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Two paths of blood direct my eyes, seeming worlds apart.
In what way must my life convert and must I force my heart?

Is it better of man to spread false wings
and bring himself to bear
a life that less than freedom brings
and scars upon his soul he'll wear?

Or is it better to drown in white
and stain with every color
a life that blinds itself in light
and a presence that grows smaller?

No path have I on which to set my right and solid course,
doubtless one still I will tread.  But be it with pride or with remorse?
I found this while perusing an external hard drive of mine. I stumbled upon a small cache of saved poems that I had written back in 2006 (that would put me in senior year of high school).
She hears the remarks, the jokes
Absorbs them into her skin
Yet they don’t stick to her bones
They drag more with them as they filter out

At first she thinks they’re wrong
But what if that’s not so?

Do I have to eat? Why?
Why don’t I deserve to look thinnerbetter than everyone else?
I can trick you all
Here goes…
 Feb 2014 Joaquin Cruzalegui
Odi
Fistfulls of dark hair in darker water
the expression is not beautiful
or ugly
just pure survival.
When hands do what they're meant to do
and you wanna tell him
"I just want to drown"
and you wanna tell him
"I just want to burn out" but
he manages to throw your cigarettes away
hide every sharp insrument in a drawer
flush the xanax down the toilet
he says blue is such a lonely color,
so he repaints your walls and you scream at him to stop
as the sun shines through mirrored curtains.
When you are broken you expect everything around you to  be broken.
White sheets replace black ones and he traces your footsteps back to the bathroom tiles,
smiles says;
"let the light in babe"
mistakes the fear in your eyes for sadness
you have no more room left for sadness
and he has no room left for empathy
running on caffeine and sympathy.
youll take what you can get so the nighttime doesnt have to be darker without him
hope he finds your notebook you place strategically ontop of a kitchen counter
because surely if he could read that he could understand
there are days darker than the ones when you chose to let the light in
it will shine on all your rotting parts
on your cracked canvases and too-full-dams
it will bring sight to the stink that is inside you
he will see
and if he cannot understand the terrror of that then he is not human
First Word War
Pseudo Realistic
Ballistic Uninhibited
A missile sent to split 4 ways
Edify a Crisis in phases
Automaton Pretty Faces
In Disguise to Amaze
a general public of sheep
BLEEP BLEEP
bullet proof bodies unarmed
with spit charming critics
listeners are chirping crickets
culminating communication
this is project…
“Superior Legitimate Unfeeling Trend”
Capital Punishment designed for when
humans breathe on humans
stress is truth is fast
look looming
wade in boozeblues keep on using
mayhem amusing
to pigs in fatso pen
***** rich and booming
sucker fish snoozing
we execute plan z
permanent marker losing
Blatant stabs of jitters
and caffeinated desperation
know just how and where to
push  
us.
Is it a they, am I a we?
Statements and rambling
questions
push
forward in line but
they're out of order.
A speaker of hope
and frequent lover of
bold microphone stands,
the hopeless
push
for the stage.
Bombs and baby cradles
are not important
during this time, the
money-hungry take advantage
stretch the truth and
push
the innocent.
Helpless creatures are doomed
by their own kind,
but there are the few who
dare to
push
for something worth fighting for.
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