Was it because she wasn’t strong enough?
I was lucky she never broke any bones.
I was unlucky she never broke any bones.
The marks were never big enough.
My fear, pain, and anxiety was never obvious enough.
The tension in my body snapping and flinching
when anyone touched me was never clear enough.
I did not know that I was supposed to or had to
speak loud enough for you to hear me.
So, I lived brutalized, and terrorized;
Made fun of at school and beat at home.
The only respite I had was in my walking
to and from.
The only peace I had was sleeping
but I could not extend such freedom
into eternity, because death would not have me.

I cannot give myself over to the apathy of uninformed disinterest or the deep self-sacrifice sacrifice of saints. So i slumber in this sea of pain connected to suffering of others while being detached from their distracted pleasures.

Tears scar
my fevered
red face
as I rage
against
these
unites states.

Pillars of pain
pushed to the point
of bullets and
blood stained
t-shirts.

To young,
to run
far enough
away
that day,

Now politicians
send thoughts and
prayers
but that is
much too little
to even be late.

The media
garners
silent stares
of inaction
while anonymous
internet commenters
call grieving parents
crisis actors.

facebook posts
of dividing positions
put friends in
combative opposition.

I would like
to be fair and neutral,
but the roots
run red and deep
as this dark sea of grief
rises from its sedated state.

So,
I keep on asking
how many more children
have to die
before people do
something right.

A sharp cry of fury pierces the quiet atmosphere of the public housing complex. Neighbors from almost a block away can hear incoherent statements of rage and disgust. However, they seldom hear the sounds of violence. One would have to linger just outside the door to get an inkling of the ****** noses, busted lips, ripped shirts, pulled hair, bruised skin, or reddening flesh punctuated with shouts of “I don’t hate you; I hate your action” or” you’re going to end up just like your father rotting in cell.” Even “say you’re sorry, say you’re sorry or else” or “If you got it so bad why don’t you call DCF and have them take you away.”
Though the statements varied and the violence was different it always ended the same. The young boy locked in his little room watching the world spinning on without him. No books, no games, no hint of fun allowed, or the ire of the matriarch would be incited and more violence would ensue. Only homework, bible, and sleep were allowed. Some days dark moments of despair would creep in. The little boy would eye the electric socket with curiosity and desperation. Thinking that all it would take is a butter knife. Jab that in there and this would be over.
Sometimes he would grab the blanket, crumpling it together till it formed a hill then trace the strange pathways around the cover like his index finger was a car, or imagine his route of escape from this silent prison. Other times he would lie on his back still as death only breathing. In and out, in and out over and over again till his body felt as though it was moving with the tides of an unseen ocean. On rare occasion if only for a minute or two he could almost feel his body recede and his consciousness float up and away. What a strange thing for an eleven year old to experience.
At night in order to fall asleep he would imagine himself with his favorite fictional heroes, saving the world, and being part of their family, accepted and loved. After an hour or so of strange heroic and familial fantasy the boy would slip into the safest place he knew. Daring to dream, reality would fold in upon itself. Spheres of varying color, overlapping and blending would float through his unconscious world. Space dust and sparkling stars urging him on into the strange void. Even the blinking explosions of dying star ******* greedily at his ethereal essence seamed a sweet relief from the daily nightmares of life.
In the midst of this mosaic wonder there was a perfect peace. He could softly surrender the darkest moments of the day. Bubbles of light would gently cradle him in their warm and wet reassurances. He could almost believe this was heaven. There were no loud or sudden movements of fury, there were no bruises or busted lips, only the sweetest freedom.
Waking, that world of wonder would retreat into the clotted corners of his already anxious mind. Until, their comfort and wonder became only impressions, which were eventually swallowed by the day. A day that would be spent ******* in a plastic cup or just draining himself on the ***** green carpet to avoid being yelled at or beaten for leaving his room.
From the window, he watched his peers play unhindered by the dark shadows that seemed to linger in every corner of his home. Sometimes he envied them, other times he found himself furious with them, laughing gleefully at the thunderstorms which interrupted their play time. Still when sleep released him to his playful peace there was just enough joy to sustain him, just enough happiness to get him through the day till the dreams would come again. Then again, inching ever closer to maturity, then to freedom of his flesh from the maternal *******, then freedom of his mind much much later in life.
Now with the ease of an old friend he visits those wonders each night; sometimes waking in tears of gratitude and pain other nights waking with a sense of reinvigoration and determination. Each day a blank canvas to paint a better world upon, and each night a brighter adventure then the one before.

