Love your wife
As if she is the rose of the house
Love her
As if she is your beloved of your college
And then
She will need nothing
To squabble with you
In any circumstances

Here I am again in my place of solitude.
Here I am confined within four walls and a ceiling.
I look around and it's just me again,
Just me and a room full of white tiles.

Here I am in my tiny space,
Here I am thinking it's a massive room.
My breathing echoes and the shower **** creaks;
As I turn it on letting the water drip.

Here I am turning on the heater at number three,
Here I am with the heat burning through my skin.
Yet my heart is still ice cold and frozen,
And I wait to feel the pain again.

Here I am with the water at full pressure,
Here I am feeling nothing at all.
All it takes is a few minutes,
Until the pressure breaks what feels like glass.

Here I am again with my knees so weak,
Here I am with my wounded feet.
Here I am bleeding from the shards of glass,
The glass that encloses my pained heart.

Here I am again with my head leaned on the tiled wall.
Here I am sitting on the wet bathroom floor.
And while I sit here bare naked,
Tears continually flow down my cheeks.

Here I am staring through empty space,
Here I am thinking about everything.
Hot water sprinkles from the running shower;
And I watch as it forms circles like tiny raindrops on the floor.

Here I am feeling everything too much.
With the sound of water silencing my cry,
I let myself release all the pain once more.
The pain and sadness I keep underneath my joyful facade.

Here I am again catching my breath,
Here I am suffocating from the steam.
I focus on my breathing and turn the heater off,
I let myself forget the pain to try and save myself.

Here I am turning the cold shower off,
Here I am again fresh with my frozen heart.
I put a smile on my face as i walk out of the room,
To face the world again until it's time to change the glass.

I feel as if someone has punched me in the stomach.
And I can't breathe.

As if someone is stabbing my lungs.
And I can't breathe.

As if someone is ripping at the tendons inside my body.
And I can't breathe.

I feel as if someone has ****** the air from around me.
And I can't breathe.

As if air never existed.
And I can't breathe.

Little girl Little boy
All this noise in the world
And no one is listening
No one is noticing all the wrong
All the ugly words to the song
Children sitting gathered at tables
Laughing as they should
Laughing while they can
Life fast at their heels
Horror awaiting to replace their innocent
   days
And whose daughter will go first
Whose little girl will lose her will
      To smile
       To trust
        To love
Whose precious ray of sunshine
  Will be dragged
     To
        Dark alleys
         Dark couches
           Dark beds
Whose little flower will be
         Stomped on
         And crushed
         And dismembered
      And left living a life
      Constantly wishing for death
And who would do such a thing
   To such a sweet little smile
  Will it be by
    Monster or cousin
    Or uncle or father
    Or neighbor or stranger
    Or husband or freind
And whose little boy will lose his way
   Lose his way from patience
   And kindness and love
   And respect
Whose little boy will grow into brother
  Of brother of father of wealth
    And of name
Whose little boy will be taught by
  ignorance and ***** that he must be like
  the father of his brother of his brother
  of name and of wealth
Whose little son will grow into the monster
    of the illusion of being a man
Means taking whatever he wants
   whenever he can
Whose little monster will be left to wander
  and stray
    So far far away
     From the days of being
      A monster was only
        pretending and play
I sit and I sip coffee of sugar and cream
  And I wish and I pray that this was all
   A bad dream
But I cannot refuse or deny it
All this horrible horrible noise
Among the children laughing
With naive painted grins
I shudder inside of thoughts of their
                                       innocence gone
I tremble to know of futures of
                                        terrible wrongs
Whose will grow into murders of racism
  and hate
Whose will find themselves victims of ****
Whose will find themselves innocent
  locked behind bars awaiting death row
Who will turn into monster and beast
Who will turn into hero and friend
Whose little boy
Whose little girl
Will brave the road and pave the way
  To a future of endless
               Innocent days
It cannot be a day too soon
Let us hope it is not a day
                  Too late...

The birds chirped
differently today
the wind smelled like change

The roads seemed smoother
the sun a bit warmer
and my hair
curlier

The music beat in synch
with my feet
as they stomped their
way on the pavement
vibrating life into
the concrete that has
memorized my feet

Could it be that I have
found the pace
that's written for me?

Or could my words
have stitched themselves
into my reality
fabricating bits and pieces
of my fantasy
to suit me?