If you only knew
the person I used to be.
The way I looked at the world
was different then, not nearly
the same broken worldview
that now holds me-hostage,
Against my every wish and will.
Amongst the shattered glass doors
stands the new me.
Built from shards of hope and
fragments of happiness;
One might think me invincible,
but I know better than that.

Before all of this;
Before everything happened-
I was simply me.

Gentrified geriatrics fill the land,
to the brim I might add, and,
'perhaps its time we make a change' I've said,
not happy nor glad
about the situation at hand.

The common facade portrayed
by the majority of people
tends to be a **** poor
way of dealing with pain.

You know what I mean.

That mask that people don
as if it will save them,
save you,
from endless misery.

It doesn’t have to be this way-
It’s 3:06 A.M. And I can’t sleep,

****.

Propellers of propaganda participate
dubiously within the American diaspora.
Depending on the angle taken, pushing
and or pulling a particular group of people
towards some penultimate 'prize.'

Believe this or that they say, but there are
two sides to every tale. Truthfully
I don't, or can't, know the truth. And
thus, truthfulness becomes a travesty
to me.

When media misinforms
and the TV tells trickeries
and schooling is suppressed-
supposedly we are
'Making America Great Again'

But truthfully?
I doubt it.

Clumsily, cluelessly, capriciously;
Varying walks of life, and such varied
ways of walking. Crawling and or quickly-
they advance through the concrete corridors.

~Completely unaware of the outside world
or anything other than themselves, for that matter.~

The issue lies in the wanting of more.
I've not much left to give and I'm sickly
'cause everybody's got their friends-big leagues.
From me to you, its not simple. Like harried
marriage; marred and probably charred, but

this is war-
~extra judiciously~

The totality of it; lost,
upon the moment we awake-
from the permafrost that is sleep
though this is only one take.

It must be a mistake, opaque
lies commandeered; drowned us
in our beds, downy lips have let
it slip-The truth? I hardly know her.

Moreover, when we castigate
our offspring, the ones we love the most,
we have castrated their minds at best-
at worst, the fires of hate, we've stoked.

So next time that you blame the youth
whose marble towers we've destroyed.
Ponder protractedly the ways
in which this outcome, you would avoid.