be answered.

I want to feel your hands around my neck
A soft and warm pressure. Not squeezing, just existing.
I want to feel the comfort of your embrace,
The love in your touch, your feel.
I want your hands around mine.

And then you woke up, you felt the soft drip of sweat on your furrowed brow. Trailing down your face in thin streams. Your clothes were soaked, and your bed lay damp. Your breathing was heavy as your forlorn gaze drifted off into the night sky.

And then you woke up, you felt the fright from a previous dream cling to your mind, dulling your senses. Cloaking your ears from all previous sounds that might’ve existed. Your hands lay there trembling, uncontrollable in every way, messy hair in all directions.

And as you lay there breathing, you woke up. The erratic thumping of your heart, beating loud into the night. A soft wail from your mouth, encircling the terrible symphony of despair. Grating thoughts, that never seem to go away. It won’t stop, it won't go away . . .

And then you woke up

Nothing’s changed, I’ve just discovered a new part of me.
I don’t suddenly become a different person overnight,
My brain, my body, my personality.
It’s all the same.
But there’s just a difference in the way I perceive myself.
Nothing’s changed.

For now-
Go to sleep
And wake up a better person.

So why don't the polar bears melt with the stars in the sea, and the fish in the clouds?
      With the wind blowing the ice away, it makes no noise.
    If we are surrounded by water why have we used all our water up?
    And even still we sit on damp land where hamsters live as solicitors and sharks as arbitrators who consume fresh oysters with no eyes who recognizes the world more clearly than I, and we'll all go to Mars one day... just not today

I hear the tone of a thousand galaxies. Only sweet angels shed whimsical tears

    Some thoughts form bubbles in the mind, and with a pop, they are gone. Prancing further and further from the fingertips of those who wish to comprehend them.

      They still their breaths and try as they might, halt their lungs but thoughts are fickle things that only come when one does not call for them. This mind experiences assorted thoughts, some plunge like rain from the sky, rapidly and frigid, with no notions of passing by.

While others are sweet and delicate murmurs, some thoughts hold nothing but lie full of animosity and self-hatred, there are those few certainties that cling to our senses like moist cloth on heated summer days.

       And there is a singular truth that none can deny. Through these sights, soaring belts of asteroids and the birth of newly hatched nebulas can be seen.

     For these gazes see freshly pickled specks of lights dispersed across the realms and heed the sounds of a thousand galaxies.

And in these galaxies, holds dust and nothingness

In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.  
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.

My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.

'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.

It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.

Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.

If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.

If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.

Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!

These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.

I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.

There is a boy whose name is grain,
In a place of mental pain,
And he sits across the room,
And he looks at me.

There is a boy named grain
In a place full of pain
And he sits across the room,
And he watches me.

There is a boy who is grain,
In school
And sits across the room,
And he stares at me.

A boy called grain,
In school,
And sits across the room,
And he stalks me.

Grain who is a boy,
In school,
Sits across the room,
And has pictures of me

Grain,
In school,
Across from me,
Annoys me.

Hey you gal, com’ere

You notice seh, when word gone round,
And people affie frown
and deh look pon you.

Mi nah say nothing.

When word gone round,
And people affie frown,
And deh look pon me,

Why yeah fi see me?

You haunted or summthin?
Vanilla on cream,
Think she prettier then me,

You nah nothing

Hey goodie, with your white gal ‘air
Only thing you better dan me,
Is ******* that wood like a lolly lolly pop.

Why you affie be so bad mind

You have a sad mind,
Two tiny ***** knocking side to side,
Coming up to me, with ya smile in hand,
Yeah lie, yeah lie

Me nuh see you,
you affie be somebody fi see

Hey you gal,
you think your better then me?
With ya boyfriend
Who ya naw even see, see

Bringing home hickeys,
And deh gurls seh she nah even mean dem.

Hahahahahaha
Go **** back ya moma
Ya, luckier then me!!!

What are lies and why are they white?
This question throws me on an endless plight.
Leaves me wondering for hours and hours,
Don’t throw **** at me and tell me it’s flowers.

If I ask you a question, you better answer me straight,
And if you don’t, it’s a little too late,
I don’t accept lies that are white.
You have a better chance of turning into a hermaphrodite.

Roses are red,
Violets aren’t blue,
I don’t need your opinion,
Who the **** asked you?

B-b-birthday gal,
Walking down her b-b-birthday hall,
In her b-b-birthday gown,
looking like a ******* clown.

It's my birthday, and its a day like anyother day,
I don't feel any older but I suppose it makes a difference,
Because A-a-age does matter, well in this world,
And A-a-age can get you a lot of things.

I can get a job, and work my way to the top,
I don't have to pay any T-t-taxes, and I'm still living with my mom.
And I w-w-wish, that my dad can s-s-see this.
Watching me age up, into a young adult.

