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

I am who I am with no strings attached
Yet I have strings coming from my back
And my handler does not want to let go

I am sometimes a hypocrite
I know that
But my handler convinces me of my false innocence
Puts me in an eternal trap

I have power that is grand
But it is all hard for me to understand
So I sit back and cry because I am bounded by invisible chains
Held down in the chair of thoughts
And the unnecessary feeling of helplessness takes over

My handler sits in MY THRONE
Yet has the nerve to throw stones at my temple
Hits me with words of rocks and mocks me like a court jester

"Poor me",I say
"Poor me", I cry
"Poor me", I wail
Then I stop....

I then open up my eyes and see a mirror where my handler once sat
I walk towards it slowly and cautiously, but seeing that it is me
I run with enthusiasm to the red velvet seat
and I plop my bottom on the chair
I grasp the chair arms and with a smile on my face
I put on my amethyst crown and smile face to face with my kingdom

From the treetops of the NYC
To the sandy platform of Coney Island beach
Poetry is a refuge that can be reached
For the heavy hearted that has no one to preach
About the calming relief it gives when the skies turn grey
Or the times where I bow my head in dismay.
When my back has gone out
Poetry plays the role of a crutch
When I feel like life is becoming too much.
A great friend indeed
Yet only called when in need.
I administer my feelings into its thick skin like a drug.
In return I feel more loved
Poetry, the button I call release.
When pressed my problems become peace.
A reflection of me
Sometimes, my imagination finds its way in between.
But at the end of the day,
Poetry is in the bed I lay
Poetry is in the food I eat
Whether or not it is crusty, sugary, and sweet.
Poetry is in each and every name
For each letter has a meaning.
Poetry lives in us all,
Regardless of how much you rise or fall.
There will always be that rhythmic flow
For poetry comes and never goes.
What to me does poetry bring?
Creates me as if I was a bird and gives me wings
Let me soar until everything lives below
But has more places for me to go.
I am poetry and poetry is me.
We make up the sides and in between the numerous parts of me.
That is poetry.

In the midst of the storm,
there in a back bend is a rainbow.
In the fire in hell,
stands tall an angel.
At every end, is a new beginning.
When there is one door only for exit,
there is always a way to enter in.

At the top of every dark abyss,
you always look up to a light.
When the feeling of giving up arrives,
there is always a part that is willing to fight.
With the help from others, a baby's tears
become sudden laughter.
After every fairytale witch's death, there is a happily ever after.

Life itself is a ying yang of wonders. After the scorching day
Comes a cooling rain
Accompanied by a loud and frightening thunder.
Every scary moment in life becomes a tale to tell
how in the past was bad, but now you're doing well.
In every bad situation,
comes out something good.
In the middle of crossfire,
a vibrant rose grows in the hood.

So remember, every beginning comes to an end
As we go through life adding and subtracting friends.
While we continue to talk about our suffering times,
we all find that day where everyone comes together and smiles. :)

Running through a field of snow barefooted and naked
As if hysteria was safe
Fell off the cliff
Yet I tell myself that I'm flying
The freedom of running through the jungle
Holding hands with a boy my size
As if we were the perfect match
I know I am high on music
Because such euphoria
Has refused to say hello to me when I am sober
You know what?
That is okay
Because it is time and better for me to live
A consistent, but unexpected reality
Than to live a daydream which spoils the ending for me

The agonizing pain this finger has to bear
Though brainless, it is guilty
Sinless because of who it is
Sinful because of the messed up mind behind it
God watches it as it does what it is told
Which is the only thing it understands
But can he just forgive the poor finger
For being puerile, uneducated, and undisciplined
It was curious when it burrowed into the tunnel
Rejoicing when it found the treasure and
Unbeknowst to it
Was that its ganas was an abnomination
And the mind behind it all
Feels this treasure yet the cave feels empty
The mind cannot process or find love in this dripping cave
It demands the fingers to leave the cave, deeming it unsafe and cruel
But when the mind looked around, it saw that all along, it walked in the dark empty cave
Alone and unloved

It is the same sun
But because it rises on different sides, at different times around the world
We refuse to realte to one another
It is the same red blood we bleed
Yet we have no problem shedding it
For a land that cannot feel the bodies within it
Hear the cries of innocent children being slaughtered
Smell the blood and pollution that fills the air
Taste the mucus mixed with saliva that the people spat upon its lips
Or see the world in its chaos
But what if it senses everything?
What if one day the tree tells al your secrets?
Or the stone fights back after being kicked around so much?
Everything feels
Everything breathes
How can we relate to the Earth and care for it if we can't do that with the people within our own species?
We are blinder than newborn bats to a world that we were born and raised in.
We are deafer to our own voices than we are to those of others
We are numb to the pain of others, but expect sympathy when we are hurt
We are unable to taste happiness because we are busy smelling up ways to make others unhappy
I have a few simple questions:
Can we find a way to just tolerate one another?
I know that it is impossible to genuinely like everyone for who they are, but is tolerance too much to ask for?

