Gentle tender night
Blows soft endearing kisses
Making daylight blush

I used to be afraid of the monsters in the dark,
                                                 of the boogie man,
                             and the creatures in my closet.
I used to have nightmares of horrifying abominations,
     of goblins and gremlins, vampires and werewolves,
                                  And the pain these creatures bring.
But now, I stopped screaming in the dark,
                                  looking under my bed,
            and checking my closet every night.
Instead, I have nightmares of people around me,
                                          of causing other’s deaths,
                               and the hurt that society brings.
When I realized the monsters were inside of us.

It's been drilled in every poor man's head,
by a man only slightly less poor
"money cannot buy happiness."
But I disagree!
If you say that,
You have not watched your father scream at God at 7 in the morning,
questioning His existence,
as we get kicked out of
the second house that year.

I no longer find excitement
in new places.

You've never waited for the first of the month.
Every month.
In order to eat something other than spaghetti
and dollar store hot dogs.

You've never had your power shut off for an entire month
And watch as your family rips apart,
boiling water on the stove just to bathe.

Your parents owe everyone money.

You've never worked in order to buy your cleats, yearbooks, and school supplies.
Only to have your parents take that money, too.

You can send your vibes,
and tell me to think positive.
But the world is distorted!
Our lives are only better now because my family got jobs.

Before,
I watched a bulldozer
go through the house I grew up in,
as the bank sold our home
and built an auto-parts store over dirt
I used to ride my bike on.
The last pieces of my grandmother, crumbled.
My father stayed up every night
and slept through every holiday and birthday, since.

Is that happiness?

Is the deadline dead?
No, it waits in the corners
A struggling moth stills