I am not a perfectionist
but I want to
write such works
that make words strike
like bullets that hurt
when they are finally heard.

By which only the bad
and severely mad
could avoid being affected,
and for years later on
my art would be dissected
by other artists and historians,

and the wisdom that I’m bringing
would reach out and touch
millions and millions
of open-hearted civilians,
would enlighten the frightened
women, men, and children;

Inspiring the tired fighters
to stop the riots and
indict violence inciters.

I want to put people
on the edge of their
consciousness.
Till, they are forced to face
the plain reign of pain
that stains people’s brains.

I do not expect my experiment
will be successfully permanent,
or start any sort of social movement,
but in my wildest most hopeful dreams,
in my grandest poetic schemes,
I am moved to move other human beings,
and make them feel what I have felt
and see the things that I have seen.

I am but a passing poetic fool,
who hopes that you’llcont.
humor him.

So, I can sit and write again
and again, calling on
my current, past, and future
treasured friends
to appreciate what lays
underneath different tints
and shades of skin.

That by taking these verses
and polishing them,
you might finally listen
and act with more compassion
and less greed and ignorance.

I can hear them shout,
but I keep thinking about
every day I wake
with an inkling of doubt.

Always questioning,
constantly questing,
I seek answers
to questions
not many people
are asking.

What about kindness?
What about empathy?
What about the brilliance
that I see staring back at me
in the form of
universal diversity?

What about daydreams
and all the hopes they bring?
Have I dreamed enough
or are there so many more
left for me to explore?

What about reality,
neuroscience,
and biology?
What about the glory of
all the natural things I see?
What about hope,
Is there any out there left for me?

What about the finality
of death,
or the endlessness
of infinity paired with eternity?

I am the very first drop of rain bringing the  storm
Let them tell you not that it's all  for nothing, I died for my home
my blood wasn't shed in vain, say not I went through needless pain
I died for the desperate impoverished and the hungry
for that young lad walking out his twentieth interview eyes deep in ocean tears
for that father nursing a broken backbone as his employer couldn't provide gears
laid off after his accident without a system to assist in seeking for compensation
for the child trekking seven miles to sit on a tree trunk and receive pitiful education
for my friend's inlaw who lost her baby, the few midwives at the hospital were swamped...
for a generation that haven't kissed the soft sweet lips of liberty
I died to overcome a leadership marred by corruption and greed
for the meager earnings and high interest rates on loans that are a basic need...
Did you see the yellow membrane of my affectionate brain scattered?
that is for the future of this young nation defiled and tattered,
an attempt to place an oxygen pump of reason when it really mattered
yes, I weeped when I was chocked and battered
but I died so that tomorrow can live to see what yesterday denied the moment
let them not disclose my memories in a grotesque manner for torment
for I am the ****** seed for the beautiful flower of our revolution
hoping to seed a unique country at harmony with her people
and the faith that even the most brutal of tyranny meets its dissolution
I am the red of our flag, my prayer is embedded deep in our fairy anthem
for albeit not all of us can be butchers not all of us are Chicken.
I am the optimistic crested crane flying on the long pole of great expectation
that someday this will all be but a nostalgic memory that does sicken.
My thick blood flows through those left in the struggle to bring true equality
so quit grieving, I am a sacrifice for fear, hurt and misery to stop being our true cost of living
I did not die for nothing if anything I died for everything
I died "For God and my country".

Stereotypes and hyperbole
do not serve our needs,
but diversity plants the seeds
for our growing adaptability,
socially, mentally, and biologically,
allowing us to overcome adversity
and turn it into a transition to
a grand brand-new world view.

It’s the same stew that took us from
clay pottery to awesome cartoons
from Plato’s cave to the moon,
from spoken words heard
around campfires to
digital and audiobooks that
we can learn so much from,
from my mind to this poem
on to you who I hope
takes the full scope
of my creativity and intentions
and use it for your own inventions.

So, tell me please as you see
what makes diversity great?

I got a sick suspicion
sinking and settling in
my stomach like iron *****.

A fear that we have been
walking in a maze of sewers
with tons of manure,
that people won’t bother
trying to be any better because
they have gotten used to
the sick disgusting stuff,
and being corrupt
is just how it will be.

Specifically,
I drift off to sleep
as my consciousness
dismiss me.

Encounter
all sorts of strange things
as I float through
a wide range of dreams.

Each actor is
a fraction of me
a reaction
generated
sporadically
forming
radical displays
of mixed replays
of my yesterdays
intermixed with
old and new ****
that twists and
shifts it.

It seems only
small parts
remain behind
for my waking mind
to find,
but only because
I am able to divine
a spark of
abstraction
that I can redefine
to make sense
of the mess.

I’ve seen strange dreams
but they won’t take me
to where you are,
felt the empty spaces
in stranger’s faces
but looking doesn’t
get me very far.

I’m trying to bridge
the broken distance
from which this visage
lives,
while angry eyes melt to sorrow,
and cold hearts become less hollow
as we forget how
to lend a helping hand
to our fellow hurting man,
never learning or earning
the wisdom that our difference
is what keeps the world turning.