I guess it for the b-b-best, everything happens for a reason.
And I guess, I'm turning 15

I have been single for a long time,
I know how it feels, soft, warm, comfort.
I am allowed to speak my mind, do what I want,
hurt feelings, Mend others.
I knew just what to do, and all my limits.

When I met you, I didn't know what to think,
Body to big for your age,
I thought you were older, though you were mature,
You are funny, charming, and handsome in your own way.

'You have my humor' I thought with amazement,
I never knew that someone could be so much like me.
In an unfamiliar world, I thought you could pave the way.
With the warmth that burns to the touch.

We found each other together through peer pressure,
It was enough of a push, and through our honeymoon phase, I was happy...

But then the pushing kept coming, they kept pushing, keep pushing, "Kiss him" "Love him" "Want him"
These thoughts, these feelings, they aren't my own.
These thoughts, these wants, there's someone else's.

Its too suffocating, these efforts, being single made me forget how to try.
Your feelings, these kiss's, your efforts, I don't want them.
I don't need them, they are too 'Suffocating.

I'm trying to pave the way to my future, all while taking a tiny glimpse of the past.
I want to try, but it's all moving too fast.

You say you are depressed, so desperate to love, so desperate to be loved.
But maybe I just can't give you that love.
Do you even know what 'love' means?

I'm away for a week, for my birthday, but you just can't take it,
Everyday 'I'm depressed because you weren't here'
and everyday 'U wanna break my heart or something?'

But then the pushing kept coming, they kept pushing, keep pushing, "Kiss him" "Love him" "Want him"
These thoughts, these feelings, they aren't my own.
These thoughts, these wants, there's someone else's.

I wanna enjoy myself, I'm the type of person that can.
You don't want to enjoy yourself, you're the type of person that can't.

This is just so suffocating, your presence is suffocating.

Deadly, Silent, Destructive
The passions of a Hurricane
Dark, Quiet, Afraid
The thoughts of the people

Prepare for the worst
The violent winds in the carribbean
Pack your things

We've got one more day
T'ill destruction reigns
Sadness, Fear, full of adrenaline
Their hearts heavy for the unknown

Honor, Fear,
Life or Death
Experience
All it does is fight us

At dawn, he flys up to the morning sun.
He flys over hills and trees
Swiftly, swiftly he searches
For the cursed one.

At noon, he sings
For his daughter
For whom he would never see
Again.

In sorrow, his tears gleam twlight
He sings of all his troubles
His chest of gold and as seen
a sure sign of his greed.

At night,
You hear his roar
He would swoop down
And **** the deadly boar

In moonlight
The curse shall break
Dragon, once man,
Will turn again

But Alas,
It's not over
For many Hardships
are to come

Man once Dragon,
Dragon once man,
Will turn again, and again

An Endless Cycle
And a cycle once Endless
And you will die in the end.

The eyes of the tapestry 
Sings of silent horror 

Its eyes, 
Its mouth open making din screeches

As it body collides with the wall.
The eyes... 

The eyes, 
of silent horror

Lives forever in broken pieces

Through our bloodshot eyes we watched,
Worried for our kin.
"Trust not thy neighbor"
We whispered prayers
Private misconceptions of lonely rattled minds
The 5th of November
Is the day we all remember
A slowing, the Slowing
"We have no way of knowing"
The man cleared his dry throat,
and swallowed what little Silvia left.
"But we suspect that it will continue"
In the beginning of the end of our world
I remember watching.
Stores were soon empty
People hear the news, and they wanted to move
They scurried like small animals suddenly under a light.
But, there was nowhere on earth to go.

Ghetto life, it nuh easy
Especially when hungry a bite
Hungry can cause man fi a fight
Also loose dem life

Man hangout pon ends
Sey dem a hold a medz,
Police draw gun, man affie run
Tom get shot him tumble down

We cagow sleep a night, cause gun shot teck flight.
Blam, blam, bow bow, Kapow pow
Pon is floor man get down
Whouie him dead!!
Gun shot eena him head.

There's a heart-shaped box
Sitting on my front porch
I do what I need to do, the unorthodox
And take it far from my home

I go to school the next day,
Keeping the unwanted feelings at bay
Standing near my locker,
With a note in hand

34 steps right....
2 steps forward...
19 steps down...

There's a heart-shaped box
Sitting on my front porch
I do what I need, the unorthodox
And take it far from my home

I stay in bed all day
I sit and I pray
For all of my sins to go away.
A paper plane fly's through my window.

It's a conversation,
At the end, it says
"You're never ever gonna get away"

I know that this is true so,
I take 340 steps left,
20 steps back,
And climbed 19 steps up.

Till I was flying through the clouds.

There once was a heart-shaped box
That sat on my front porch
I did what I needed,
And conformed to the orthodox

And they took my far from my home.