Am i depressed or a realist
Focusing on an image
That was given since birth
That was written in the dirt
And started out as a dream
Which will always be ideal
Though someone calls it real

And am i overreacting
When i say the world is full of fatal attraction
Hidden by constant distraction

Repeatedly ******* speaks to me
And release the truth that it is based on the infamy
Of poverty
Poverty of the mind
The mind’s not rich
Not a gold mine
But i still call it mine
Simply cuz it’s all i have
Yet its a plantation for a slave to the rhythm of rollercoaster emotion
That hosting a bunch of insecurities
Because there’s no safe in a world that’s not secure
definitely

Wash your mouth
And scrub those words
Remove the ****
From your ***
Remove the *****
Because they eventually obliterate the ****
Stop being a *****
Or else you will be ****** to dying and redying
with the fear of retrying.
Wanna get rid of the crap?
Here's some soap
To wash your language
And your mouth
So you can kiss your ******* goodbye every morning
Only to wait to take
that freaking bus
To hell
And while you're there
Take a class in how not to be a *****
And they have after-school lessons
In not being a **** either
Just remember
On your way home
Stop at the stupid *** grocery store
And ask that ******* Bob
To hand you the ******* soap
To wash your words, mouth, language and yourself say the same filthy **** that this poem has been telling you not to do ever since you started reading it

Dreams are deadly
Because they fuel Expectations
And all Expectations bring
Are Disappointments
And Disappointments
**** Hope
And the brutal ****** of Hope
Means bowed heads
But no closed eyes
because we know we are already slaves
So we quit the eye contact
And closed eyes
Lead to Sleep
And Sleep leads to Dreams
And we all know that Dreams are deadly

Our Father, who art in heaven
How long have you been asleep?
Did the angels message you about the word on the street?

Were you busy rubbing your eyes during the Holocaust?
Took a quick leak during slavery?
Blink after the project in Manhattan?
Go on break while the Native Americans were slaughtered by people
who in your name
pulled out guns at men, women and children?
Turned to check on an angel babe
during the Civil Rights movement?
Was it really your will that was done?\

Forgive me for my judgment
I am very aware that others judge me
including yourself
but also forgive me for questioning
because you seem to have given unclear instructions
according to the humans that lost the real message in translation

Lead me to love
and deliver me from hate
because it is so hard to give
without expecting anything in return
The kingdoms is yours
this planet is yours
and my body is mine
But I understand that our temples could be desecrated
disrespected
our reputations tarnished
and our beliefs and truth questioned
I know you are powerful
but can we see eye to eye?
can we
So at least I know the fight that seems to be forever and ever
is actually worth?

A woman not amen
wants to see your blueprints
and wants to know
if you still have faith
in a bunch of trespassers and debtors

Don't even know how much I'm allowed to write
so I put up a fight
with sleep every night
when the reruns return to the TV screen
and the family's asleep
and there's no need for the word on the street because everything happens...at night
From the bed bug bites, to the insomnia I have because
I can't sleep in fear that I won't wake up again
and that I'll go too easy and too quiet into that goodnight
I don't want to miss a thing with Aerosmith
so I keep my eyes open wide
Fingertips prying open the closing doors to my sight
I don't even blink because I fear that I will miss the shadows that chase each other on my ceiling
Seeing predator and prey dance in musical melody
revealed by the headlights from the cars
that move on the street and in and out driveways
My family misses all of this
because they sleep at night
Maybe insomnia is a blessing,
but it's not purely blessed
because my body reacts with a longing for sleep
the same way I long for romance
It's a curse
but a pleasant curse
because everything
happens at night
and I'm one of the lucky, unlucky few to see it

vicious revenge feel its strain.
Engrained forever on a decaying brain.
For its a plague with no andetote. No cure.
Nothings sacred. nothings pure.
No honor here to gain but a grasp of guilt, sorrow and pain.

A trench deep seated with animosity.
Hearts too blinded by hatred to see.
Its walls engulfing like vines round a tree.
But no vegeance shall set you free.

In realising its errors and fate
The soul desperately searches to escape.
Weary, hollow, it longs to retire
But hatred enslaves as its walls grow higher

For this is one prison sentence that will never transpire..
If you fight fire with fire.