White snowflakes fall.
Brown boots break the ground.
Porcelain perceptions
are lost and now
crimson puddles
seed the grounds.

This is what is found
when nationalistic
rhetoric
slowly crosses
from let’s make
this country great
to this is who
is to blame
and who to hate.

Till, that ill suited
nuclear rage
resets the atomic age
and glass jars
of peach preserves,
rhubarb,
and non-perishables
in dusty cellars
are the only things
left of us human beings.

I can’t say what day the knots gave way
To full blown anxiety
When the hopeful parts
Gave way to the broken heart

Was it when my withering heart
Took one to many blows
One rejection stacked upon
Another broken promise
So on and so on and so on

Was it when I lost a job
That I really loved
To an *******’s misconception
He can stick that thick
Jagged and dangerous attitude
Up his high blood pressure
Sphincter

Was it when I gave up
Retreated to the dark corridors
Of a dead and dystopic
Fantasy world
Where even my daydreams
Became dark things

Was it just now
Cause I don’t know how
To reverse my pain
To get back the good things
Find the old me
And be better

I just can’t say

Each attachment, whether to things or people, is a form of entrapment which takes us farther and farther away from freedom. To be truly free one must be completly detached. However, without attachments where does one find their purpose?

You don't have a good grasp
on those snakes in the grass
that will bite you in the ***.

Lunar illusions
reflect in
the rippling
pond,
as a swan
swims
slowly,
then
dives in
to grab
a fish that
accidentally
swam
near him.

I am not the dark one
But I do not run from
The black sun
I take those onyx rays
Twist and turn grey
****** filled days
To hopeful affirmations
For our young struggling
Human nation

Rose petal plucked perfectly
From the perch it was put on
Pink side placed in the daylight
Turns to crimson during night
Soft pigmented petal pulled
From its’ proper place
And plunged into darkness
As it dances lost in the
Vast expanse of space

They shot me in the south
Hung my brother up to die
Wet and ret swinging to death
Till he **** himself

One summer shower to clean the mess
But not enough rain
To wash away
The blood stains on the tree

In all honesty
I am grateful
That those hateful
Mother ******* shot me
For their brutality was the story
Written on the skin of my kin
Whips and chains
Spirit maimed
In the years that
That injustice remained
Trail of tears
Stolen children
Beaten
But I got off just getting shot

They burnt my brother
And his husband
Turned them
Charcoal and barbecue
Poured gasoline
To see them flailing and wailing
Didn’t even see it on the news
And all I can say
Is I am grateful
I didn’t go out that way
Ain’t that ****** up

You brought me
a shattered dagger,
a rusted waste
rolled up in
a fat flag
that is
bloated with
the victims of
its symbolism.

I wake in tears.
My heart is a scarlet mess,
broken sutures,
split stiches,
torn incisions
not from surgery,
but from the
precise pain
of losing someone
and remembering
said loss
when I awake.

The pharmacist is not your friend
He may put you up in a high hotel
With slip streams of ****** pills
Paxil and Wellbutrin
Designed to defeat depression
To facilitate a fog like
Fugues of perfected moods
With drugs made to create
The perfect drone state
So you can pay your bills
So you can **** and sleep well
So you can keep your health
But it is poison
Kidney killing swill
And while you are under the influence
Perfectly sedated so you forget how to feel
One hand is in your pocket
Thinning your wallet draining dollar bills
While the other hand holds your heart
Crushing what is left of your already weakened will

She is a journey
To a place I have never been.
Soft wind mixing with fogs.
Thin trees with few leaves
Stationary but still moving more than me.
Small streams that carry sedimentary history
Sweep me away as well.
A magical marshland
Wearing dull autumn colors
On the verge of exploding
With springtime hues.
A place I will only know
In photographs and romantic fantasies.
To say that is fine by me
Would be a lie
But I accept that the best
The world has to offer
Will always fly by
That is my set of
Strange romantic lies.

