Focusing More.

Like a flashlight slicing through fog
a state of surrender
slashes most separation logistics
and reconnects.

Life situations can be unassailable
within non-resistance
which heals as it mends frailty
and opens perception.

Nature teaches how to unfold one
small change at a time
by actively focusing more on
momentary present.

Look at frail petals waving boldly
despite ice or heat
opposing bud-burst in stony
bed of unkind inclemence.

Dissatisfaction will begin to die
knowing with patience
at base that relationships find
a taste for contentment.

America.
Home of the brave land of the-
246,6660,710 white americans
living in this country,
which accounts for 77% of our population
but Black Americans
only make up 13%
and somehow in 2015
were killed at a rate 5x higher than whites.

Lovely, wonderful free land of America
Where 37% of black americas
were killed by police in the year 2015.
And out of the 102 cases
of unarmed black men being killed
only 10 police were charged
only 2 were convicted.
Only one spent jail time-
one WHOLE year of weekend come and goes.

Oh America-
Where colleges would rather
cover up a ****, than catch a ******.
Where High Schools take pity
on abusers who play sports
or have a high social standing-
Where abusers don't get charged
because the girl they *****
was "intoxicated".
Where 4/5 of assaults are committed
by someone known to the victim.
44% of victims are under 18
and every 107 seconds another PERSON
is sexually assaulted
and 68% go unreported
and 98% of rapists will never spend a day in jail.
and I know I mentioned this in the last poem
but Brock Turner, I'm looking at you.
But not in the eyes-
I don't want you to think I want it or anything.

America!
Where said white male ******
only gets two-six months in jail
and a man selling CDs in front of a gas station
gets four shots to the chest.
But instead of asking
why he got shot,
they pull up his criminal record-
because you guys, I thought you knew
committing a crime automatically
qualifies you for ******!
But the white rapists
swim record gets pulled up
his mug shot gets hidden
and his social stature gets him sympathy.
But some people see Alton Sterling's son
distraught on a TV screen and feel no remorse
I'M NOT ******* AROUND ANYMORE.

America.
Where again
the people who are supposed
to protect us-
just end up killing us.
By us I mean people
and by that I mean "All Lives Matter"
because ya know
more whites get killed by cops too!!!

America.
Where white people make up 77%
of this lovely population
and black people only make up 13%
so it would make sense
that more whites die.
Even though statistically that's inaccurate
(please see first paragraph of this poem).

America!
That reminds me
We're home of the All Lives Matter movement
because white superiority
is being called into question
and we like to think white supremacy
doesn't exist anymore!

"Why do black people
have such a chip on their shoulder all the time?"
"Can't they just like, idk- get over it?"
They will get over it
When racism doesn't exist anymore
and they can do everyday tasks
without experiencing discrimination.
They will get over it
when people don't see their skin as a threat
and use the "n-word" like it means nothing.
They will get over it
when they can receive a fair trial
They will get over it
when systematic oppression
isn't etched into their amount of melanin
They will get over it
when justice is ******* served.

America-
where the idea of blacks being inferior
is what the constitution and this country
was built off of.
Where people like Tomi Lahren
obviously don't own a history book
because she likes to think
the civil war was fought
to actually end slavery.
Instead of beefing over turf.

America-
home of the brave land of the-
Trump supporters!
& as Trump Says-
Let's Make America Great Again!
I'm sorry, I'm having trouble remembering
can you remind me-
when this country was ever actually great?
It seems like he actually means-
Let's Make America A Grave Again.

Hey America-
I'm not ******* around anymore.

So I've been talking to a few nice people on the internet. We had casual small talks. What's your name? How old are you? Where do you live? I've been telling you that they annoy me, but they keep me company. Some of them are English, one is French. I've been learning languages including French, by the way. You've just been so busy, too busy.

Where do you live? And I can't help but think of how you wanted me to take you home that night but it was so late and we were in our uniforms and I needed to go home; I declined. I let go of your hand, your tiny hand (calling it tiny makes you frown, and you're cute when you frown). I let go of those hands that could only fit with mine. That night... That night, up there, where we watched the sun take its last dreadful glimpse on us. That beautiful night when we felt the wind turn from hot and sticky to warm and nice. That night when you took a mental picture of me laughing. You told me that that night was enough to make you happy for the rest of your short life. You said you are almost certain that you would leave me first. You said that the last one who will die would grow old and visit that same place and cry. That night... That night, up there, you asked me once to not let it end. But it did. I live there.

