The truth of it is-

he's not going to fix you

she's not going to make you forget
the way your father would hit you

He is not going to make your collarbones sprout roses
He will not make you forget how to need

The truth of it is-

She is not a savior
She is not able to fight off the demons in your dreams

He will not make you forget the way your mother left
The bloodstains in the bathtub will still be there

The truth of it is-
This is your life
This is not a movie

No one is going to swoop in and save you

You will have to grow your own wings if you want to fly away

The scholar sits by candlelight
Pouring over many a forgotten volume
Left behind by his ancestors
to reveal unto him,
The secrets and majesty of the world
His tired eyes move over scripture
Marked with the ink stain of experiences past
And cerebral treasures long forgotten to modern man

The scholar sits by candlelight,
Scribing into parchment the secrets of his days
For his grandsons grandsons to find,
And pour their tired eyes over the volumes,
Marked with ink stains of experiences past
Cerebral treasures still long forgotten..
The scholars hand still scribes away
For the best understanding of today
Lies in the knowledge of yesterday

I imagine the suburban struggle
That my father works through every day
I know that his spirit is smothered now
By the falsehood of American dreams
Struggling to feed not just him but me
the suburban struggle is a real one
that plagues him whenever he rests his eyes
Those eyes that squint at overdue taxes
Those eyes that cast a blue desperate glare

He's always scowling at something
But mostly at himself
For feeling inadequate in times
Of the most desperate need
But I look to my father for morality
And peace of mind,
I just wish he'd rest a while

Is a poem really a poem?
If I write it in a moment,
Leave little to remember,
and most to be forgotten?

Is a poem really a poem?
If I leave myself out,
Write only what you wanted,
Leave the dark of doubt?

Is this really a poem?
Wasting space and time,
In my Literature class,
While allowing a tiny rhyme?

Could life be a poem?
If I become too philosophic,
Allow myself to wonder,
When all else has been,
forgotten..?

I would like to take a moment, to talk about gay rights
How would you feel, if where you lay your head at night
Your whole family makes you feel all alone,
That you live in a house with a roof and four walls, but no home
People need to realize, hatred is not set in stone

Walking through the school hall, getting ***** looks
From self reichous people, they're really just scared and shook
But I can't imagine how much courage it must have took
Too say that you are gay, and, your proud to be
Gays have made a movement, they beat the odds, you see

If you're gay, stand up, I want to hear you roar
Take their insults with a grain of salt and nothing more
Cause the haters never know the struggle you've been through
So strideboldly through lifes doors and do you!

Hear my split and bleeding cry
I can see it with these eyes
There the voice I heard
Left me lost and feeling absurd

In the darkness he assumes total control
To feed the evil in his soul
With rage he powers this killing machine
To keep his minions lean and mean

Judgment day is upon us, thats all that I know
This evil empire continues to grow
God is the one with nothing to prove
Watching and waiting for his final move

My gods fury has finally come
This empire of evil is all but done

Back
Is
Relaxed.
Blood
Races
Through
Veins.
Tension
Builds,
And…
­Builds.
Claws
Dig
Into
My
Chest.
Scars
Form,
Blood
Pours,
Making
­The
Tension
Grow,
And…
Grow.
It
Aches.
Body.
Shaking.
Spine.
Curv­es…

Up
While
The
Claws
Rips,
And…
Rips
At
My
Flesh
And
Pull
At
M­y
Booonn-
Esssss.

It’s
Over.
The
Claws;
Now
Fingers.
She
Grabs
A­
Tissue.
And
Wipes
Off
My
Tension.

Let's see, where do I begin?
I ****** man-made ****** with the tip of a pen
Suddenly, ink burst all ova me Started to struggle see,
Karma came back just to smother me

It's snowing hard outside, but my heart stays colder
I'll snort a couple lines, cause I never stay sober
I'll take your little bars and straight up turn them over
Then whoop up on there *** cause I'm wiser and I'm older

See me in the cut, then you see me on the scene,
See me in the club, makin all these ******* cream
I'm an in-depth poet, then I am a rapper
I know you may not knows, bruh, you're a lyrical disaster
Your rhymes are inferior, a freshman to a senior,
How about you look straight down and bow to your superior

Got a mac ten up inside of my trench coat,
**** a trap whip, *****, I got a trap boat
Come up in my house, then I'll throw you in the moat
****** with my money, then my knife is atcho throat
I'll make you choke on all your vain insecurities
Your final words will be "Please, stop, you're hurtin' me!"
A certainty, this homicidal agression
Gonna take over, deep fry your ***, served with a blood dressin'
Done alot of ****** up ****, won't see me confessin'
I don't look up to no god, but I'm still countin' all my blessins
I'll end this verse, put you in the back of a hearse
I know your mind is blown, but ****, it could be worse