The poet philosopher is more daring by far. For their is no par to hit, no height to attain or place where he/she may fit. All there is, is to see, feel, breath, think, and write it.

I was stretched and torn by gravity
Grabbed and incinerated in celestial furnaces
Spewed out into space to face
New particle possibilities
Vapors in the black
Travelling at my own speed
Till I became earth and earth beget life
And life devoured itself
While giving birth to itself
Moving in such strange ways
Till what matters became matter
Traveling space dust
In love with the cosmos
That grandfathered me into
Existence

The horses do it
The chimpanzees
Do it as they please
I watch all of these
Dreams
Growing
Cell by cell
Mother and father
Express themselves
Creating tiny haploids
Making a zygote
Minds expanding
Into a newly forming
Consciousness
A new universe is born
Came into being
A natural thing
But this birth
Will never be for me
It is only an echo
Of a loving
Fairytale dream

And all the king’s men
Were a cursedly rotten bunch
Took the corrupt out to lunch
While their allies launched
Bombs that eviscerated
The hearts and bodies
Of the foreigners and natives

It is blindness by consent
Not knowing where we were going
Not caring where we went
Just tearing up the world
As we play follow the leaders

The streets bleed violence
But it’s not what you are thinking
Tv has got you drinking up
The new age of segregation
The cultivation of gentrification
One neighborhood split by the highway
One street built up with new projects
To expel so called misfits
Lies value profits over people
See specific skin colors as evil
Or at least deviant

So, I cry out across the canyon
“Tell me you don’t believe in it.
Please tell me you can see it.”

But even the echoes ignore me
How can I save humanity
If they can’t see what I see.

I Put one foot in the grave that I dug,
Take one last hug then I shrug.
Blood pressure rising,
from trying to fight the tyrants,
but it is a losing battle
and even I know it.

So, for every inch forward
I take a hundred and one back.
Till, I collapse ready for the dirt nap,
ready for the final pause,
but maybe someday someone better
will take up my cause.

She is the only Christmas gift
I wish to unwrapped
Red cap, red lips
Fitting my tip
In this desirous being
Emptying all that I have
In her soft silk stalking

Life shifts
from daylight shades
of cloudy grey
and turquoise
to dark blue.

I train my eyes
heaven ward
to watch
for a sparkle
of you.

Looking for the twinkle
of my grandfather’s
ancient eyes,
looking for
the perfect star cluster
to help me realize
that his memory
still lies
behind my eyes.

I look for a trigger
that I figure
will spark
the memory
of his bearded voice,

but this night
is not good enough
to remind me of
the lost one I love.

So, I slip and surrender to
the sadness of
missing the missing pieces.
Cause my memory
of deceased family
has been fragmented
and distorted by time.

I blink tiredly listening to parallel pipes push plastic particulates in and out around the factory, while white towers give off billows of powerful pollutants. Cylindrical silos rise echoing a sound like snowy static from an old black and white tv. I walk and watch this strange scene following train tracks that go nowhere and back from there. The train is graffitied with some minor marks and more complicated tags. One roughly sprayed owl covers an old ***** orange car with the words “I wish I could rust away to” followed by red lettered “Itchy legs” and a more elaborate display that says something unintelligible but looks spectacular. Concrete carries the weight of the old train cars. It is cracked partially from the truck drivers and other workers but mostly from the earth shifting as the cement expands over time. Shallow lines in the concrete pursue their parallels. Their more prominent brothers curving and splintering as the deepest cracks cut fully across the back of the factory lot. This is what I watch from whatever time it is to the infinity of night that fills my sight. I am tired beyond tired. Feet sore, body slightly thinning but my mind is beginning to lose its distinct edges. Until, all reality becomes a walk around the factory. There is no yesterday or tomorrow only endless caffeinated patrols, and a yearning for the release of sleep.

