As she took a step under a desolated roof,
there speaks a cold symphony of ferocious screams,
shattering every light bulb in a blink of an eye,
tearing precious jewelries into forgotten fragments.

She left her footprints on a forbidden path,
trying to balance herself at the edge of a sword,
and below of which,
lie countless of unwanted thorns.
Nonetheless, did she had a choice
but to dwell in her reality.

And with this…
She heard nothing
but the woes of the frail,
the scratches of the raging claws,
and the unheard screams of the deadly silence.

And with this...
She saw nothing
but the fractured reflections,
the dried tears from fragile windows of souls,
and the silhouette of an atrocious tragedy.

And with this…
She felt nothing
but a cold blanket of rejection,
a sore from the aftermath of the fray,
and the disturbing atmosphere of a thunderous storm.

Yet, with this…
She stood firm
in the middle of a scourging battle,
and sought for the light to find her might.
There, she faced her ugly reality with her beautiful soul.

Although now, she holds the triumph in her palms,
there, her wound still lies under her flesh
for the unforgiving bullets had shot her so deep
that this, her pain,
will always haunt as she lives.

But look at this woman now,
there grew a laurel on top of her crown.
Her smile grew so wide,
as genuine as pure white.
Now, she’s stronger than her dying unpleasant past.

This, because her soul is astounding,
like the firmest stem of the most stunning flower,
that blooms after the sun rises for the seasons,
and never dies even when the sun stops to rise.

This, I tell you for she is my inspiration,
the savior of my dying motivation.
For the broken is the stupendous,
and yes, my mother is the true prestigious.

On rainy days
I look up poems set in Seattle,
then look back at the rain set against the window

I imagine the water was carried here
from the shores of their bay
across Pike Place, through Belltown,
in buckets they use
to carry Pacific salmon off fishing boats,
or in lidded Styrofoam bowls used
to take out clam chowder

I practice walking in this manner, sans umbrella, through the parking lot of a South Florida strip mall.

When I reach the 24-hour Dunkin Donuts, past the laundromat and the check cashing store, I channel my inner Seattleite: poised in wet socks,
unrushed as the sips they take from their mugs when its **** pouring outside

I renounce sugary accoutrements and have what they're having:
Black coffee with a splash of rain,
A balance perfected on their slanted hill streets
that breed more poets per capita
than anywhere else in the country

Vegas can have its mirages in the desert
San Francisco, its gold bridge

I think I should just have this coffee,
and this rainy day
as the poem it is.

Influence is the power you have over others
Brothers fighting over the bigger crumb
Dumb to what they and their sister's have become
Won by skin tones and education
Legislation driven by religion
Forgiven by a being we've never met
Regret nothing, so we do it again

Friends burn bridges for this power
Liars sell visions for this power
Poppers give their lives for this power
This is why I despise this power

We all sin
So we all can't win
But if the game was rigged to begin
What do we ever, really win?

Seattle is where it's okay to bury your head in the clouds,
where it's acceptable to walk beside and among their sad water

Here, the greys of puddled sidewalks
give way to deeper greys that extend beyond the reach of their docks

This is the place where you can get to any level of cold and wet, only to be steps away from any given coffeeshop and the steam from a mug held with two hands

This is where you'll wake up and face the rain sans umbrellas
where you'll gain an aesthetic to the gloom, a poise to the overcast
Shrouded in mist at the far corner of the map, you'll draw your energy
in harmony with the ups and downs of their multi-storied fish markets and undulant streets

Here, you'll find your path through faded daylight and breathe in air embalmed by hundreds of rainy days

You'll exhale the weight you carry within your chest into a healing view of a horizon lined by ferry boats,
there to take you across whatever darkness you're faced with at day's end.

If I die today
Not much in the world would change
A clump of cells gone,
Dreams extinguished, Love dissolved
Bookshelves left to rot.
Loved ones crying will move on
God knows where I'd be
Might as well take it easy
And enjoy what's left of me

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.