I carve myself out of a cardboard cutout,
I wish I wasn't empty,
stuck between two worlds that do not want me.

I am like the globe,
shattered.

Rushing blood gurgles through my veins to my head, my
words sound like Russian out my hot mouth
"so spicy"
they say it cause I'm foreign to them.
My blood pressure rises,
makes
the tea kettle screams,
on the perfect pictured home oven,
i am fuming.

I look out at the white picket fence,
raised oppressed gates,
overtaxed, overcharged, overfed, rising still.

The fury builds inside me,
I stomp the fence,
break the oven,
crash the globe,
and weep at the crap I was made out of.

we will never win.

but, it doesn't matter if we're the minority or majority,
the darker you are,
the faster you talk,
the farther away from the home land
  ...                                                       ­     

they'll still give you the gun.

           But, they'll blame you for everything that happens after.

you tarnished
the beauty
of my soul
with your
filthy touch
what once
was flawless
is now
ruined
and smudged

The clouds of Pompeii
had nothing on his heart.
An eruption of UNCERTAINTY
then
his world e-x-p-l-o-d-e-d.
lights extinguighed,
joy (deleted).
Night is now who was once Day.
Corruption of a steaming bliss.
Darkness gripped his mind -
insomnia, coupled with a blind-ness..
that could only be caused
by some serious disruption....
like the ash of Pompeii when it settled
or the pain of a burnt page.