As an artist
I forgot
how to
draw the
feminine
form,
but
I used
the women
at the gym
to inform
and refresh
my amateur
artistry.

Reality splinters
into fractured avenues
of lightening
of unknown variables.
The future fills with flowers
and burns with the fear
spawned from the dawn of
uncertainty and endless possibilities.

Every day
even in the rain
the old man walks by
my workplace window
limping lightly
could be very lonely
but that is not a certainty.

The dying flower ripped
From the earth
Drips chloroplast
The living liquids
Barely last
As the fragile stem
Begin life again
Imprisoned in
A vase or dark bell jar
Left to die
A slow beautiful death
On display

Sorrow splits the night
like lightning in the sky.
I see strangers
with an endless reserve
of tears clouding
their red and bag heavy eyes.
Makes me wonder why
they had to live
to see their children die.

I pass by these borders you plan to build
thick brick walls to block you from how
all these strange foreigners feel,
but I will take all the pain they receive,
make their scars a permanent part of me.
I will see this life break me
of all those playful star trek fantasies
of how we will be better human beings.

Cause, I have seen babies wearing bullet holes
like little red onesie, and crimson bibs,

seen pictures of places we will never be,
decimated cities, with scars so deep
that even the stones bleed.

I shudder
knowing we do not need
Hollywood monsters
because real nightmares
exist over there.

Please tell me how
do I move on
from these portraits of pain.

Of course the pig squeals.
Yes, monsters make appeals,
pleading for humanity
whenever they feel
threaten by the lesser degrees
of the insanity
that they instigated
in our society.

However, my sympathy
is less engaged
for those who lie,
displaying false outrage
while the bombs that are made
our directed by them
to blow up innocent men
women, and children.

I long to be a good person,
but how much does my
saintly status cost?
Does it cross
some sick line
when I find
that I harbor patience
and mercy in my mind
for the vicious kind
who have slaughtered
thousands,
and impoverished
millions more?

I've been chasing her. Though she is final, the ultimate mystery. She is the darkness. The final bliss and such a release. In uncertainty she is a comfort. In happiness she is a spider ******* at my flesh. I know not what will happen when we finally embrace. So I wait and try not to waste the days between my fate and her ****** lips. She will love me as she has loved all who have come before and all who come after. No one will escape her embrace.

I miss the small town girls,
whose names I have
mostly forgotten,
the games of tag,
the make believe scenarios,
the fun we had.

I miss the star lit chats
that the adults had,
while I ran
with flint rock sparks,
and chased fireflies.

I miss the old campground,
where we would swim
in a small sandy pond,
splashing.
When the older folks
dipped in
they got bitten,
but I never felt
any fish nibbling.

These memories
have been dimming
over time,
plus distance
as I swim in
a different
world,

but I was younger then
playing with other children,
innocent.

I miss those moments.

Universal morality does not work their is no cookie cutter solution for every moral quandary. However, this does not mean everything is relative. Moral judgments can be made by using empathy instead of ancient texts. It requires people to think deeply about what they do and who they do it to.

She took a razor tipped
Farewell trip
To rip strips
Of now red flesh
From her breast
Desiring the expiring
Of the deeper pains
To be replaced by
Physical ones

So cut for cut
She cleansed her soul
Drip for drop
Draining on the floor
And then
Then there was no more

No more pain
No more cuts
No more her

These struggles harken back
To a heart charred charcoal black
That drained dusted facts
About the lack of that
Which could set our society free

I got no boat to row away with
No time to float and say that this
Is a dreaming play date

I got no plane to hit the skies with
To fly high in the night life
Letting those clouds kiss the tips
Of my wings

But I got me and a little bit of
Daydreaming space tripping stuff
Lying in bed
But in my head
I am everywhere

Enlightenment requires quiet moments of reflection so that one can listen to their subconscious. This is almost impossible to acheive in the hustle and bustle of modern america. Do me and the whole world a favor stop breath relax and listen to your subconscious, do not be afraid of the quiet. That is not the sound of death nipping at your heels it is the sound of tranquility trying to find you.