Darkness flows through the veins
Of the men who lack understanding
Of who they are
So busy shining in someone's light
That when they are pushed out, they
Are officially lost

Desperate are the children
Who die from lack of history
Who identify themselves as gang bangers
Who picks up the gun and
Points it at their own brethren

Confused are the school children
Who go to school and learn
But not learn everything
They hear about Alexander Graham Bell, Christopher Columbus, and Pythagoras
People they can't personally look up to
So they fall deep into the mousetraps
Of the world

Sorry are the people who knew
But didn't warn
They didn't warn the next generation
That the world is a bad place
And we are strong people

They didn't tell us that
Unity is what makes us win
Division makes us fall.
They didn't tell us that the sun
Rises in the east and sets in west

They never told us about
Hope as bright as the sun
Who rises and is set in the
Heart of those who are willinng to tell
So tell us that story again
Sing us the slave's chorus
So we could at least have
Something we could call our own

Here I am with my eyes opened wide
My jeans covering itchy thighs no lies
Typing at a computer in a nearby college
Doing sociology homework to increase my knowledge
Having four eyes isn't enough to see
And being alive isn't enough to be
I am going to be blunt as f---
Telling you what is up
In my life and through these brown eyes.

Everyday it is like I'm singing an ode of depression
Here I am settling
For everything that is less and
I am stuck, not really learning my lesson
Reality ***** I believe
But I feed myself lies and allow myself to be deceived.

Drake says f--- a fake friend where your real friends at
I say f--- ALL friends, being yourself is where it's at
In the end, we walk this world alone
With peeps lingering at the side
All the peeps, they are trying to survive
Here I am and still still I rise with the intent
Meet someone heaven, but it seems happiness is a lie
It seems to be the illusion of the mind when reality *****
And the people around you don't give a f---
And I mean don't give a two s---
Even if it was a one s---, two s---, red, white, and blue s---
If I said this aloud I would be dismissed
I leave the library and its me that I am with

They ask me who I am, they say no filter
I say good, we don't need an AC this is the winter
I don't need a false reason to be cool
I am tired of trying to look rad and f-ing up in school
I am tired of my "depression"
My mind lives in oppression
I'm tired of knowing where to go but walking the wrong direction
I am tired of looking in the mirror and f-ing wanting to cry
Sitting on my ****, don't do s--- and asking God why.
It has been a journey and it was nice living it
But me living based on people equals me not doing s---

Today's the day that I choose to make a change
I have a life to rearrange
I am tired of being detained
By this prison called my mind
Where the negative thoughts lie
And the hurt multiplies
As tears fill my eyes.
This story is not going to have a sad ending
In the end I will be winning with nominations pending
I will breathe success
No longer oppressed
By the "mind" arrest

My four eyes are opened wide to a possibility
In my reality, I am getting opportunities
From the NAACP to writing stories
I hold my own glory
On two callused hands that will also write my story
My past should not be a reason to be bitter
I am sorry I cursed, but they said no filter

Splattered paint on jeans like a mural cover cold pale legs on a moving train
Converses beaten with color show a rainbow of hard work done by the feet it keeps warm
I don't know the face beside me and I dare not look
I don't want to judge a book by the cover fot it is more important to judge their shoes
The sneakers cry creativity, art, and passion
And his body remains as still as a painting
The sneakers finally shift and leave at 14th Street
Only for a pair of black boots to take its position
Bye bye motley Converses

Is it love or lust
These questions I ask myself on the daily
I look at the back of him all throughout class
I stare at his hair admiring its texture
I look at his slender figure
Sometimes I gotta admit,
......
I stare at his **** as he walks out the door
He has been wearing the same jeans for about a week now
He looks at his friends and seems to turn his eye
But those eyes just never see me
I guess I was wrong
But why does it matter
I have schoolwork to finish
And he is obviously not thinking about me
Sometimes I wish he would just look at me one more time
Oh dreams, dreams, sweet dreams
Of an insecure, immature, and confused 12th grader

Watch me burn
Watch me burn
As the world turns and turns
And you won't hear me say a word
I'd be silent as they take advantage
**** me with your fiery swords
I wouldn't scream to be heard
Leave my charred remains on the curb

These voices persist
Even when they seem to exist
They live in my imagination as a figment
I may shed a tear
Pain may be too much to bear
But in the end they still won't care

These voices
These voices speak
Their words pierce me so deep
Where it hits home
And I know that I'm alone
They kick me with spikes on their shoes
How could they be so rude
But I let them kick and let them **** me
Because I don't deserve sympathy

Here I am in the smoke
Suffocating here I choke
And I cry out woe is me
Tell the world my insecurities
They just shake their heads
And they leave you for dead
I look around and see no friends

These voices go on
Like an army so strong
And they talk for so long
They live in my head
Each one I already wed
And we all share the same bed