Child without a voiced
Love without a target
Misdirected guidance
Are all the same Requirements

Age

It does not discriminate, nor does it hate rather as much as it assimilates

Age

It's one of the universal constants,
like change,
it never changes, age, it never ages.

We all live, learn, love, and lose

We've all loss
We all Age

You see it in stride of everyday people
Young flowing towers left and right.
Old creepers like moving shells of night like as a
baby turtle looking for shelter

It’s like some heavy mass in the center of yah chest
But you can walk without losing any breath.
A black hole that’ll crush all the meat and bone.
Pulling all the nerves till it collapses on it’s own.
Forever lasting blasting dark thoughts into yah head.
Questions form about the dead.
How will you die if you fry not in a pan
but on pavement or asphalt from a car accident.
Will I burn to death or die from pain.Obscure questions all the same.
It hurts a little, bluntly.
All the sudden it ends abruptly.

Birth from Death.
To think it started from the end.
This is where the poems began, this is how they begin.
The first poem ever to free me from the darkest beings,who aren't so dark.
Began with the darkest thoughts no longer dark.
A poem of Death.
My oldest friend next loneliness.
I've lost family before birth, some during life, and I'll some after I die.
I learned to never comply,
with fear, worry, anxiety, I was always ready to die.

After my first poem jumped into the heart of my principle when I was in the fifth grade I knew I was a grade A writer.

She may have lost something when she lost someone so my poem spoke more than it should, but I lost the boundaries from chains that shackled my mind.

My words became strong and adept.
I was born from the dark and depths of Death

I never learned to sleep, I enjoyed the night to much.
I always have and may always will.
It's an addiction to getting more from time.
Why sleep when I can catch up on:
TV
Reading
Exercise
The moon
Learning why,
we live.
There much more to explain and give.
Such as writing poetry.
But, sleep is needed and it is good.

I've always had complicated Thoughts
Side by side they fight and against one another they fought.
Fifth graders shouldn't be ready to die.
No one should hate them self.
Ready to torture and degrade their self.
I knew I needed help.
Yet.
No courage was there, my courage was theirs.
To do what they want and say how ever they wish.
Loneliness was bliss.
Yet
I wanted to fit.
I always wanted to belong and get along and sing a song about how joyful life was.
Well life wasn't well and I couldn't even get along with my family so I never belong.
Yet
I had love.
I had people that cared
I always had that "weird" friend that made us a pair.
I had fun moments and great teachers then I got to church to listen to good preachers.
Yet
Nothing change.
I was still that student who was suffering and no one ever knew because he could lie in the way he behave and show a slave to good faith when really he was a beaten bag on the inside.
Yet
There was no yet now,
not in this moment till later came,
till later was the new now,
till I could look back and smile.
Yet
I am proud.

I used to walk with hate.
Brimstone in my chest was my heart.
Misanthrope-Hater of humans.
Hate for the way they daycare the planet with,
War, Hate, Theft, Violence, Torture, Madness.
I was human too and I wasn't that bad,
so self help books is where I began.
With that start I began to become art.
However, I didn't know where I was going or what to do with what I was learning.
I was at the inception without an origin.

                                       Then,
                                              I met her

                                         It was nothing at first
       She was nothing and so was I.
                                   I didn't even think she was all that attractive,
            back then.
                             She was a nobody and so was I.
                       A ******.
                                                         ­                      An odd ball.
                                         A stranger.
                      weak,
           wacky,
                                                          ­                          STRONG,
                           ­         ****,
                       average,
                                                        ­           amaZING!

                                                       ­     I didn't know what to call her.
                  Now she's a friend and only the future could tell.
            And yet, she made me happy.
She made me more me.
                                     My thoughts were so lost
            all over.
                                          she did this.
                                                           ­ I thought I hated it,
but she was a damaged good.
She made it good to be damaged.
                                                        ­                                 And I was so broken.

It took so long to figure it out and I was so confused.
Despite her not knowing or feeling the same.
Despite all the hardship.
Even if it means nothing.
Some way and manner,
I can't explain or understand.

                                                    ­I love her

I wish she didn't worry bout her look,
wish she didn't worry bout the way her hips shook.
Wish she didn't worry about her make up,
wish she didn't worry about getting all faked up.
Nails, Lips, Eyes,
I think the natural is fine.
But media corrupts what it wanna see,
cause we don't see what we wanna see.
Hair, Ears, Cloths,
all done for reasons I don't know,
jeweled out for reasons I don't know.
Going through pains  I don't  know.

