A smile like the sun on a hot summer day
Cracks open the darkness and peeks out from
Corners of the dirtied bathroom stall;
Other days seemed so hollow that she could
Merely be flung into the air like thin sheets of
Paper with a gust of wind; but today she
Lost herself in a boy who simmered in the pool.
In an instant she learned to live. And, when given the
Choice, rather than take to the air once again, she
Enlisted in his army.

wandering in a drugless daze
among wafting dreams and empty speech bubbles
a soft acoustic plays against white walls
as we search for some sort of meaning in blank canvases
we're drowning in nothing.
we're drowning in uncertain futures
and teetering on tight ropes whilst looking down.
and yet we wake up the next day and brush aside
the colors we mixed too much on our palette
as well as the ones we don't dare to touch.
hello sleepwalkers,
dropping dead one by one from buildings
dreams of growing wings splattered on the asphalt.
hello sleepwalkers,
pressed for answers
and squeezed in between questions.
hello sleepwalkers,
the children of yesterday, the voices of tomorrow,
the unshakable nausea of ******* up and loneliness
of today.

Our future gloomy uncertainty,
Uncharted as the rolling sea.
Doubtful monsters slither in the water
To ****** at our feet and
Drag us beneath the deep.
Sinking and separated, we're whipped
By the pale winds of indebted and petty misery.
Never to return, never to return
To a place we used to know
Or to whom we used to be.
Seeking refuge like heathens in heather,
We friends meet again,
(If only in thought or misty memory),
And band together in stormy weather,
Clasping hands tight.
Incessantly pressing
Onward, guessing everything might be alright.
Even in different boats, 'long different shores,
And under unclear skies...
We find each other under the same moon.
Floating in the same ocean,
Traveling by the same wind.

sometime i suppose
God created the horizon line at the end of the world
and He made it so that
we were unable to see past it

but what He did not know
was that we are dreamers, us poets
we saw the horizon line and chased after it;
when we got tired, we sat down and
dreamt of life beyond the horizon
and we put it to words,
music to our tongues and
sweet love to our world

winding, twisting, curling, fraying
ropes tangle themselves in between my fingers,
dripping red for passion and blue for despair,
veins slinking out of my skin like nervous snakes,
and the hollowed plaster called bone follows after.

a myriad of jesters howl and hoot and holler
and then drop to a deadly whisper.
they say i should die or something because
the joke only runs for so long before it begins to grow old
and mold like a hard piece of bread.

and the snakes weave trails in the dust on the ground
they tie up my legs as the ropes ensnare my wrists
the jesters hush, watching with diamond eyes
if i try to look into them for some sort of answer
i may as well bury myself before im disappointed again

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.