I know when they were younger,
starving souls felt a bitter hunger,
there was a clear and pulsing fear
of dangerous people coming here.

All our preachers and bad leaders
taught us how not to think for ourselves,
and turned the pleasure of being clever
into to the worst kind of sin.

I have a sick suspicion
that this world we live in
is not made for fitting
people like me,
but my better nature
sees those sweet green pastures,
ignores the greedy pastors,
looks beyond the hearts and minds
that the liars have captured
and hopes we can all be
better human beings.

Maybe, I’m a dumpster fire,
rash trash burner who
catches heat to fast
and hopes each burn
will be the last flash,
and that my heart
won’t turn to ash.

I’m chaos incarnate
because in the moment
my mind is gone to
another time to do
things I don’t always
want it to.

Afternoon snack cravings,
nightmare scenarios
where I am not saving,
or playing hero
but watching the ones
I love die slow.

I got to keep my distance
cause I want others
to mind their own
**** business,
while longing for them
to be my friend
and understand
that art I am trying to
pass on to every man,
and woman.

Go away, come back
why won’t you stay?
Get off my back.
Sincere empathy
paired with disdain,
sorrow for those
in pain
while I make it plain,
“Please just leave me alone.
Please come back again.”

My identity
is a trick of the light,
shifting inside,
deflating my pride
as I try decide
who I get to be.

It’s a flickering screen
timing out before
it is fully seen,
fade to black
end this scene.

It’s shifting, permitting
me to be
an ever-transforming being.

Non-specific
till you take and pin it
and then my friend,
I up and spin
forwards and back again
discovering
new shocks from which
I need recovering.

Self-smothering
in a blanket of
familiar things that I love.
Until, I’ve had enough
and need a new perspective.

Super selective,
unless I let it
flow out
like a poem.

If anyone tries to define me
I will show those showmen.
Take all the loops and throw’em.
Until even I can’t tell
where I am going.

Who am I?

Brother, Poet, Friend,
Good Samaritan,
Introverted Comedian,
Selfish Altruist
cause kindness suits
my purpose.

I am not certain yet,
but as soon as I figure it out,
I’ll crawl back to my space of doubt,
cause I am bound to change again.

Look at me,
I am desperately
trying to get you
to see my humanity.

I deserve dignity.
My struggles
do not diminish me.

Traveling, running,
drowning, falling,
hope is still calling
so, I move on.

Being a refugee
does not make me wrong.

Have you ever been
as strong as the heat
and desert winds?

Do you know
the kind of fear
that turns the slightest rumble
into another bomb,
or the nightmare
of knowing
most strangers
won’t bother showing
a single particle of compassion?

I am just an atom
blowing in the air,
here and gone
before you ever
noticed I was there.

I know life is not fair,
but why don’t you care?
How about a little grace
and an ounce of decency,
to highlight your supposed
superior morality?

I don’t want to fight a war
for more kindness,
or spread it like a virus
hoping as an illness
it binds us.

I don’t want a metaphor,
that helps us explore
the depths of gentleness
I have been searching for.

I want direct action,
the satisfaction
of seeing once stalled hearts
moved to go through the few
who seek to divide us from
our deep beautiful truths.

Diversity is not to be feared.
It is the wind that clears
the clutter of the old dull ideologies
that subdue or slow
our progress towards
a better brighter society.

***** flowery language,
I’ve written to many
soft verses that didn’t have
any seeming impact.

Trash all that garbage cruelty,
sexism, violence, and racism,
throw out your doubt about
if xenophobia is bad,
spoiler ****’s and proud boys
are the villain here.

Lets spring clean the mean scene,
and bring back the best qualities
of being a decent human being,
starting with empathy.

She was a young fierce
fake friend, modeling
something akin
to human nature.

Gorgeous,
but dangerous,
slightly off kilter
like a broken camera filter.

Indifferent to the different
and suffering people.
Callous in her fancy cloths,
turning up her plastic nose.

She liked to lick the fire
till it got too hot. Then
she became a wax skeleton
melting in horror,
losing her skin
as her flesh was dripping,
exposing.
such a soul ******* emptiness.

A black hole void;
A hollow husk whistling
where her humanity should be.

The beast revealed,
was ready to be reviled
for her sick self-serving style.
Until she made a deal
with the devils of spin
who put her image
back together again.

Cracks in the shell,
powdered up well
while strangers rushed
to fall upon themselves
and admire the monster’s
style and glamour.

If you say
you are suffering
I would not
say you are lying,
so why do you
decry the truth
when other
mothers are crying.

How does authority
automatically
equal honesty
when we see
historically,
they are the
perpetrators
of brutality?

The finality
of financial
inequality
is the devastation
of our entire nation,
so why do you
look at the others who
are struggling
like you do
and think
that they
are the enemy,
when it is
the big businesses
that corrupts
our democracy?

They’ve got the bombs,
tanks, and police.
They run the streets
from walls to all the cities.
They cut the checks,
and makes the rules,
so you let them
play you for fools,
as they demonize
other colored guys
with all their
greedy lies.

But a rainbow
of variation
is beautiful thing
to strive for.
It would help us
adapt, survive
and thrive more.

Isn’t that something
worth living
or dying for?