I thought natural beauty is all that count,
I never understood why you'd get tricked out for self if it count.
Cause then I'm still told their is something wrong.
Why can't you just be with you and get along.

Doubt,
Uncertainty holds me perfectly
Inscribed in my mind erkingly
Described disturbingly

First time with Depression
I was in eleventh grade,
had a college course class of Chemistry I would take,
and an English teacher we'd call Ms. H.
Ms. H was so tough, let's say she had hate,
I wasn't really sure but she was a teacher that was so great.
I let her down because I miss so many days.

Intelligent and funny with her sarcasm.
She had an *** that would last,
A husband and son,
She had a life.
So amazing with her mind and her body, to bad depression became my hobby.

I was passing all my classes but English cause I missed it first period.
My college Chem class was so easy and boring
I only started failing cause the teacher had me snoring.
I had nothing it felt like.
I had no reason to live,
work towards,
get.
I slowed downed, weighed in bed. I felt dead.
Days passed as I laid in my grave.
Mom couldn't help,
neither could school,
they thought I was off being a fool.
Classmates thought I was abandoning school,
even I thought I was a fool.

My Spanish teacher told me to talk to the school therapist because I had him the previous year and half lied to him about having nightmares.

I was working with a net-working marketing plan and I had failed. So deep down did my confidence sail into depression.

My heart crush my body beaten, what else could I do but talk to the therapist about how I was ******.

Some how...
it changed.

I fought the fear of failing, the fear of success.
I had a crush on my tough loving English teacher who I feared.
She told me one day "Get your **** together" and I didn't care!
I did it.
I passed.
She had tough love but she made me more of a man.
I learned from my Global History teacher,
It's not about not falling, it's about getting back up!
Every Thursday I talked to my therapist and become more Jolly .
I was no longer crushed by Depression.
I LET THEM DOWN BECAUSE I LET MY SELF DOWN!
I WILL NEVER BE LET DOWN!

Purgatory was but a dream.
Redemption screams
Spark,
Ignite,
Fire bring life.

Please.

Light the path,
Start a new,
Choose to do
as you chose to do.

Please.

Impotent ash,
worthless wood,  
dull flint,
If it's not to be it's not meant.

You ever have that little nagging in your ear?
                                                            That­ Consumes everything you hear!

"Why did you do that?"
                                                          ­                                           "I don't know"
"Do you know anything?"
                                                                ­                                " I know for sure"
"What? "                    
                                                                ­     "You're the banging on my door"
"...Shut up"  
                                         Yet because of that nagging, that noise, that pest.
                                                           ­          You feel like your life is the best.
"Tell me I'm pretty"
                                                         ­                                      "You're beautiful"
"That's not what I said!"
                                                   "I rather give you more than give you less"
"That's not what I want!"
                                                          ­                                               "Me neither"
"So..."
                                                ­                                                              "Wh­at ? "
"Shut up!"
                                                  No matter how much you seem to be down
                                                     That noise can make a smile from a frown
"Wait"
                                                         ­                          "Could you move faster"
"No"
                                                           ­          "Oh my god you're so annoying"
"Thank you"
                   "You just gonna acknowledge and accept you're a nuisance?"
"Yes"
                                                ­                                                          "I hate you"
"No you don't"
                                                                ­                                      "...Your right"
"I know"
                                                           ­                                      "Shut up lets go"
"Ha!"                                                        ­                                
                                               You ever have that little nagging in your ear?
                                                            That­ Consumes everything you hear!

Grasping.
Full but empty.
Full but Empty.
Full but Empty.

No matter what is said.
Written or cover.

It is full but empty.

That space, place, location.

Is full but

Empty.

Hello Poetry
I'm on hellopoetry.
Writing about hell on poetry.
My life is here, in this section, coming out in reflection.
This is a new step into life.
I stand straight with arms out and I enjoy the breeze.
I am back after doubt and I forgive.
I've crossed the river bringing victory.
My poems brought out by a significant figure.
My life a mystery in this mysterious adventure.
I am where I belong.

I was always an Outsider.
Rebellious, social divider.

An Ideal collier.
You say one way and I'll say another

You shall think of,
I shall destruct them.

I know not silence,
I know not compliance.

Social order only orders for chaos.
I am the mayhem and I am  maniacal.

Order only comes when I come with chaos.
Disorder does not dis order it brings it.

Freedom is deviant of it's own means
So even I mean to be free,

Someday.

