I sit down
On my privileged white boy ***
Spinning around in my black chair
And think of a poem to write

How could I not think of anything that I can write about?
There are so many topics and problems of the world!
Love
Hate
Drugs
Alcohol
Adolescence
Birth
Death
******
Retribution
Revenge  
Racism
Sexism
*** in general
****
Feminism
****
The one percent
The ninety-nine percent
Books
Poems
And many more but I'll break down why I can't think of these

Love
Cliche topic
Written my say about it
Already
Already have so many poems
On that topic
I don't wanna do the boring old
Topic tonight

Hate
Now there's a topic I haven't covered
But like love
It's cliche
Skip that for tonight
I don't have a say on the matter now
Other than I hate people who don't like me

Drugs
I've never touched a drug
I've met people influenced by drugs
But not that well
Can't write about
How good they are
Maybe how bad they are
But I don't know people well enough
Who can teach me how bad they are
So I'll move along

Alcohol
**** I'm lame
A poet who has never
Gotten drunk once
I'm a shame to the poetry community

Adolescence
It ******
Girls didn't like me very much
My crotch itched all the time
Wanted to *******
About twenty times a day
A different day to write about that

Birth
Don't remember it
I've had rebirths
But I don't think that counts

Death
My grandma died!
Oh, but I didn't know her very well
It'd be quite false to lament
That much about it

******
Why even bother
Never murdered
Have wanted to ****** on plenty of occasions
But only to the extent that everyone else does
Not interesting enough
Next

Retribution
O.K well I can talk
A lot about that
But not in the mood

Revenge
Isn't that similar
To retribution?
Why'd I even list that?

Racism
I'm white
Can't get much better than that
I get socioeconomic benefits
Which makes me a pretty lucky guy
And plus
If I were to be called a *****
On the streets by a person
It really wouldn't ruin my day

Sexism
I'm a man
I get the benefits of being a man
More pay
More respect
Yup got nothing to write about there

*** in general
Well I'm a ******
Ain't I pathetic
So unless you want
A sloppy description
Of how awesome it feels
To get my **** wet
Then I'm not gonna bother

****
I've never been *****
And I'm a pretty strong guy
In general
I've never experienced ****
Nor known someone really well
Who has been *****
And it's pretty obvious
**** is bad
So there isn't that much else
To say about it

Feminism
I agree equality for women is awesome
Equal pay
Equal respect
But I think changing the spelling
From woman to womyn
Is a bit bizarre.....
To touchy a topic
Don't wanna lose the female audience
No writing of that tonight

****
There's a lot of it
Out there
Most people agree
That it disrespects women
And desensitizes men to the
Idea of ****
So I really don't have
Much to add in this matter
Other than to not really use it

The one percent
They're rich
They make more money than you
We learned in economics
If we had total equality
We wouldn't be efficient
Although at the same time
More middle ground should be made
I'm sure they aren't greedy *******
In total though

The ninety-nine percent
They have every right
To be completely angry
But I already covered them
In my last poem
So ***** that for tonight

Books
Who doesn't love to pick up
And read a good book
But why change it to a poem
Doesn't that **** with the writer's
Original intention and could scope the message?
Shouldn't we leave it to the lit crits to take care of that?
I think it does
I'll move on

Poems
I think I'm already talking about that

The same song looping over and over…
The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity…
Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble,
Vigorously fighting these thoughts,
These demons of mentality,
A constant cartwheel of emotion…
Always racing…
Not ceasing for a mere second…
Forcing the pill in my mouth,
And then another,
And another…
The only mental painkiller is death…
I feel numb,
Darkness seeps into my vision…
Blurring reality…
The Pain is going away…
I feel alive as I feel myself die…
Emergency Medical Squads break the door down…
I sit there,
Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare,
Eyes not moving,
Weak,
You never came.



