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When you sit and stare at people,
As they go throughout their daily tasks,
Do you ever happen to wonder,
If the expression their wearing is a mask?
As they walk right on past you,
A smile drawn across their face,
Do you ever think that maybe,
In this world they actually feel out of place?
And when a mother catchers her child being reckless,
You watch as she speaks to him with fury,
Do you mentally chide her instantly, or wonder that if maybe,
That's her way she handles worry?
When a little girl of six,
Sits alone, watching everyone else,
Do you think that she is sad,
Or maybe that she just prefers to by herself?
So many times, so many cases,
We believe our own interpretation,
That our eyes and ears have sought the truth,
But then we learn, often too late, that they'd gathered misinformation.
Oh, all the countless times we see things,
And deem them to mean something of no such,
You would think the we would eventually learn,
Not to so quickly judge.
Often as humans, we see something and instantly make some conclusion as to what it means. That doesn't make it accurate, though. What we think we know can be completely different as to what it really is. However, I don't think we sometimes realize that. Sometimes we judge too quickly, too harshly, and it can often cause more harm than good.
for living creatures have to eat
breaks  my heart to see a young gazelle
go down her throat surrounded by razor lion teeth
or a squirrel      scurrying
in the middle of the road hearing destiny roar down on him
not knowing which way to turn
that crunch is part of life
hard distasteful but natural
and,  still nature has that giving side ,
the acorns from oaks
the prairie grass
so it is not all bleak,
just chance again,
someone wins the lottery every week
some get killed in cars,  by teeth get eaten
or become food for the insects,
or bar fights or  by a lion or tire;
and some make love like rabbits in the sun and have
wild onions in abundance and comfortable burrows
strong tree limb nests
to sleep in unworried it seems,
or are they?
They are teaching us what we don't want to become.
They are raise our hopes so high and tell us we can reach the sky.
"Power to the people",we sing and shout back at them while looking to the sky as if we have found our place in the stars.
We are out here in the dark trying to **** fears and bleeding to reach a million ears.
So should you call me a voice to the voiceless and would you say i bring words with hope and doubt like a multiple choice question.
WHO AM I?
In a world that has managed to **** paint poets living the people without a fine taste of art and expression.
What is a man?
Beside being an untamed soul that roams around the world aimless and accidentally achieves and discovers something new,but later gets bored and destroys it.
The ones who saw the light first and managed to fly before we did now have deceived us and cut our wings off and commanded us to fly,
SO WE JUMP WITH CONFIDENCE BUT TO OUR DISAPPOINTMENT WE CRUSH, CRUSH AND CRUSH ,LIVING US WITH NOTHING TO SPARE.....................
Motionless we lie on the floor with blades cutting through our ribs.
All we wanted was our ideas being heard,our songs being sung,our names to be written on polished walls.THE STRUGGLE CONTINUES.
  SO MY SONS WHEN YOU GROW OLD JUST KNOW THAT VULTURES ARE STILL SINGING OUR SWEET SONGS AND NOBODY HAS BEEN BRAVE AND BOLD TO TELL THE STORY THAT HAPPENS IN THE BACKYARD
STRUGGLE,DISAPPOINTMENTS,
Smiling through pain,
Is like dancing through the rain.
It relieves the heart,
No matter what's tearing you apart,
It makes a difference,
Makes us stronger and a point of reference,
It enables us to inspire,
Even in times when we feel like we're about to expire.
the worst thing I’ve ever done
was letting the world
know that I write,
it’s not the 2am phone calls
asking if I’m okay,
it’s not the regret of
of relationships or
the running away,
it’s the look in my mothers
eyes when I write about dying,
it’s the regard to kin
when holding certain
emotions in,
forging positivity
and relaying
the antiquities
of struggle,
the minuscule
moments of will
drill into minds
painting all kinds
of doubtful abstracts,
creating spousal transacts
of how to fix their son,
it’s not the questions
about what I mean when I
say my skin spits goose flesh
or my eyes wrap yesterday
in spruce mesh that
eventually frays,
it’s the days where
I get kindred
phone calls
wondering if I’ll pick up
because of writing
the night before
stating that
I’m skating
on thin ice,
I dont want them to worry
I’ll be fine,
but for now it’s the pen
that has to unwind
the noose from
confining words
I refuse to say.
 Mar 2016 nyasha zanamwe
SJ
A dream.
You stand across the room.
A dream.
Hot breath across my skin.
A longing.
Biting the straw of my *** n' Coke.
I drown in despair.
I fell in love
With wide eyed dreamers
For them they called it a vision
But for me
I thought it was all a dream

It was as if they were mine
A gental kiss
A good night laugher
A good morning call
A whisper in my ear
A single word
That made me crack

I fell in love
With wide eyed dreamers
For them it was a goal
It was something they tried to achieve
But they lost so much doing it
For me
It was a mistake
Just another heartbreak
Another beat still skipping

Its as if I could believe its true
My heart skipped so many beats
My mind was only thinking of them
My face wears a mask
Every time it rains
And that rain is caused by
The wide eyed dreamers
40.
you have to fight
and make friends
with your mind
if you want to survive
and truly enjoy
every second
of a life
that you want to create
don't desecrate
your head
own it,
your friend
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