Yes,

I got bars,
it's not about fancy cars or Lil Wayne rapping about Mars.
So far I am marred and scarred by false charm,
burned and charred that we are stuck in this dung tar.

It's about understanding we are stuck in the under standings so understand this,
can bring raze as I raise and rise to clear out these rinse and repeat Rhymes.

I don't care about the money or women.
Will your Rap make a difference.
Only a few got the conscious to talk about love.
The rest is a pile of **** I put to the side and shove.

I am the fire that burns,
it yearns
to consume ,
engulf and turn to ash.
The phoenix is ugly.
Why live to self destroy and rebirth just to repeat"
Don't kindle this heat, just bring peace.
I rather self-emulate than self-immolate
but this fire burns from hate.
Hate of self and hate of others.
That is the Phoenix.

It's time I write about War.
A gruesome act men adore.
One of the oldest acts man endures.
I say it's like music or emotion.
Natural to humans and complex like every foot soldier or turret in motion.
Different reasons, different causes, different ends and results,
who can really say who's at fault .
Too think you can find the high of ******* in the moment
or become addicted to killing.
There's something in the bloodshed we enjoy, no, we thrive!
To want more from the gore.
To want more, from the war stories to be more than lore.
That's something to think about from war.

I always like working with my hands.
Since I was young building with legos.
Taking apart action figures and toys
that's where I found my joys.
Now I make robots,
take apart machinery.
My robots team has me on delivery.
I learn, I teach, I am alive.
This is my life and I live it.

Little boy was so smart.
Had the highest grade.
Best day,
was when he pretend to be sleep when he was made,
Valedictorian.
No one knew how upset he was, to stand out above.
To be better, best, and yet, who really cared.
He saw and knew the work was easy, only reason others fail,
was because they never tried.
Old soul he was told by many so far in age above him.
It was as if hubris hugged him.
Why put full effort when only half was good enough.
We were just slaves in a system testing who was just enough.
It never matter he knew, not at all.
He was just waiting to see his classmates fall.
They believe they were working to live life,
in reality they were working to be life.
To be another part of a bigger machine,
rather live life for there own esteem,
and I was smart, but I was the same.
Little boy Genius .

I'll take you, make you mine
You're already in my possession before we begin
Lies with truth and the truth become lies to one self,
whether they speak lie or speak truth I will always see absolute
You will have it all and I will have you

That is the agreement
whether you know it or not.

I don't have to trick you nor deceive
I give you what you want and that's how I achieve
I am the devil I presume
Bringing gifts and awards
With that I absorb you recognize me as lord

This is the deal
whether you like it or not

I don't even own my self
I own you and I am owned by you
So why are you confused
This is an abuse on abuse relationship where I am obtuse
To think I let my self manipulate you

At it's best these moments feel like nothing.
A force in my cranium telling me there's something.
Telling that I am to understand but can't.
I can,
but I can't,
can I,
can't I?
An unsolved puzzle doesn't hold answers
but can you answer this ?
Does every answer have a question?
Does every result hold solution , resolution ?
Crock pots don't stock well with others, only in the asylum.

My heart is an Anchor.
A dead weight.
And a life lifter.

My mouth a funnel,
my throat the tunnel,
and my heart the core from which words irrigate.

My mind is the filter.
Some times nondescript I elicit words and rhymes explicit
about how my mind sits in a different dimension where words are living.

My heart is here anchored and grounded.
Sometimes I feel like earth-bonded solid mountain.
Sometimes I feel like a Soul punished and grounded.

Rush,
Hype,
Energy,
Drive.
New York rush is it's own lust.
Got cars,
Buses,
Trains,
all sorts of Planes,
Attractions,
Lights Flashing,
It's New York Action.
That's my life all right
N-Y-C is all I see  
Manhattan is where I be.

Only I could hate God, and admire 'em too.
As they say the biggest haters were your biggest fans.

The world was filled with suffering.
How can I believe in a ruler that let it be?
How could I hate in something I don't believe?
There had to be something there for me.

I Abandoned God and religion looking towards nature and the natural.
Survival of the fittest, only those who chose to be fit survived.
That's how I wanted to be alive.
At the top, apex, better than best.

Only I can hate God and be like so much like 'em.
What kinda ruler let's suffering be.
That's a tyrant to me.
I choose to be a King.

I love Orange Juice.
I am honestly addicted.
Breakfast, Lunch , and Dinner I'll enjoy this yellow liquid.
I 'll even drink some while cleaning the dishes,
mopping the floor,
open my door,
carry my self out and drink some more.

