We have to strive forward with hope
no matter how hopeless it seems
or we lead our children into a life and world
where only nightmares and worry
rule as kings and queens

I want to die hungry
I want to die knowing life meant something
I want to die with piles of work unfinished....
unfinished poems
unfinished books
unfinished illustrations
unfinished paintings...

I want to die knowing I tried to my very last breath
to make this world a better place
that I tried to shed light into the worlds darkness
that I tried to transform something cold
and heartless and ugly into something beautiful

That I did not turn a blind eye
to the poor and the hungry and the homeless
That I spoke up when inequality was still a monster
guarding capital hill
and its stash of gold and treasure for the 1%

That I acknowledge that white privilege
was a serpent in the court room
devouring real justice
while turning a blind eye
to the crimes of daddies little boy
who just made a mistake for "twenty minutes"
over and over
again and again
in and out
in and out
for "twenty minutes"
and why should "twenty" consecutive "minutes"
of poor choices ruin his whole privileged...
I mean promising life...

That white privilege was obvious
when one person convicted of rape
(dumb downed to sexual assault)
walked free in three months
while other men just accused of rape
found but not proven guilty
spent decades behind bars
to only be eventually freed
when their accusers told the truth
about how they had lied
and none of it happened
and if you can't guess the difference between the two
you probably believe the world is flat
and that white privilege and climate change and global warming
are paranoid delusions of people who are lazy and worthless
and want something for nothing

That the dead no matter their color
still need to see their murders pay
for what they have stolen
what they have broken
and the pain they left behind
when they decided that when
they "feared" for their life
it went from to protect and serve
the community and the people
to I'm going to kill this motherfucker

That I knew that #blacklivesmatter
was a call for justice and equality
not special treatment or supremacy

That the vocabulary of my sons heart
did not know the word hate
other than when he said things like

That he not only understood kindness
but he knew and lived by its importance
that he strived for compassion and empathy
that he treated generosity and helpfulness
as a responsibility to those in need
that his pursuits of happiness
included helping others in their pursuits

That he loved and gave with a heart
that was always full
that was always hungry
from the time that I leave him
to the time he takes his own last breath
that he lived
to make this world a better place
that he tried to shed light into the worlds darkness
that he tried to transform something cold
and heartless and ugly into something beautiful

Some times the difference
between life and death
is the tip of a pen scratching over
the surface of a piece of paper
a bleeding heart cut open
by the wrist to let its guts spill out
in all its ugly truths and hidden beauties  
a mind free to fly from open skies
into the belly of darkness
and the abyss of despair
to find itself and to save itself
poems often write themselves
and by luck someone
is close enough to hear it pound itself out
and then whisper "take me I'm yours"
and sometimes poems start off as last notes
not because someone wants to die
but their desperate to find a reason
any reason to live through the pain
of something as simple as breathing
not because something is wrong with their lungs
or their throat
but it just hurts for no reason that they know of
and their doctors and the neuroscientists
with all their hours of study and practice
and expensive machines and treatment
still can't pinpoint what it is exactly either
and somewhere in writing their goodbyes
they find something to hold onto
hold on for
but sometimes what starts off as poetry
end up as last words
that close the curtain on a life
and a heart and a soul
with too much weight
too much knowledge
too much love
too much pain
too much too much
and is recognized too late
and is gone
and the difference between
life and death cannot be changed

I only cry when I'm alone
and I am alone a lot
I don't cry because I'm lonely
I'm usually only lonely when in a crowd
I cry because the world
seems to be falling apart
instead of coming together
and everyday that passes
brings us closer to a day too late
a day when the warning is a reality
and the reality is worse than predicted
and hope and fucks
have long left us to drown
in our own misery and ignorance
and if god was ever there
he realizes what a mistake
it was to make us in the first place
and just quietly walks away
because it was as simple
as love and be loved
but we fucked that up so bad
that love became nothing more
than a shitty brand
of gift and sympathy cards
and life became nothing more
than fuel for war and hatred and profit
for those that have too much
but have nothing to give
other than grief and manipulation
with hands that twisted
our minds and hearts into believing
evil was the mischief of the devil
to distract us from the fact
that the only place real evil was breed
was inside their ugly hearts
and I can hear it beat loudest
when I find myself alone
and no matter how long
or hard I cry
I just can't drown it out

The world is going to hell
and we're knitting the hand basket
with the blood and bones
of our children's innocence
all the while pretending
nothing is wrong

Hate and fear is foaming
at the mouth of ignorance
and we just strap the blinders
on a little tighter
and hope if we don't pay attention
it will go away

Big brother is watching the dream die
and Uncle Sam is out burying the knife
and isn't it strange
how it went straight down
with expert precision
almost as if it was choreographed
to take a tumble
and give in without a fight

When we believe
the lie to be true
we all become liars
when we witness evil
and turn away
what are we but evil too
when we turn away those in need
to protect those of greed
what are we but monsters

How much longer will we
let the noose tighten
around our necks
before it cuts off our last breath
what will we accomplish in death
when we did nothing of grace
when our hearts
still beat inside our chests

The way things are going
I have to wonder
when the world gets to hell
will we all just be turned away
for hell is too nice a place
for monsters like us

Akira Chinen Sep 17

To question the notions of reality
within the pages of a dream
written by a fictitious tale of love
and finding a heart worth more
than all the things made of gold
and turning the page to read
that love is the only reality
that makes life worth living
even in the hours of cold solitude
and the nightmares of minutes
and months and years
of rivers of tears born from
eyes painted with brush strokes
of desperate blood red loneliness
and unanswered hopes and prayers
hanging dead in the air
from a pale moon
with only a toothless smile
and sliver of blue light
and still float out to the sea
where we might find our
last breath being taken
under crashing waves
and poisoned mists
to brave the journey
where we might find
something more than just
questions of the notions of reality

Akira Chinen Sep 17

She kept the beauty of fairy tales
fluttering about her heart
and the reality of heartache
in the paint strokes of her eyes
she was always
a tear away from suicide
and a dream away from life
she walked the line between fiction and love
on a rope made out of razor wire
and whiskey shots mixed with turpentine
her feet could smoother burning coals
and bled and wrote stories
no one dared walk behind
she could speak in languages
only the stars and the leaves
could understand
and she sang to both
whenever they asked
she knew how to swim
but preferred the feeling of drowning
the cold searing pain
of lungs unable to take a breath
the fear and rush of staring
into the dark unknown
she would get lost at sea
to find her way to oceans end
where mermaids and starfish
waited to hear
the fluttering of her heart
as told by the beauty of fairy tales

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