Petty crimes have become felonies. Youth programs have been replaced with the jail house. God has been replaced with do what you feel. No one cares what happens to a generation lost. Drug addicts are warehoused in cell blocks, instead of being offered programs to get clean. Forgetting that some of our neighbors are human seems to be the grand scheme of things. There are those who will not change, but some can be saved. It is time to throw a lifeline to those who want out and time for us to stop throwing our children away. Return them to the knowledge of God and give them back some hope. Instead of jailing America, lets find a way to bring them home.

30 tall boys of ****** beer
A loaf of garlic bread
8balls that never make it
To the pool table

the quality of being authentic
(AUTHENTIC IS)
(of undisputed origin; genuine*)
messy buns a little bit too messy to be pretty, hair falling all over
a camera held loosely, fingers easily finding the record or picture button by muscle memory
years of bad relived in words spilling out to another entity for need of connection and know
pacing back and forth, staring at walls, and misplaced hand gestures all while talking to yourself
what too many people crave for so bad
what turns stale when too many people crave it so bad
stale
found 75 pages deep into a blog found from someones reblog of anothers' reblog at midnight
drunk like sleepiness, the slightly tipsy shitpost on the verge of deep conversation
open skype calls with gritty laptop cameras and headphones, talking talking talking
waking up at 3 am and writing something down immediately so as to not forget it
post dinner midnight snack cereal
"i don't really know how i am. how about you, how are you?"
talking to your dog

She heard the knock on the door
'I know you're in there!'
She didn't reply. She Didn't move.
'OPEN the door'
She clenched her fists
'Let me IN'
She took a deep breath
She reached for the revolver
She unlocked the bolt
The whiff of alcohol scented the air
Red eyes greeted pale ones
And she pulled the trigger

He lay there. Broken.
Blood on his hands
he caressed the scars on his wife's face
As she lay lifeless in his arms

Rumi once said, “Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.

[for Joe Cole's challenge, Imagination/ever changing clouds]*

How can we endure reality,
that lukewarm dullness,
if we can fly our hearts
in nimbus of paroxysm?

How can reality endure us,
with our wispy layers
of heaped, uneasy, pain,
our eyes in sighs of blue?

How can reality cloud the real,
the true perfection of rain
and the hail to a rainbow,
that we - uncaped heroes - see?

Crying because their stomach is empty. A child sits in the dirt hoping for relief. In another place a mother struggles to find money to buy her next meal. Outside of a non-descript building people wait in line to get a bowl of soup as they are drenched by a cold down pouring of rain. From block to block and down rural roads hunger cries out to be fed. Not in a 3rd world country that no one has ever heard of but in the cities and streets of America there is want. In a land so rich and full so many go without a morsel of bread or their next meal. The problem is not someone else's problem and it is not an idle pass time. Hunger is not a game, it is a reality that only we can stop.

i won't ask for help unless i'm certain i can make it on my own
because if i'm not going to, no help will help

i don't talk about my real feelings
i'd rather to pretend to have the ones i should
so why should anyone trust me?
i'm a liar
i'm a good person, but am i? i say i don't judge
but of course i do; this world is too ******
i'm ****** up from the get go
before my real life started, i was destroyed and just when
i was supposed to find freedom
i had to find survival first
i'll never say what i want; i don't think i deserve it
i will not ask for anyone to understand
i always think i've done something wrong
that's a feeling i am used to

i'm supposed to be most dangerous because i know i can survive?
how about -- i'm your weakest link because i am deathly afraid to go back to where i've been?
i'm supposed to know i have the strength
i'm supposed to use what i've been through to my advantage
how about -- you could knock me out with a good plan and a nice final leaving line?
how about -- you could hit me in the face and i would feel, deeply, that i deserved it?
what if i told you i feel that i am the most vulnerable soul walking the earth, and i can barely stand to type it because, well... who is going to use it against me?
they tried to crush me when they thought i was strong.
they did.

did i ever tell you
  you saved me
from myself
did i ever tell you
  i will never be the same
did i ever tell you
   the day i saw your face
it was through the portals
  of my soul
and i wished i could have seen you
with a hundred eyes
  did i ever tell you
that knowing you has
brought the mercy of God
upon a humbled heart
and the house of love
has opened its doors
and its fragrance follows me
all the days of my life