You get to go to sleep at night
Hold your child and kiss your wife
While someone else’s child dies
While someone else’s mother cries
Warm water hot food
The freedom to do what you want to
Without a bomb dropping on you
Well isn’t that so nice

Trauma
Buried under trauma
Every war
Every impoverished neighborhood
Every ****
Every child abused
Every act of police brutality
Every act of aggressive greed
plants the seed
For trauma that feeds upon itself
And ***** out more trauma

I don't believe in childish things,

like santa,

I don't partake anymore in the act of gift getting,

I used to believe that all these things used to be what christmas time was for,

but what about the kids who never got even 1 gift this season,

we hardly hear their cries,

there happy to have they family together just for christmas night,

but what about those kids,

who can't even get that,

santa must not like them then,

*** santa has forgotten them,

no,

because there's no such thing as santa,

and I have not forgotten them,

but who else has not forgotten them,

someone needs to help them,

I used to believe in santa,

I used to get gifts,

but now I ask my family to give my gifts to other kids,

this seasons about giving,

so give to someone who has less.

I should have volunteered
Been martyred there
Not fat and lazy
Laying here

I should have done more
Served people
Serviced the needy
Instead of being greedy

I should have
But I never did
I was to comfortable
Living in safety
In my home

He is sick
Driven to cause
By pain

Given a reason
To persist
Despite the horrors
That exist

Would he be worth
A ****
If society was perfect

Blood splatter
Brain matter
Arms crossed
Children lost
You shouldn’t get
To look away

Cold metal slabs
Filled with bad
Rooms brimming
Ready to burst
With the sad
You shouldn’t get
To look away

Bone fragment
Metal shards
Bombed out buildings
Scarred the yard
Flowers crushed
Before their time
You shouldn’t get
To look away

Open wounds
Pacifier soaked in blood
Children in school
With nowhere to run
Can’t hide from
A bomb
Can’t find a tunnel to sanity
While this goes on
You shouldn’t get to look away


Madmen don’t live in asylums
They wear suits and ties
Eat power lunches
While bombs fly
Turn a blind eye
For profit
No matter what it costs
You may try to hide
Let others decide
Who lives and dies
But no one should get to look away


See what’s left
Feel their pain
Give me your reasons
Try to explain
But as long as it happens
Again and again
No one should get to look away

The photo burns
Charcoal baby doll
Man and woman screams
Holding up
That incinerated thing
But it’s just a doll

Black flakes fall
Baby dolls clothing
Turning to dust
I cough it in and out
Choking on the musk
Stark stench of death
Yet they cradle their broken doll

Eyes closer ears ringing
Fears bringing me to edge of insanity
Her screaming seems strange
Her eyes look deranged
The dolls legs have little bones
Calcium protrusion
But it’s just a doll

Scorched skin
Not some porcelain
But it’s just a doll
Please let it be just a doll

I am obsessed with death
And all of her clichés
The slick sharp sickle scythe
Planter’s tool of reaping
Taking and keeping
The souls of all
The black hooded robe
Kind of monkish
Simplistic style
The anorexic
Boney figure
Badass bleached bones

But death is not that poetic
It is messy
Brown stained draws
From last evacuation
Pools of red
Dead is dead
There is more art in living
Than there is in dying

God suffer the little children
While the little children are suffering
His mercy
Is an illusion
His righteousness
A delusion
If he is real
Than he is a ******* *******
Can’t or won’t save
The kidnapped *** slaves
The kidnapped
Child soldiers
The ***** altar boys
The ****** baby
The beaten innocent
Tears of anguish
And rage
Wet my face
Cause if this illusionary being
Can’t or won’t save the children
How could he save
The human race

The weary traveler
Though a wakened wanderer
Will wait
Wondering
Pointing to possibilities
No longer pondered
Passing strangers
Strays
Who straighten their tie
And silently cry
Why
Only to be answered
Nevermore

The Squares lived happily,
in their square houses,
in their square yards,
in their square town.

One day, a family of Circles
moved in from the west.

"Get out of here, roundies!" shouted one of the Squares.
"Why?" asked one of the Circles.
"Because this is a metaphor for racism!"

The history and mystery of time
Is etched in our dna
Each alteration
Points to past forms
Each strand points to present potential
Pushing us forth into the future

Geology is the record keeper
Rings in the tree
Strata and atmosphere
Sediment and fossils
Are footsteps in an endless road

They tell you
That you can be anything
But if you try
They’ll stifle your dreams
If you want to be
The same or different gender than me
If you want to be in love with
Him or her
If you are a boy
Who wants to be a girl
Or a girl who wants to be
A boy
If you try
To beat the lie
To decide
Then you will find
It’s hard to change
With the changing times