Should be using this pilfered and minimal wifi
and, man, it seems that time does fly...
while I'm procrasti-time-wasting reading bad (well, most of it) poetry.
You see I'm used to feeling like I've missed the boat
and shown my hand and slit my own **** throat...
"It's his own fault."
How terrifying and amazing (faux)freedom is...
blood and water and choices.
Life is frosted and sort of sleeping
but not shivering
enduring.
It's too bad I identify with the grasshopper more than the ant.
I can't be bothered with preparation
because Right Now.
Right Now is full of hows and whys and whens
and so many that depend
upon shoulds and coulds and ifs
and I-need-to-make-a-lists.
It seems that I prefer the anxiety of what could be
to what is.
Control freak.
Sitting here, with my cold nose and sore bones
and more than my usual non-layer of clothes
with two very interesting up-past-their-bedtime individuals
there is no regret.
It is, and it isn't, over yet.
Supposing pity isn't the word choice,
how else would you say, "I feel for you,"
without that voice?
And even saying it is a choice I'd rather not make.
That's the thing about leaving the cage and toeing the line and finding the road...
there is no map.
You can either enjoy the journey
or feel like, "It's a trap."

the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.

Excuse me sir, but could you leave her alone. She didn't ask for you here and she's terrified you might look at her with your eyes so self-serving.
Excuse me sir, but please never speak like that again. Your giving men a bad name, a man like you are the reason boys like me never had a chance. It's men like you that taught women how to be terrified. It's men like you that taught them how they should see themselves. It's men like you that make me sick. It's a man like you I wish I could I could see the blood run out of your face, as my boot comes down to close your mouth for the last time. It's men like you who need a knife to separate your body from your soul. Slick with red and never satisfied, that knife I wish I held in my hand. I know what I do with my anger will never change what you've done to the beauty in women. But maybe selfishly, i might feel less embarrassed to be apart of your same gender, If only I could hold the hammer that stopped you in your tracks. Blood trickling down your face while tears stream off mine. My eyes so bloodshot I can't see your pain anymore. Because I don't care how you feel, a man like you doesn't deserve a listening ear or an eye that cares, a man like you deserves to drown in hot oil, so you can feel the blisters rise and pop just like the burn you've left in that girl's spirit. Except your pain cannot compare, so I intend to make you withstand as much as I can give you before I stick a barrel in your mouth and clear your throat with lead. I'll hollow you'r chest so you might finally know what it's like to feel empty because of someone else.

No Justice. No Peace.
We're killed for jaywalking,
But are expected to remain at ease.

We're seen as looters.
When terrorists are heroes.
And never unjust shooters.

They "protect and serve."
They protect each other.
Whether its inhumane doesn't matter.
Then they serve morgues...
with young black bodies on shiny silver platters.

They don't want to hear us.
So we're told to remain peaceful because it's easier to ignore a sound that isn't being made.

And if we remain quiet the passion for wrong doings will begin to fade.

Black people are ashamed of each other for rioting in their own community. But it doesn't belong to us.  So feel free to burn down gas stations and break the windows out of a Toys"R"Us.

We'll be executed in suits. We'll be executed in sweats. We'll be executed when we're armed and We'll be executed when we pose no threat.

So scream if you have to.
Let it all out.
Fight fire with fire.
It will grow, and eventually someone will put it out.

Because remaining peaceful has gotten us nowhere.

When we're peaceful they don't care. They torment us. And we're mocked. And are attacked with tear gas while rubber and wooden bullets are being shot.

So don't shoot. But when you need to. Shoot back.
I want us to be able to raise children who won't be murdered for being big while black.

And it isn't in the U.S.A.
Where Unjust Shootings are Admissible.
And Uniformed Shooters are Admired.

So fight back. Even though we're already so tired.

///
After born, a child subconsciously
engaged with the nature
she (nature)doesn't play well as usual,
all the time of his life
because someone somehow
plays the negative role with her

He who does not know the life,  
and doesn't know how and why
she originated the waterfall,
And generated a vigorous stream
but when someone cuts in the face of a river,
and moving water whatever he liked
otherwise, his own purpose ( in a negative sense)

Day by day the river moved slowly
slowly and slowly,
water didn't carry,
the overdue sediments toward the sea
day by day,
the river grew inflated
and becoming a silted bed

One day the rain came as cats and dogs
slowly and slowly,
it has made the flood over the flood plain
and swift away lands and roads
then the water has seemed useless

The child grew older
now he feels consciously
about the worst work
that someone did with her

And he (older child) thinks,
what does he feel?
when someone cuts in the face of a river
///
@Musfiq us shaleheen

Darkness, my only friend
You have always there for me
Ever since I was a child

Hugging me without arms
You embraced me in a cocoon
Always calm, ever mild

Away from the harsh lashings of light
I turn to you
The only one who cares

The light, ever judging
finding my weaknesses
and giving me scares

With you, my friend
I have no need to hide
For you make me calm

With you, I am safe
With you, I am unseen
Even from Mom