The morning is interesting!

It can also be VERY boring....

However, the fact that i act like i ignore the magic of the morn shows that i am close-minded to something as exciting as opening your eyes to LIFE.

Ever have the feeling of waking up numb?
Waking up oblivious to both the world and your peers?
Boarding up your ears and shutting the shades that cover your eyes because you feel like the morning is as close to the moment before you die?
Trust me.
I CAN understand (or maybe you cant reciprocate with me)

But.....a cup 'o foldgers coffee and a sweet spongy pound cake could take that ****** feeling away and give you an oppurtunity to avoid apathy and floating aimlessly and hatefully through the world.

The caffeine thats currently flowing through me makes me want to create for somebody; ANYBODY for that matter.
Be the cause of laughter after a corny joke i make.
Or maybe just whisper sweet somethings to a beautiful girl that enjoys my corny ways.
What i would like to say to you is....
How are you feeling?

The roaring engines of soaring planes resonates through every alley way, street, and through every crack in the concrete.

The rainy opaque and gray clouds pour a feel of solemnity upon a sleepy city.

The melancholy beauty of my rainy day.

The gentle pitter patter of the drizzling rain caresses my face as i slow my pace to embrace the sound amongst the rain.

The brisk breeze that chills to a temperature ranging amongst the 50's travels through my slightly drenched hoody.

A damp feeling spreads through my body.

The clopping and the squelching noise of busy feet walking and stomping through wet sidewalks.

The chatter of pedestrians.

The complaining religious humanitarians.

To all of that....
                              I Listen......

Have you ever taken a moment to look at the cowlick on your head in the morning and say to yourself, "**** it"
hover amongst your home gracefully and comfortably through you cozy warm home,
Scratch something on your body, stop at your bathroom and ***...
Afterwards stare at your reflection in the mirror happily, laughing at how comfortable you can be.
At this point you begin to brush your teeth.
You notice that you appear foolish as you progress.
Drink some mouth wash, rinse, spit, shine.
At one point you whisper the world is mine.
You dress, smell fresh, devour some breakfast and speed on out the door.
For you and only you,
there is something great in store .

I shuffle my "socked" feet to the window to see the blue and red lights flashing brightly.

A few minutes ago, sirens blaring loudly.

Now there's two police cars running idly.

Frantically a woman scans the vicinity.

A officer questions the woman both carefully and calmly.

I watch carefully from my five story apartment.

Its an eerie feeling, watching the police stand as idly as their vehicles in the night.

As if they wish they could've dealt with something more interesting than a domestic fight between man and wife.

One of the officers come out of the building with a respectably tall man.

His hands clasped together as his wrists were bound by cuffs.

I wasn't surprised to see that his demeanor was resonating a sense of, "I don't give a ****!"

The woman locked eyes with the guy and immediately began foaming at the mouth with anger, pain, contempt, and disdain because of beatings and bruises that she has obtained.

From Him.

He was calm, cool, and collected.
From what it seemed, nothing he regretted.

Unaffected.

Before his head disappeared within the police vehicle, I could've sworn i saw him smile.

The dispatch scratched through the car.

Complex codes and orders resonated from afar, as the cruiser quietly accelerated, then the siren blared through the cold brittle midnight air.

Quietly i stood there and stared and stared until the both the sound and sight of the vehicle was no more.

I shuffled my "socked" feet back to my bed.
Back to sleep.

If you walk far enough into any writers mind you'll pass complex buildings,
Complex roads,
And Complex people clamouring and chattering through busy bustling streets.
A car, a bus,
A Train, a plain
That really ***** *** who's obviously insane.
With shattered separated teeth, you can plainly see he's "Dentally" impaired
Im actually getting scared just by the sight of...uh....him? Her? WHATEVER!
But for some odd reason,
As strange as it seems,
Those men, women, children, random mailmen, bums, buses, train, plains, and cars always have a place to go.
A rush to a destination you may never know.
How fast or how slow they go isnt mandatory
Its variable, optional, and selective.
ALSO....No matter how complex the situation,
TRAFFIC IS TRAGIC!
Getting from point 'A' to point 'B' without delay (and reaching your destination the same day) is like magic.
But that rarely happens on Writers Block.
Everything is stopped and/or clogged.
I believe that at times of tragic traffic, the magic of a clean flow of creativity is blocked by yellow tape and a cop who defends the crime scene angrily.
If a tourist of an idea gets to close, the cop will huff and puff with his gut, " Back Up! CAN'T YOU SEE THE SIGN?! THIS IS WRITERS BLOCK!"
Thus the mind is confined to skyscrapers of undefined stories, words, memories, and melodies of rhyme that just float aimlessly through the sky like clouds. The hard part is gathering them when you're feet are safely on the ground.

End?

