I feel like dying
a death they'll count in likes.
Always second. Next best
  option -- may he rest in peace.

So many people other than me.
Having to apologize for bleeding
  on the knife in my back.
You cheated on me -- please still love me.
There are so many other men -- please
  let  me  be  your  eternal.

I'm a side *****, worth my weight
  in wallet and ****. My head of
hair is curly. Tangles of fun;
  all connected to ordinary brain.

Tell me your proud, father.
Tell me I'm worth something, mom.
Am I contributing to the economy, America?
May I crumble so that my pieces fill
the cracks that I could never fill.

So many thin, druggy boys and
a crazy, ******-honey are trying
to stomp me like the ****** dream
that I am. Pure Side *****. Pure
Side *****. Graphic designers
and killers, oh my.

But wait!
  Me?
It couldn't be me
  that you're speaking to.
Die for the American Dream?
  You want me to write for
no one to read? You want me
  to **** until I can feel?
You want me to fall apart
  and be taken care of by someone
who isn't even born yet?
  You want my money.
  You want my ***.
  You want my violence.
  You want my soul.
  You want me on one side.
  You want me to **** my brother.
  You want me to be red or blue.
  You want me to pick a news channel.
  You want me to uncover my camera.
  You want to regulate me.
  I am your side *****. I am your
  side *****. You can destroy me
  and I will apologize for the
  mess my body made.

I had a God; he was a
good God. Keeping me  safe
with money, image, and  time.
Blessing me, solid;  
until my waist grew as thin   as my wallet.  
Buying all of your time.

I want to be on t.v.,
but not just any t.v.
I want the ratings to rise
  with my celebrity skin,
my trending name,
  commercialized sin.

I want to be sold   separately
and told that I'm desperately
giving my body to a   image heavy God,
sleeping on the skeleton of Malibu,
drinking dreams with a celebrity dog.

I want to be  on t.v.
I want to be  every  thing
and  more.

I had a God; he was a good God.
Played me his songs,  wrapped
  in his time.  Kissing me goodbye,
tel  ling me to sell shirts; telling me to
keep up with the trends.

My spine is crooked.
I take off my shirt
and it looks like my
body is swollen on
one side.

There's a hole on
my chest; some
insect insertion,
living between
strands of hair.

A scab is on the
back of my head
and it hasn't healed
in years. I'm afraid
to fix it because I
may make it worse.
I'm terrified of what
wounds may breed.

Surgery is probably
the answer or something
like it. I hope they don't
miss and cut something
on my spine. God forbid,
I become as paralyzed as
I feel.

Different colored fruit
with various tastes
One hits the ground
and the others
go to waste

Different colored fruit
some bruised
some small
If one has a worm
you have to
destroy them all

Different colored fruit
believing in higher things
Worshiping their trees
Debating over the rings
they find when they
tear their Gods apart
Different colored fruit
some sweet
some ****

Different colored fruit
with evolving views
Growing with the season
some becoming softer
some turning darker hues

Different colored fruit
learning how to die
Some at peace
with falling
Some hoping
to float
into the sky

Now,
Don't you tell me to chill.
Like the Beastie Boys I've
got a license to ill.
Over-confident for
insecurity's sake.
An ego so big
sudden drops could
cause a quake.

Now,
Shake-Sha-Shake
                    it up.
A poem so apathetic
it might give a ****.
Wanting to rap; also
wanting to write --
don't mistake my words
for something tight.

I asked God to help me end my pain by me dying and he whispered in my ear that he wants me to suffer until I take my own life. He told me I'll suffer from my ancestors crimes even though I have nothing to do with it. I begged God to give me the strenght that I've been lacking to end it and he whispered in my ear that he will
In my other ear Satan whispered God never loved me
I'm trash that God is ready to empty
I begged God for a loaded gun and some rope to end what I'm forcing myself to do...( live)

Here I lay,
powerless.
Why reveal
who I am
when
who I am
is not
acceptable.

To be ostracized; To be sealed in
       the Hell Fire I raise for raze.  
I can't candidly express my thoughts;
for I am different - and what is different
is not able to be understood - and what is not understood
starts wars; gathers men in poison rooms; rips apart bodies
like rag-abortions, grasping at the surrounding cracked Earth.

Here I lay,
powerless.

I look down
Take in the ground
I am home
I am one day wiser
A whole life naive
Bring me closer
One day wiser I connect to the north
One day brighter I connect to the south
One day lighter I connect with the east
One day stronger I connect to the west
But still
A whole life naive

She's planting out her window box
Young shoots are showing through
She thinks about the Springtime
And the garden she once knew

There were primroses and daffodils
Sweet violets white and blue
She thinks about her husband
And when their love was new

Buds and blooms open up
They scent and colour Summer long
She thinks about those happy days
When they were young and strong

Sunset's falling sooner now
Petals drop, the show is done
She gathers up her Winter shawl
Prepares for what’s to come

Her soul is on fire,
the heat from it taking me higher,
soaring on a demons breath,
taste on my lips, the kiss of death,
reaching forth she takes my hand,
leading me to a foreign land,
through the shrouds of darkened bliss,
wraps my spirit in an immortal kiss,
shields me with an apocryphal embrace,
takes me to her resting place,
she feels, she see's, she knows,
the ancient wisdom of the crows,
binds me with a seal of tears,
keeping me safe through all the years.