Am I just a wheel?
Consuming meals?
A speck in blue sea?
Bound by what I see?
Life amongst trees?
Breathing means free?

Am I my beliefs?
The truth I seek?
Flag of a country?
Defined by currency?
A liability?
Part of society?

Am I what you see?
The way you judge me?
The values you pick?
First impressions stick?
Norm defined by you?
Do I dare to be rude?

No...

I am who I choose.
I fill my own shoes.
I win when I lose.
I create my own views.
I see black beyond blue.
I pick me over you.

Who are we?
I am me.
Who are we?
Depends on you.

It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.

From the cup of redemption I shall partake. Through the true vine I shall be pressed in the vat. The wine of mercy shall flow from the grapes of the cluster that comes from the vine of salvation. Grafted into the vineyard as a wild cutting, I was made part of the true vine. By the hand of the husbandman who keeps the vineyard, shall the new wine be pressed. From the cup of this I shall partake in remembrance of he that died and was resurrected. I shall drink of the vine at his table, when he returns to bring salvation to me.

Heartbreak is not beautiful. It isn’t poetry or a song. It doesn’t say to stay up all night to listen to sad songs. It’s breaking down the middle of a busy street. It’s seeing his face in all the passerby’s. Its feeling okay for weeks and suddenly you hear his voice and then you’re choking on memories of his presence. It’s waking from dreams of him coming back and screaming in the middle of night because your heart aches like a dagger has been put in there. It’s crying so hard after laughing while you're watching a funny scene because all of a sudden you realize he isn’t coming back. Please stop, romanticizing over pain and using people as objects. A heart isn’t a cigarette that you can just light up and then stomp on it when you’re done. Don’t act like heartbreak is beautiful or even wonderful, because I even won’t wish that upon my worst enemies.

I saw a delicate flower and I wanted to smell it's fragrance, but the many thorns pricked me and caused me to draw back. So I had to think and move carefully to get close to the delicate Rose. I moved ever so cautiously until I was near enough to smell it's fragrance. I was then suddenly startled and drew back in haste. I was cut and pricked for all of my trouble, then in a moment of clarity I came to understand, that the most beautiful flowers often are difficult to obtain and that a Rose has thorns not just for it's protection, but to show others how to take great care when seeking to know true beauty.

To whom else shall I shout praises?
To whom else shall I give my soul?

In my cries of desperation
and in the throes of agony
I shall bow to none but you O Lord!

For you have made me,
loved me
You alone have saved me
from the pain
of Satan's grasp
You have freed me.

There is none but you Lord
who gives life to the roaring ocean
Your majesty is proven
in the crashing waves.

There is nowhere to hide
from the majesty of the Lord
His gracious arm reaches all
even those who cry
none are spared from His glory.

let me paint you a picture
in shades of black and white
in shades of those who ****
and those who fight
this is what racism looks like
black men with paper hearts
armed with cardboard swords
white men dipped in ivory steel
white men born armed with skin
it's a black man with hands
raised to the heavens
and seeing hell as his last sight
this is what racism feels like
it's your black breath
being ****** out of your lungs
by white hands of white men
dressed in blue gilded in gold
this is what racism sounds like
it's an 18-year old's last words
it's a mother's cry at a police station
it's a bullet racing through the air
this is what racism is
it is not poetry
it's a black man wearing a red shirt
and getting shot six times
this is no crusade
there is no holy purpose
this is the star-spangled truth
a flag drenched in black blood
this is the truth bared in ink
and no poetry can save it

like many stoutly claim
    as members of some Christian faith
love our neighbors as we love ourselves

then why do we look down on those
    of different creeds and cultures
    skin color, clothes, or hats
suggest to keep them out by building walls,
suspect them of barbarian ways,
let them drown,
put them in camps,
build fences,
stop them at our borders,
prefer
   in short
to have them elsewhere

maybe we should love ourselves much more
so we can better love
the tired, hungry, and the poor
who come to our shores and borders
     in search of safety and shelter,
     freedom, and human dignity

let us remain easy, and truer
to the spirit of our Liberty,
remembering our heritage
     and that of our parents
     and their parents
most likely immigrants from somewhere
looking for a better place
    to have a life and rear their children

it helps to see our neighbors as our friends
rather than enemies
and love them like we love ourselves