Our Fists are made Bronze.
But our Pride is paved in Gold.
We don’t Care if we are told that we can’t.
“That’s your business, I already know my goal”
Whether I have to break someone’s nose to put food on the table.
I WILL DO IT.
If there is a problem with my family.
I WILL PULL THROUGH IT.
Work until the sun rises and deal with a city that despises the weak.
WE WILL DO IT.
Eating half cooked steak on a 2 minute break on a job that leaves your life at stake more often than the moment you awake when your soul is vulnerable for the devil to take but your thankfulness of living keeps you at bay from his grip and through his fingers you slip…..for today.
But what I can’t seem to realize is why we believe lies as to improving our lives by giving the men who advertise the happy lives of rich families. But these men know they are talking to ****** salaried men. They can barely afford to buy their kids a memento to remember them
Our women, our goddesses, our blessed doorway to life.
How they distribute themselves to us men with such truth and such life and delusions of becoming ones wife when all us men want is for you to clean our pipes as we clean yours but after all that’s done things result to boredom.
To separate ways we go walking slow and in thought contemplating the warring conscience and what weapons may be used so that it may be fought.
But a solution isn’t found, then we stare and look around for a lover who is down to comfort US; WE; ALL.
With a stupid *** rebound that’s as commonly found as penny on the ground.
For a moment the secure feeling of feeling found when you were lost makes you feel important as if you have a cost.
We know not of what we’re worth.
I know not of what I am worth.
All I know is that I speak and as long as I keep this ritual of keeping my words rhythmical I will not worry about those who are rather cynical. My thinking is always critical and expanding in different ways as to how I may make money for talking each day.
I wish can explain why we strain and endure so much.
All I do is complain and refrain from reaching out for whatever fell from my clutch.
Life is simply becoming a very big game of double-dutch.
You can’t rest your feet for a second.
Urban life is typical and stereotypical because our success rate is minimal. We are looked upon as animals without no brain and we are considered deranged for our ways of escape, of being, who we are seeing, who we are beating, fighting, biting, kissing, hugging, *******, touching, laughing, snapping, applause.

3 walls and a door enclosed me inside.
Not very private place, but at least I can hide my face.
The only thing I can hide.
Admittedly my stench drenches the public restroom.
It’s funny…there are two men in here
HAH they’re doomed!
To smell my might they will!
To waft my potential they will!
I overheard one of them squeal, “This guy must be radioactive!”
That’s a compliment larger than a continent coming from a complete stranger! And it makes me feel a bit more complete knowing that in this particular genre of masculinity, no one can compete.
_________________­_____

The doors of the public restroom opened and closed twice.
Hah I cleared the room.
Literally!

I sit quietly in my 3 wall one door stall taking the dump of the century.
I don’t know it keeps flowing continuously.
Probably from that fiesta-tequila-taco party
And the stench of the plague surrounding me.
But I’m just there sitting contently
I’m invisible.
The door slams suddenly and the sound of the metallic door startled me.
Goosebumps snaked through my arms.
“What if these men wish to do me harm” I thought as I crossed my arms to grab each bicep.
I hear a lot of rustle and tussle and laughing and ruthless giggling, name calling, mocking
Finally a beating.
I wondered what could’ve been happening.
I couldn’t do a thing due to my limited state.
(That’s a lie, I was ******* bricks)
The sounds those ruthless thugs made with their fists as they connected with the boys ribs, chest, face, jaw.
All of this I saw behind my 3 wall one door stall.
Finally with the final flash of fist
The boy was kissed by it, broken by it, and hit the floor because of it.
I can’t believe that these boys were ruthlessly attacking a young boy…
In the bathroom…
Today…
The 3 boys brooded over the motionless battered boy
I kept seeing their limbs connecting with the boy’s body.
Chest
Face
Ribs; a ruthless beating was something I was watching through a crack in my 3 wall 1 door stall TV.
I saw all quietly, breathing calmly.
Also trying immensely not to ****!
For some reason the 3 lost boys seemed comfortably contented with the battery they’ve committed.
One boy stood out and put his right foot out.
A vicious hokey pokey
The moment the lost boys foot was about to connect,
The boy on the floor acted as if he was upon war.
Grabbed the boys foot and flipped him gracefully with such grace and “amour”
In the broken boys hand was a piece of glass.
With a motion so quick and jab of his fist with a downward ****** the glass peaked in the lost boy’s chest so passionately as if it was done with lust.
The gasping and moaning and sobbing tears
Clenched teeth, glass beneath his chest braking and tearing, were signaling pain.
The groaning lost boy won’t ever see the sun again.
He repeatedly pulled and pushed the glass shiv.
Peeking through his ribs,
Poking through his stomach,
Failing his liver and collapsing his kidney.
In and out he kept repeating.
I kept hearing him say, “I’M REALLY WORTH BEATING?!”
The two boys frozen have chosen to stay back as the battered boy continued his attack.
Stabbing and stabbing
Warm blood splashing his face.
“**** THIS!” THE LOST BOY SCREAMED!
So out of the bathroom he attempts to run out of.
My automatic toilet flushed……!
My heart and soul nearly extinguished.
The rushing boy turned his head for a millisecond to the sound of my stall, only to return to the ****** face of the one who was destroyed in the first place.
A motionless moment of silence and eyes opened wide
In them, hysteria and animosity combating gracefully.
The battered boy’s wrist was twisting.
The lost boy’s body was twitching.
To the floor he slumped with a thump and the glass shard stuck in his chest.
The last lost boy destroyed mentally and practically ******* his pants
(As was I!)
Lay in disbelief paranoia and completely paralyzed.
That was the first time the last lost boy contemplated immediate suicide but couldn’t find anything to end his life
“NO GOD PLEASE NO, NOO NOOOOOO”
To the corner of the restroom he crawled right at the place where my stall lay.
Echoing footsteps and whimpering suspect only for that subject to a loud
Slamming on the door as the battered boy’s foot kept connecting the boys head and the floor with more impact
More force more anger
Pain
Rage
Revenge
It extends
To abuse
He refused to be the son of a recluse and he was a victim of…….
Three motionless bodies.
Chills raced through my body in my quiet restroom and my 3 wall one door stall.
“You can come out now” the battered boy said to me…….