You ever had Orange Juice and Chocolate !?
Chocolate Chip cookies, Kit Kat, Hersey , Sneakers . Chocolate Cake, Fancy Chocolate , Chocolate ***, Twix !
Any of this,
fits the Chocolate and Orange Juice Fix.

I love the Tropicana Florida Made Orange Juice.
Is that what the Tropic's like?
Is that what Florida like?
The air and people give you a tang that at first is strange?
But in the end you'll say "I am addicted to these things" ?

I, love, Orange Juice.

You ever want to get primal?
You ever want to get loose?
Become cut throat  and cut throats,
go back to the time of sacrificing lambs and goats.
That's the urge.
That's the instinct.
Savagery in a instant.
Sharpen teeth and sharpen claws go back to four legged paws.
We praise violence in the ring
on media of trivial things
but war ,
it's rejected, reflected as an act evil
what minds they have so feeble,
the thoughts of civilized people

I play with fire
And I dance with Death
A twirl and a spin and a blade swings recklessly.

"Do you not care about others ", they ask consecutively.
"Do you think before you act", they ask disrespectfully.

My own reality an asylum
My mind makes liberal
My words can change you or me

"Your words are absent " , they'll disagree
"You make no sense", they'll only see

To much to handle like a crushing bridge
Bounds break like broken ribs
Without either things cease to exist
I walked upon a borderline path
I can't decipher , am I  a Psychopath

I write with the Fire of agony that burns in my chest.
Pain has no name.
Sharing title.
All experienced differently.
I don't recognize the sound of  pain in the nerves of my flesh
Nor have I made them.

There's just a raggedy tragedy of heart and soul left mentally scared by the disregard of the human art sitting on a canvas of madness with nothing but panic from a child frantic and abandoned.

I write with the fire of agony that burns in my chest

Let my wings spread from some where
My heart, my body, my soul.
Just give me a sign that I can know
I can fly, sore, be free.
Unbounded and yet still shackled.
This is a new slavery.
Slavery to the self defiant need to be the same and never change.
The worse prison is that of the mind.

I CLAWED MY WAY INCH BY INCH THROUGH THE THICKEST FOG OF DEATH  AND I DECENT LIKE A GOD!

BASK IN MY GLORY!
FINGER NAILS MISSING WITH NUMB HANDS!

DEATH IS MORE THAN DYING!
DEPRESSION, SADNESS, FEAR, HATE, WEAKNESS ,ANGST, AGONY, LETHARGY, LONELY !

THE AGENTS OF DEATH NO LONGER HOLD ME,
THEY NO LONGER OWN ME!

I AM THE RADIANT ****
THE COSMIC FLASH
I AM THE SOLID MASS, WALKING THROUGH THE FIRE OF DARKNESS !
I AM THE UNDYING BLAZE!

I AM MORE THAN A MAN,
GREATER THAN A GOD
I AM BEYOND MY OWN COMPREHENSION!


Fates worse then Death are the ones we choose to let our hearts be imprisoned by.

I DECIDE MY FATE!
HISTORY WILL REMEMBER ME!
I WILL NOT DIE!

Can I not change the world around me?
Do I have power ?
Am I just another body?
Impact of an impact give us philosophy.
But is there purpose.

Why don't  I write?

I don't write !
I don't write because I am addicted!
I am  afflicted and I turn into a lucrative realistic non fiction.
I don't even know what that means.
I just like the word play,
But do the words like to play?
Do the words tell what they say?
They are so hidden and lost when they come from a heart frozen in frost.

Do I not like to write?
I don't even know.
Do I even write?
I don't know.

Let the cage be rattled,
the foundation be crushed,
who else has had enough?

Enough of the dull life.
Enough of being wrong or right.
Enough of the ungrateful like.

Boundaries stop us because we bound our selves .
Limited by limitation on self approval and glory.
Souls bathed in ****** glory

Come fight for your life as you want
Wounder and wander letting fools squander
But never have enough.

Why do I write ?

I write!
I write to relieve strife and feel right!
To feel light, like a feather,
and feel better after heavy weather.
Spiritually I am debated,
I am hated,
I write to vandalize the page and feel sated.

I write to confine confidence that I am the best,
I am the next to write about the human perplex systematic disorder,
or about the mentality of a hoarder,
who holds words in his head all day and night till he's filled with fright.

I write for the same reason you write
To escape life and get some thoughts on a page.