Divisiveness is a sword wielded by a leader fool.
The people suffer while the leaders rule and huge
profits for them ensue. A game as old as when
human man did first rise up to stand, within his
own small clan, picking up a club to strike down
his fellow man.

Thousands of years gone by and we have learned
nothing new, still the leaders rant and we implode
and like addled sheep too easily led we march out
to our own inevitable slaughtered end.

Kings and Despots rule for their benefit not ours.
Divisiveness is but one of their deceitful tools.
Divide and concur is the rule.

Mary had a little gun;
her gun was black
as night; everywhere
that Mary went...

I hate my life as much as I love it.
I tried to think about--
drowning myself in the river..
but a drowning corpse is ugly to be seen
I tried to think about--
taking poison in my mouth..
but I'm broke so how will I get one?
I tried to think about--
hanging myself..
but I live inside a cardboard box.
Slitting would be painful.. I don't want to scream.
Get myself hit by a car... would bother alot of people...

When anxiety takes over,
it feels like you are choking.
Like an invisible hand is suffocating you.
Is it the hand of God?
Is it the hand of the Devil?
Whoever it is,
they have no mercy.
Because even if you beg and cry,
you still suffocate.
Your chest is heavy
and your breath is shallow,
till you are broken and useless inside.
There is no escape from this depression,
from the walls that are closing in around you.
There is no way out.
And there is no one to help you up
as you fall into the deepest of abyss.
Alone and afraid.

My dad caught me making tampons
From duct tape and toilet paper.
Sat me down and said,
He’s proud of me,
But I shouldn’t have to do this.
He’ll make sure
I have the things I need.
My smirk stares straight past him.
The things I need.
When dad is away we brush our teeth with alcohol.
We mix sugar into water
For our breakfast.
I’ve cleaned wounds with Clorox wipes.
Our medieval, dusty medkit shows no mercy.
We rubbed leaves into our ****** knees
And pretended
That we knew what the **** we were talking about.
With lies about what “elders” taught us.
Or maybe it was just me?
Maybe it was just me
Who curled up on the hearth
Shaking while my shins melted,
Filling the hole under my ribcage
With my fists.
While the kitten froze to death
Under a leaky water pipe.
The things we need.
Maybe it was just me
Who kept living like a refugee,
Or felt I ever was one?
Using one shelf of five assigned to me,
A bag of food packed under the bed
Long into my first years of college.
Living without when things ran out.
Embracing the word “gone”
As a new way of living.
Steak dinners from my father all the while.
Money for band t-shirts?
Ask your mother.
But new sound systems,
Let’s start a farm,
Adopt a sister,
And travel the country
Eating at only old diners.
The things we need.
The things we need.