I got eye strain and back pain
from sitting in the chair all day,
working my life away,
clicking on keyboards and mouses,
while staring at computer screens,
and ignoring other things;

I am detached from the fact that
there is more than just me,
because everyone I see,
every single human being
has turned into pixelated images
on the monitor I’ve monitored
all day.

I am not a perfectionist
but I want to
write such works
that make words strike
like bullets that hurt
when they are finally heard.

By which only the bad
and severely mad
could avoid being affected,
and for years later on
my art would be dissected
by other artists and historians,

and the wisdom that I’m bringing
would reach out and touch
millions and millions
of open-hearted civilians,
would enlighten the frightened
women, men, and children;

Inspiring the tired fighters
to stop the riots and
indict violence inciters.

I want to put people
on the edge of their
consciousness.
Till, they are forced to face
the plain reign of pain
that stains people’s brains.

I do not expect my experiment
will be successfully permanent,
or start any sort of social movement,
but in my wildest most hopeful dreams,
in my grandest poetic schemes,
I am moved to move other human beings,
and make them feel what I have felt
and see the things that I have seen.

I am but a passing poetic fool,
who hopes that you’llcont.
humor him.

So, I can sit and write again
and again, calling on
my current, past, and future
treasured friends
to appreciate what lays
underneath different tints
and shades of skin.

That by taking these verses
and polishing them,
you might finally listen
and act with more compassion
and less greed and ignorance.

My modern masked queen,
writing word warrior
with flowing prose
as beautiful as the growing rose,
whispering inspiration,
forming a glowing sphere,
a secret sacred space where
I long to go to but
she will not let me in there.

A goddess of nature who owns the air,
vibrating and bending all the ears near,
piercing hearts who hear clear
what wonders my Amazonian friend brings here.

So many stories to tell,
so many things she keeps to herself.
Chaotic but she keeps it under wraps,
as she covers all her scars with laughs.

Layers upon beautiful layers,
multiple masks that overlap,
sometimes they come a little loose,
but she always puts them back.

I wish the façade would crack,
and I could see behind the armor,
that she would let me be
the sharer of strength that she lacks,
so she could finally relax.

My modern mask Queen
would probably have to ****** me
if I ever got to close.
It would be a strange exchange,
but part of me wouldn’t mind that trade.

I can hear them shout,
but I keep thinking about
every day I wake
with an inkling of doubt.

Always questioning,
constantly questing,
I seek answers
to questions
not many people
are asking.

What about kindness?
What about empathy?
What about the brilliance
that I see staring back at me
in the form of
universal diversity?

What about daydreams
and all the hopes they bring?
Have I dreamed enough
or are there so many more
left for me to explore?

What about reality,
neuroscience,
and biology?
What about the glory of
all the natural things I see?
What about hope,
Is there any out there left for me?

What about the finality
of death,
or the endlessness
of infinity paired with eternity?

Stereotypes and hyperbole
do not serve our needs,
but diversity plants the seeds
for our growing adaptability,
socially, mentally, and biologically,
allowing us to overcome adversity
and turn it into a transition to
a grand brand-new world view.

It’s the same stew that took us from
clay pottery to awesome cartoons
from Plato’s cave to the moon,
from spoken words heard
around campfires to
digital and audiobooks that
we can learn so much from,
from my mind to this poem
on to you who I hope
takes the full scope
of my creativity and intentions
and use it for your own inventions.

So, tell me please as you see
what makes diversity great?

I’m glad that someone finally got through to you,
that you are listening to someone who
says the same exact thing that I always do,
and now you’ve got this can-do attitude,
so everything is going to be better.

However, I am a little annoyed
that you managed to avoid
hearing anything that I had to say,
when I was trying convinced you
of those truths that you now believe in.

I got a sick suspicion
sinking and settling in
my stomach like iron *****.

A fear that we have been
walking in a maze of sewers
with tons of manure,
that people won’t bother
trying to be any better because
they have gotten used to
the sick disgusting stuff,
and being corrupt
is just how it will be.