America the Brave,
did you ever look beyond the porch, and see the smoke?
I have felt each gunshot wound and bookmarked each media news story
and even catalogued some photographs
for you to look over again.
because it seems you have a strange habit of forgetting
all the times
where places that children should be learning and laughing
began to look like cemeteries, the doors closing like a cruel purgatory,
when another **** maniac rages in with a legal firearm –
“mommy, I’m okay, but all my friends are dead.”
red crayons will never look the same—
I’ve found that bleach does not clean out
the stains on the carpet and words alone do not console the masses.

America the Free,
have you heard the terrifying orchestra of screeching tires on pavement?
didn’t you learn that running away is the same as running to meet a date with the reaper?
America, please tell me why
I cannot look for safety in a blue uniform, tell me why
the word “police” inspires more fear and pain
than it stands for justice?
there, in the empty streets, are the echoes of the voices in the night that you failed to hear when the sound of
sirens drowned the world in shades of wrong--
“I can’t breathe.”
“I don’t have a gun, stop shooting.”
“please don’t let me die.”
I stand at the gates between crossroads but nobody looks each other
even if there’s the unspoken truth
that some of us are more likely to be studying obituaries than studying to
be finishing our high school and college degrees.

America the Bold,
  please listen when I tell you that there is a pain you cannot hide
beneath IPhones and reality television,
when all I see is hallowed eyes,
empty hands, and
more parents that shouldn’t have to know
what it’s like to buy caskets in mass production, before they even knew how to read, before they could sing praises of your liberty, before they even had a chance to pray for a different fate, one they actually deserved.

America the Beautiful,
for all your Spacious skies, and amber waves…
have you looked at the ugliness of your ****** palms?

The rain let up like a ballerina in the air,
Bouncing on her toes and holding her gentle poise,
And then beat down upon the sun-kissed asphalt,
Drumming her song as the morning carried itself along.

I, too, heard her melody and stepped into the rain
With curious feet.
She drenched me in her storm and
Indulged herself all over my hair and skin.
Rather than give a proper response,
I cloaked myself with a violet jacket and kept away from her sight.

When I peered out again,
She had taken off to someplace else,
Left her blessings to be soaked up by the wind wandering fauna,
And opened up herself to the everlasting sun.

I can't help but gaze at the sky.

Towering new york skyscrapers scraping by,
Burning cars and crying taxis honking like a broken record,
Crushing fragile crystal windows under hurried and hushed steps,
Bumping into each other and mouthing a flimsy apology,
Digging heels into half-dried concrete and waiting to dry up as well,
Reading into life a lil too much and getting hit by a car,
I guess

life isnt always the frosting on the cupcake
sometimes its the wrapper and
belongs in the trash

the flowers i turned into a bouquet yesterday
are now wilted and burning like fuel
"everything is fine"
is a bigger lie than the smile on my face
when i wake up every morning
and now i feel myself
catching  on fire too

i melt into your words like they're poetry
so here's my attempt to give you what you've given me...
how i see your world from my rose-colored glasses
and see a fairytale, and when i take them off,
i find with you reality is just as sweet;
how i'm always quiet when you speak because
i can't find the words to embellish my thoughts around you
but you can spin silk with the tongue you sing with;
how your smile means miles of metaphors to me
and on days i can't return the favor
you're able to shine though the clouds in me;
and how i feel compelled to tell you everything
even if i can't bring myself to say i love you aloud yet.
i don't deserve your poetry
and you're above mine,
but if you'll take it then that's all that matters to me right now

what a beautiful thing it is to have loved,
before winters demise and thoroughly through spring
but before i plucked petals from the flower-- i already knew
and yanked the flower from its roots
because you trampled all over them. My prince,
you trampled over them as i held you at the
summit of mount olympus.
i opted to put that very flower in my hair and
ran away singing,
what a beautiful thing it is to have loved.