there's a lot
of different
ways

to
speak
english

island english
hood english
mountain english

etc

some carry
many englishes
in their heads

english belongs
to everybody
cheers

for that
on this bright
afternoon

when all of
my englishes,
in one english

or another,
are all
missing


you

everyone
has the right
to be

to make choices
to take a stand
to think

to work for their
own reasons

to value
what they value

to believe
what they believe

everyone has the right
to a life of the body

and a life
of the spirit

even if the crowd
says they don't

even if the government
says they don't

i'll dance in the streets,
cry in them, saying

who god bless
no man curse

I once knew a little man
Who kept at a job he did not understand
And day after day
He’d go off to work and he’d say:
Today I’ll learn who I am

But Monday came
And then it went
And Tuesday came
And it too was spent
Like Wednesday and Thursday
And then at last Friday
While he sat in a confused lament

And week after week
His office chair squeaked
Until finally he made up his mind
He’d quit, he decided, and just in time
For that very night he died in his sleep

(C) Marty Schoenleber III 2013

how much longer until my
corpse
is too broken
for all the kings' horses and
all the kings' men
to put my body
back together
again?

What’s in my empty bed?
I’d like to say blankets from old forts or maybe pleasant dreams forgotten in the pillow threads.
Maybe water marks from when we pretended the bed was a boat.
We would never sink.
The water never stung.
Surely my imagination disappeared along with my sanity.
I didn’t have a choice like Wendy if I wanted to grow up.
It was ****** upon me like the unforgiving nightmares.
When dreams turned to black.
I promise if you puncture my pillow now some salty tears and sorrowful wails would escape from years of concealment.
Hope only exists in peaceful slumbers where temporary death occurs.
My bed is still empty even if I reside there.
Because I’m empty of my childhood.
I’m empty of what the world gave me.

Originality is dead
Everything that can be done
Has been done
And creativity is a joke
Because the words he writes
Have been said a hundred times in a hundred different ways
Better or worse, its the same
And that sameness is suffocating
For an individual is the highest from of life
And the mob has overwhelmed him
To the point where he can't see why
He should bother fighting for his life

You don't know who you are
Because the foundation you grew up with
Isn't there any longer
Torn away by the stunning realization
That you drift a bit from the norm

All situations become awkward
You have to think before any interaction
Because hiding is is required
For if your secret gets out
You fear your life will end

Paranoid someone would betray you
You trust nobody
Distancing from friends and family
Scared to let anyone in
If it means risking them hating you

Religion used to be a safe haven
But no longer is it so
For you hear of the church committing horrible acts
Calling you immoral, a greater sinner than most
Simply for how you were born

On the news, you see the homeless youth
And your stomach turns with disgust
Trhwon out of the house for something beyond their control
You are terrified that it could be you
So you try and eradicate the feeling

Sometimes you feel brave
You drop hints to people, trying to reach out
But ultimately, the fear returns
So you pass off what you said as a joke
And feel ashamed for living

But ****** orientation ain't **** to feel shame about
You are who you are
And someday, you will tell the world
Prejudice be ******, you're a man
No matter what they say