How tragic that I have fallen for
my peacock colored angelic
poetically created fantasy,
how her lips are rainbows
and hair falls fancy
full of vibrance,
though she is written in silence,
hazel eyes always focused
in some far-off distance
behind me,
the man who longs to be
the one she is truly seeing.
Galatea to my Pygmalion,
though I know there are billions
of possible lovers out there,
I do not care or dare
avert the heart I share.
She is my obsession,
and I am her devoted
poet possession.


-2022 December

Straight out of the gate
if you’re standing with hate
then you are my nemesis,
so vacate the premises
because your premise is
parallel to white supremacists.
Your weakness is obvious.
Our problems can’t be solved
by ignorance that abolishes
any semblance of human decency.

Life’s strange variety helps society
overcome unforeseen calamities,
create new works of art
and science that moves us
from here to where we could be
traveling universally,
whilst expanding intellectually.

Your violence
doesn’t help human beings;
It loosens the strings
that tie us together.
Defining a stranger
as a danger
because of their color,
imaginary borders,
or gender identity
doesn’t serve to
strengthen our foundations
but turns earth to rot
as those who have a lot
use the wealth they got
to disseminate hatred,
and take more and more.

I know you love it,
but take your Sexism,
Transphobia, Racism,
and discrimination
and shove it.

-2022 December

You thought that you could tempt me
with the power to destroy entire cities,
see the people renting slip into poverty,
see good intention blur then blend to become
the kind of corruptions that is to blame
for all the atrocities humanity has done.
-
But I am not the anti-social monster
who would willingly harbor cruel intentions,
not the type of person who could see
and fail to mention
innocent people being held in detention.
-
If I had to choose to give my life,
my life is something I can afford to lose
to proactively oppose those who grow
chaos and suffering for profits.
---
-2022 December

All I can see
is a wasteland of
stone, glass, metal,
and wooden rubble
in an open air prison
where children are living.

Six thousand bombs,
stirring up
thick clouds of grey dust,
obscuring the horrors
people are enduring.

The attackers are
barely even
warning people
to move on.
The exits are blocked.
The power and water is off.
The suffering doesn’t stop,
and these civilians
are unable to leave.

How are you unable to see
the hell spring of grief
that is burning human beings,
the furnace that still cooks
even when no one bothers to look
because all of the crooks
were just waiting
for the perfect excuse
to make the news
with a justified genocide.

Mass ****** and more oppression
with the weapons
America supplied,
and guess what,
another child just died,
more parents got radicalized,
and if they survive
will you be surprised
if hate is the new demoncont.
that wears their tired red eyes.

The rich guys lied and decided
that unequal retaliation
is perfectly justified,
so we are on a road
to the extinction of
human decency
as the world murders
our collective humanity.

Crack, boom,
the sound of thunder blooms
orange heated chaos,
breaking the foundation
an entire building.

A whole family line
gets an early burial,
as what’s left of my heart
gets carried inside,
popped in a box
to be buried alive,
because their beat
was the same as mine.

Nothing I write
will change the minds
of those unwilling to
listen and see people who
are close to total annihilation,
as deserving of love,
and compassion,
but even so
I am still asking.

Help, please, help!?!


Instead we get beheadings,
mass shootings,
****** assault,
retaliation,
and the expectation
of more tragedy to come.

I can easily condemn
violent actions taken,
but I need to understand
the origins of this rocky foundation,
and potential solutions,
because I can’t stand the
horrors I am facing
without eventually breaking.

The tic click tic click
is a slick sick trick
of time playing with
my mind,

some twitch
a phantom itch
with no obvious
cause for it,

a voice dragging me
from the comfort of sleep,
yelling out my name,
so I get up to see,
but there is no one
out there calling me.

I am scared
because my family
has a history
of mental illness
in varying degrees
of severity,
and I am afraid
that one day
it won’t be me
questioning my sanity,
but a clinical certainty.

I don’t want to go
because I feel responsible
for my seventy-year-old
infirmed father,
trapped by a self-imposed
sense of obligation,
self-erasing, and disintegrating
any chance of self-elevation
in the pursuit of
taking care of
someone I love.

So many years lost trying to
help and get through to
someone who doesn’t
seem to have a clue
what his angry outbursts do.

I feel guilty for wanting my own life
minus all this major family strife.

Ten years I’ve been too scared to leave
because I didn’t know what I would do
or if I could even afford to move.

Will I step forward or be subdued
by fear and attachments to
a situation that holds no true
future growth for me?

I break my pattern
and reduce the restriction
of obsessive attention
to a particular
schedule or behavior,
because if I want to
I can do it now or later,
take the time to savor
the flavor of the moment
because I own it
and not the other way around.

This type of freedom is profound,
and easy to achieve
even though it frequently eludes.
Obsessions frequently intrude rudely
and take more time than
I care to admit to.

The world may be
very close to ending
or not,
but my life is all
that I really got,
so I will greedily
hoard my individuality
and liberty to see and perceive
that strings that seem to direct me
and sever them immediately.