I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise…
Always knowing I love you,
Never doubting yourself again…
I want to make love until we are one…
My body and yours…
Sharing the night, and day…
Filling senses with pleasure and love…
I want to hold you until you are weightless…
A feather in my arms…
Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night…
I want to love you forever…
I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun…
I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses…
I want to love you when the bell tolls,
The bell does not mark the end,
It will never end,
I will love you always,
Forever,
Not stopping even for a supernova…



No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting…
Toxic fumes are given off,
The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find…
No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving,
You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters…
All the cuts,
The closer you get the deeper the grooves…
This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust…
Wonderful you say…
But that is just for now,
Today.
My past is dark, dead, rotten,
Who knows if the future will be any different.
Today I have a moment of peace,
You,
A bright blue gem shining in the darkness,
So pure it becomes it’s own light-source,
Echoing beauty throughout the blackness,
Illuminating me,
True Commitment,
Warm and sweet Love,
Unquestionable Trust,
Seraphic Beauty,
Everything I need…
I sit here questioning these words…
Thinking of the purest way to put them,
But emotion is not pure,
It’s *****, rough, and raged,
But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different,
It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body…
The past evaporates into the air,
Dispersing and losing its importance,
You are my future,
Not the past.

It all started here;
Some thirty students-
Minds controlled by their puppeteer,
Walked in clueless

My mind came colorful, progressive-
Only my beliefs sprouted!
The seed had already been expressive
Just- the stem was clouded

The renaissance fertilized the soil
Dry, cracked, barren, deprived;
Destitute of the benevolent oil-
Used to awaken thoughts: revived

But what truly blossomed my bud-
Were the French philosophes,
Who's blue, liberal blood-
Solidified my leftist approach

I have always been the optimist;
Through many deaths and rebirths-
I knew it wasn't the apocalypse,
And instead kept the beauty of earth

Because I filled my life with fascination,
My opinions bloomed:bright and rich.
The rain could not cleanse my veneration,
Not to a diety, but to my democratic itch

My petals are strong to hold bees-
Who cannot fly or make honey
It's my civic duty to fight this disease
That in life- one is subject to money

However, I am not just one of Paine's flowers,
I am an independent with liberal powers.

deep in the meadow
as all rebirths within in the sun
in the midst of early spring

darkness is descending
and beneath the fallen raindrops
i am the only nonliving thing

filled up with enmity coiling up inside
The chest billows up
Thy want to heave it out
Then destined to tranquility

The claws scratch the flesh
Death gnaws on the remnants of longevity
Unless visions have a chest
To burst out into effervescence

Spontaneous sigh is kicked out of your breath
The clavicles sharpen, the eyes ogle ahead
The nothingness dilates
The flicker has no entrance for itself to adumbrate

For utopia has its own gore
To marvel over inside,
The plasters of bliss
Have guffawed over the gullible dusk

The gloom has left with a whisper
A muttering not to be heard
The relief has sewed on flesh
With the clouds coming out of thy outburst

The relief rebirths the serenity
Has been meandered, halted
For thou shed leaves
Making agony to clouds of no return

Utopic defiance,
the idiosyncratic anectodes
Stains of externalized innundation
For the literal existance of hope.

He wears, with me, the charms of love,
exchanging gentle whispers in storms
of fascinated, trembling union.

He shares with me blue velvet nights
of careful and unmeasurable bliss,
and titivates modest morning rebirths.

He cares for me, reproof us not, we make
no show of virtue, or counterfeit innocency,
but partage, in comfort, this open honesty.

Keep close her in the Winter Breeze,
And her warm breath’
Will keep your soul and body warm,
With her quite mourning of sudden deaths,
And her humble celebrations,
Watch, as her desolate darkness,
Gives life to prolific rebirths!

By: Nida Mahmoed.

An initiation
And suddenly, everyone has your back
24/7
This is a beautiful thing
It seems
So why
Doesn't it happen in church?

Baptism
Is an amazing thing.
It renews
Restores
And rebirths.
It's an initiation into the kingdom
So why don't we do it the way
Gangs do?

I'll always try to
I'll bend my schedule
But I can't always
Break it.
But I'll try.
Call me.
Text me.
Email me.
Throw a brick through my window
With a note.
Contact me somehow.
I'll do what I can.
Because I want to be
In Jesus' gang.
And I want to be there
For you.

A spontaneous creation unmatched,
to create a conversation is not a  plan that can be hatched,
it happens without you know it had began,
and it ends and rebirths without knowing it can,
like a different show but all the actors the same,
it cant be loud nor tame,
but afterwords you feel proud,
because it happened,
and something inside of you was tapped in,
to be able to share something that is hard to do,
a spontaneous creation in lieu,
of you being human.