Am I not Heard?
Wherever I see are fools.
Converse Everyday like toyed tools.
Am I not Heard?
Seeing these artificial priests.
Question is,do they practice what they preach?

I have a voice.
I want to break the stereotype wall.
Breaking the division and stand so tall.
I have a voice.
I will put the world in order.
Correct the mistakes of our past father.
I have a voice.
Whatever I say is genuine.
I promise that I will change this world from within.

I am the future,
The epitome of change,
Every syllable I say is the truth,
that, I must say.

You can laugh at this poem,
At the ideas and the words,
Call me an idealist or a fool,
but contemplate at it first,
When our voices combine, we can amplify.
Change this world with our voice, no one shall defy.
This is our future, our generation.
We are the progress.
Stand back you elders,
Let us handle the rest.

Don't
fall in love with her.
For you will both crash
and I promise, you will burn, for

She is the girl with too many wounds
the ones even an ocean of your love can't heal.
She is the girl with scars on her knees
because she tried taking leaps of faith far too many times,
waiting for someone to catch her
but they never did.

She is the girl who will never be with you
even if she is holding your hand
and your fingers are wrapped around her shoulders
and her neck is resting on your chest for
she will always be atop an asteroid
trying to catch moon-tears
because she knows that the moon weeps for her.

She is the girl who won't tell you she loves you
even if you tell her a hundred times and look at her
with all the longing you can muster
because she knows how words can be.
Some words
are only said to fill in the empty silence.

She is the girl who is hard to dance with
because she refuses to be led across the dance floor
she's already been led,
many, many times
and she always ended up
with floor burns, scrapes and sprains.

She is the girl with pimples
not enough to cover her face
but enough to let you know how far into the night she stays awake
writing poetry about 'you'
she's written so many poems about 'you'
because her hands won't stop moving
her mind won't stop weaving and I promise,
you wouldn't want her to write about you.

She is the girl with broken, dead bones
the girl who's seen too many deserts
climbed too many mountains
but she never reached the top or
came to the end of the endless stretch of yellow, but
she can tell you a lot about oases.

So before you even think
of falling in love with her, I warn you,
don't.
Do whatever else you want just
don't
fall in love


with me.

I.

i cut
my hair
i moved
away i
hid all
my life
and still
you find
me in
my dreams

II.

thirteen years
later trust
is still
a four
letter word
and i
don't drink
milk i
can't look
at Innocence's
face on
the carton

The Creator
The original
Aboriginal
Indigenous  
Australians
In their Dreaming
Uncreated Baiame
The Sky Father
Creator of everything
But who created
This creator God
Mythological
Theological
Like everyones
Too similar and
Geographically
Universally spread
To be explained by
One Big Bang
But still I ask
Who created
The uncreated
Creator