Mom,
my greatest teacher,
I love you and
You taught me
A lot of important lessons.
You taught me to roll with the punches.
You taught me how to make my own money.
You taught me how to dance.
You taught me how to believe in myself.
You taught me about God.
You taught me how to accept.
But why didn't you teach me
How to love?

I am God's daughter.
You cannot, will not have me.
I live. It won't work.

It had hurt
When I had to
Watch you leave
From the window.
But isn't that
Why they call it
Window pain?
I could thank
Eminem for the line
But that's too formal.
And the fact is
I didn't see you at all.
It happened over Kik,
And I just so happened
To be starring out my window
While I felt
The pain
Of you yanking
My heart out of my chest,
In its most fragile form,
And dropping it
To the concrete
Allowing it to shatter.
I thought you cared,
But I thought wrong.
Again.
I won't look for a new
Fix It Felix Jr
To fix
What Ralph
Wrecked this time, again.
I won't blast
Jhene Aiko chanting
"I don't need you
I don't need you
I don't need you
I don't need you,
But I want you."
Because it will only
Increase my hurt emotions.
I won't remove our pictures
From my facebook, instagram, Twitter or gallery.
I won't change my status to "single"
Because tomorrow,
When we make 9 months,
We'll be happy...Again.

His is love
Is like a boomerang,
No, frisbee, he throws it out
And that's where it stays.
It doesn't even come close
To her hands.
She can't catch his love
Because it's not there.
Intangible. Vague.
That's his love.
His unreal, intangible love.

His love is like a mother dying.
You're only consultant,
Gone.
She can't imagine it
Because she never had it.
She can't feel it
Because she never experienced it.
It's not there
Cause it's his
Intangible love.

Now she's a broken hearted girl,
'Cause her true -fake- love,
Who she'd catch grenades for,
Abandon family for,
Sell herself on a corner
At a late midnight hour for,
Was seen with his new Barbie doll.
Now she's at home
Overwhelmed with depression.
Scoffing down her third bottle
Of E & J.
Poppin pills like pain killers
To heal her wounded heart.
Neck tied,
Standing on a chair.
Jump! Twitch. Death.
And all just because,
Of his intangible love.

Fifteen years old.
He welcomed
A small glass bottle.
Perfectly brim filled.
The blue sticker reads:
E&J;
VSOP.
Ernest & Julio
Very superior old pale.
Or even,
More accurately described as
Evil jab to
A healthy liver to
Visciously, yet slowly, strike
A life from the earth.
Because it's an
Odious poison.
He started a family young.
But with 3 kids,
2 baby mamas
1 kid on the way
And no job,
Well no dependent, legal, or for sure job;
Living was difficult.
He consumed the
Liquid venom
From the glass bottle
Like it was the air he breathed.
He drunk it
When he woke up in the morning.
He slept with it.
He drunk it
With his dinner.
He spent days
Without food
Just to devour
The ****** liquid.
He reeked of
The awful stench
Of a few shared 40s
And 1 lonely E&J.;
He abandoned his children.
He traded his daughters' childhoods
For reclusive evenings
With only him, the stars and a bottle.
Occasionally,
He'd be in a isolated corner.
With a shadeless lamp
Laying on it's side.
Taking a sip every time
He thought of an event
He'd miss in each kid's life.
Taking a sip every time
A cockroach crawled across his foot.
Taking a sip every time
He realized he let another person down.
Taking a sip every time
He thought of a
Shoulda - Coulda - Woulda.
Taking a sip
And taking another sip
And yet another until
The whole 40oz were gone.
Only because the warm liquid
Was the only thing
That soothed the pain.
That placated the misery.
That stopped all the bad
And left room
For all the possible good.
But the high only lasted
Just a little while.
Then he'd cry himself to sleep
Because he realized
He was truly forsaken.
He didn't have family.
He didn't have friends.
Not even a trick
On the corner can help.
Who do you turn to
When someone told you: Jesus
And someone else told you: Allah?
Where do you go
When you overwelcome your stay everywhere?
How do you know
You've overdone your rumspringa?
When is juvenile rebellion compete?
He could never answer these questions.
He could never
Find the root of his issues,
So he created more just from bad habit.
And when I was just 2 years old,
I lost my father to E&J.;
Où t'es, papaoutai
Like Strome said
Where are you daddy where are you?
The worst disaster in a kid's life.
Stronger than a nor-easter.
More tenacious than
Katrina or Sandy.
No one to
Dust me off
After I fell off my bike.
No one to
Defend me in the park
When bullies stalk on the little guys.
No one to
Teach a young lady true love.
A shovel,
To dig a black hole
In the space of my heart
To **** up all the pain
But never be filled
Without the affiliation
Of a father's affection.
Just to reassure you,
He's not dead,
His liver maybe,
But he's fine.
But,
He's, sadly,
No father of mine.
A mere ***** donner
Who laid with my mother
One night some time ago.
My love for him,
It will never die.
But the pleasure he finds
In a bottle,
Must decease,
Before he does.

I live in the land
Of the inbetweeners.
We are what
The French would call,
Bourgeoisie.
What the ghetto calls,
Bougie.
What the successful calls,
Day dreamers,
And what we call,
The future leaders.
I live in
The land of rebels.
The people who fought against their oppressors
Because they know the truth behind
Social Darwinism;
And the fact of the matter is
That no race
Is a superior race
Because "race"
Is a manmade idea
To justify the injust
Ideas of slavery.
The rebels who ran out of chains
Because they weren't
Supposed to be chained down.
The rebels who walked midnight railroads
To escape the clutches
Of the white man's burden.
The rebels who refused to stand
In one spot
When there were plenty of seats available.
The rebels who refused
to bite their tongues and
The rebels who refused to be spoken over
Because they had
A lot of important stuff to say.
The rebels who dreamt outrageous dreams,
So that the complexion
Of your pigment
Was never a deciding factor
In your life.
The rebels who refused
to follow unlawful laws
Because they were
Law abiding citizens
Only when laws were just.
The rebels who challenged what was superiority,
The rebels who changed the course of history forever.
I live in
The land of the outsiders
Who conform the
Preconceived ideas
To fit them
We roll small blunts
of white paper
Filled with the words
of novels and poetry
And blow through those books
Inhaling every letter
And letting it cling to our lungs
Flowing the grammar
Throughout our bodies.
We stand spittin
Absolute value bars
Rapping elongated equations
Of X equals
Y +/- root Z
Divided by root A
Times the quantity of
B - C.
We stick up
Banks filled with
Material and instruction.
Stealing all the information we can take
And try peicing it together
So that more than words
We have knowledge.
We *******
Our brains,
Pleasing its sapiosexual
******* with
Grammar and arithmetic.
I live in the land
Of the inbetweeners.
The people making history
In their everyday lives.
The revolutionaries
Who fight for even
The smallest of issues.
The individuals who stand out
Amongst a crowd of people
That look just like them.
The inbetweeners,
They who refuse
To subjugate themselves
To society,
But will subjugate society
To themselves.