How old are you? It was raining. It was pouring, so **** hard. Was there a storm signal, I'll never know. I didn't care. I used to sit by the windows and count every raindrop. There was a moment in my life where I thought that playing while it is raining is childish but dancing in the rain is adult stuff. I used to imagine how couples kiss under their umbrellas and how it is possible to forget that they have umbrellas. I used to picture it in my small, childish and immature head that I will someday, hopefully, have someone who could be silly with me. The adult type of silly. It was raining. It was raining so hard. But your hands were light and you were a feather. Gliding with me through the courses of those strong winds. Your hands were in my hands and I finally know why men feel like they could conquer the world all by themselves. We were laughing, like those lovers in the movie under the streetlights. And we were holding hands. You were pulling me and you were holding my hands and we were running and it was raining and I lost track of how many raindrops have poured now because I think it's not raining anymore but I do know that you're still smiling giddily like we did something that is only ours to know and I think I have seen my rainbow and it's running and it's pulling my hand towards our silver lining and it's so ******* beautiful. It's so ******* beautiful. It was magnificent. And I didn't realize, I didn't realize this until that moment --- that astounding, outstanding, amazing, tragamagazingzing --- that marvelous, marvelous moment: I was childishly, hopelessly, truly, madly deeply falling in love with you (yes! like that song! from that silly old movie!). I was falling in love with you over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over --- That was a lot of raindrops. I was sixteen.

What's your name? Oh god. Oh ****. Oh god. Oh ****. ****. ****. ****. ****, ****, ****, ****. What do I say? I could tell you a lot of things but all I do is listen to country songs and go to that country singer's concerts... Oh well that was lame. Was that lame? Did I really say that out loud? I think I did. I don't think I look like your best friend though. I'm usually quiet. Yes, I have a scar on my face. Oh you don't like my name? Why so? Sure you can call me by my other name. I have a nickname, but only close people call me--- Okay. You can call me by my nickname. No, I don't know him. Am I really that quiet? He must be nice. Yeah I like brown eyes too but I'm trying to seek other colors now. Oh that's why you don't like my name. I'm sorry, but I promise you that's not how love works. I met this person once and she was my heaven and hell. But yeah, you know, I wasn't enough. Nah, you don't have to tell me that. She already made me feel like ****, anyway. It's okay. Ah, yes I write. Do you want to see? It's okay, but I don't really like showing these to people. I showed it to that guy though. He's really nice. Yeah you can read them. I write random stuff. Alright, I'll see you later. Good morning to you too! Hello. You seem a bit off. How are you? You okay? I don't believe you. Define okay? Oh you have a nice smile. I guess it's okay, dimples aren't that cute to me. I've had this scar since I was in prep-school. I didn't really notice those freckles before, but thanks. Oops, hey careful there. Oh sorry I held your waist. It's okay. Are you okay? Define okay? Alright, laters. You're really cute when you smile (and I swear I could hear my heart flutter when you say metaphorical things.) Wait what? Did I really just say that out loud? Oh thank God. Wait, no. Oh. ****. ****, ****, ****, ****. Let me write this down. Let me write about this. Uh. Sure. You can read it. I won't mind. Okay maybe read it later when you're at home. Yes that's a better idea. Read it at home. When I am not there to watch your reaction and probably make a fool out of myself. Hi. Good morning to you too. I know. Yes that's what I said. Hello. Was it weird? I know. Yes, sweetheart, that was for you. You said that already. Hi again. I'm okay. I'm yours.

I wish we could have our casual small talks again. I guess I'll never be too busy to remind myself, and to remind you, that you are missing from me.

it is grief and rage all at once.

and there are never any words for this—
simply a scream,
a howl,
an outrage.

in this I have never felt more helpless:
my apology will never be enough,
but staying quiet will mean silence,
and silence means consent,
and no—
I do not consent to any more of this injustice,
this farce,
this outright lie.

there have been enough stolen lives.

my love,
my black brothers and sisters for which there are no words:
I am so sorry.
you will always have me in solidarity.

I feel as if I can do so little,
but lead the way.

send me your voices, send me your battle cry:
and I will do my best to be your megaphone, your ally,
if need ever be.

and my love,
these children,
good men and women who have been lost to this earth,
who this earth does not deserve:
I am so sorry—
but you deserve far more than my grief.

may you find justice. may you find home.
may you find rest; may you rest in power.

I often do that a lot.

Find words that mean what I wish she'd say.

But the real question lies thus;

who was that meant for?

I sat in the silence of a
Room eight times larger than I know
And I absorbed the six hundred
Empty chairs.

And I wrapped myself in
Miles of white fabric
And learned the feeling of
Sitting on an escalator.

The clean lines and plate-glass sunshine
Of Hermes's aqueduct
A secret passage everyone knows
You cannot fade into floral carpet.

It is a jaunty expression
To consume a length of sub sandwich
While strolling down an ally
Aware you may get mugged.

And over the years I have begun
To believe that teenage girls
Should not have camera phones
With their sneaky minds.

Somewhere along the line I learned
How to think, that silence
Is a virtue and precisely the best
Way to be alone.

I will never forget
The chandeliers of
Trapped Christmas lights
Painted in a warm glow.

Hook your arm in mine to
Stroll upon this concrete
And we will share this half
Gallon of lukewarm milk.