I am not some black sheep to be shepherded by some make beleive creep.

My problem is that I am driven. I have a certain level of willpower that most cannot honestly claim. However, many with this degree of will power become rigid. I am fluid, because directing much of the energy i have is a undeniable sense of empathy. This makes pursuing a world of materiel things highly detestable, because I know these things come at the cost of our humanity. So my pleasure comes from the consumption of art and knowledge. I am a strange **** that strangles the seeds, and softens the earth of your subdued minds. While you keep trying to grow straight like the rest am trying to bend you so you can see around OZ's curtains. Good luck,

Love is a landfill
Filled with landmines

And I am a gun shy
Guy
Tip toeing through
The garbage to
Get to you

But one wrong step
I am rejected
Feet slip
The mine is tripped

I am shredded
Once compelled by hope
Now I am impaled
On shrapnel

And with each beat
The metal gets deeper
The more I love
The quicker I die

Till the lonely guy
Learns how to not love
And each little death
Helped him decide
He needs to be by himself
Rather than committing love suicide

Truth is the pursuit of our higher self;
Not Spiritual but intellectual,
empowering the ineffectual
with the information they need
to decide what, what they perceive means.

Disembodied voices
Sit in a conference call
To convince tellers
To tell people
That credit cards
Are awesome
That it won’t cost them
Much at all
And they can get rewards
Not mentioning
That the percentage
Of interest
Outweighs any rewards
They claim are so great
And if the cardholder is not careful
Heavy debt waits
To chain them to
Financial insecurity
And a job that is cruel
Countering the countenance
Of mankind’s
Desire to be free

She sleeps now
With her wilted roses
And crooked
Cracked sidewalk
Such a broken walkway
Gentle gardener hands
And piano fingers
Plant and play no more

I bought carrots, and kale,
coconut oil that was on sale
avocados, and blue berries,
vitamin supplements
in a desire to stay healthy
out of fear of my mortality.

But I miss donuts
and sugar coated cereals.
I miss monster energy drinks,
taco pizzas, and cheeseburgers.

I miss what was killing me slowly,
suicide by snail’s place.
I once raced to gain weight.
Now I eat things I hate,
longing for something dangerous on my plate.

Corporate engineering with slight color variations
and logo imprintations do not impress me.
Assembly lines do not find or make time
to free the proletariat’s enslaved mind.
They just distract us with delusions of
capitalistically designed versions of individuality.
The fact is unbridled greed can only collapse this
mad consumer society,
because selfishness subtracts the humanity
that got us to this age in the first place.

With the power of shared meaning words can divide, destroy, disseminate falsehoods and conceal ill intent. However when used to their truest potential they can elevate with education and shared understanding, by clearing out the closet of confusion. They empower us to see where we have been, where we are going, and where we can go if we choose to alter our course. Those who control the language control the course of history. Those who censor language weaken the collective.

I am not made to lead
Nor be the barer of responsibility
But neither am I a sheep
Who follows sheepishly
The closest thing that fits me
In our current stretch of humanity
Is being a sage

What foul deed
do these fools decree
to submit to this
madness that you see?

Blades of grass,
knives of steel,
bullets that feel
no more or less real.

Pain is reaped
like wheat with
the reaper’s scythe .
As loved one fall
on into
an endless night
while leaders
claim the right
to order us
to fight.

Our fallen kin
lies therein
victim to their whims,
profiting the wealthy
more than the starving
children and women.
While nationalistic rhetoric
leaves stranger thundering
bellowing broken justifications
our new leader elect
just goes on a vacation.

Though I wish it was not
the case
this human race
does not want
an honest human being.

Instead, they want shiny
expensive
status symbols
but all I have to offer
is love and wisdom.