Rivalries are an excuse for animosity to be abused.
A tradition to explain the irrational and depraved.
A justification for future insubordination
Of logical arguments by the sane.

Beasts competed with one another through physical altercations,
But we have evolved to call everyone our brother.
So why is it that we must see fighting between one another?
Why is it that we may not all show that we're lovers?
Is there something wrong with the tolerance of each other?

Whatever rationalization is created for the promotion of hatred,
Should be abolished and ashamed,
That it may show its head and become a vein for placing blame,
Is unsettling all the same.

We are all too similar, and that should not promote altercations of an individual,
Rather it should be used as a connection to the familiar.
It should be used in stride with the builder
Of peace, and a reason for all this nonsense to cease.

We have developed into adults,
and it is time to show this with amiable results.
By citing a rivalry as traditional is exactly the reason
It is sinful.
One day we may see the end of this spitefully built fence,
By breaking down the wall separating far too many of us all.
I hope it is my lifetime here, for failing to unite us,

is my deepest of fears.

More than just kawaii desu
More than nico nico ni
And senpai noticing me
You are the reason my heart goes doki doki

More than the final rasengan
More than the last hurrah
And all the power needed for a kamehameha
You give me strength when all hope is gone

More than just friendly rivalries
More than swimming medley relays
And underdog hero clichés
You help me be the best I can be always

With Moon Prism Power
I’ll transform right before your eyes
Into a weeb like no other
You bring me joy before I even realize

Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,

plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories

abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects

rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…

I am your scapegoat
deconstruct your rivalries
you love to hate me

Bright in the light of fire and rage,
For such a mindful soul I speak of,
With many meanings I am often misunderstood,
What will become such a power,
Without the rest to be a hand.

Woe to I to be in between,
Two rivalries above and below me,
I may burn your eyes from my sour lies,
Or sweet laughter to your ears,
Be careful of me for I am the fork of the road.

Blind you will be if you look up to me,
I am the circle in the sky and the light to your day,
The one that shines and reflects,
And the joys of children's plays,
Happiness is certainly what you see in me.

You will find me when you smell nature's air,
When only sounds of waterfalls and chirps can be heard,
A place of peace and serenity,
So do not harm me,
As surely you will miss me.

Sadness and sorrow is my time
Away you go as I fall from the sky,
But I will not leave and I'll be there by your side,
For I am essential in your life,
And there you will be with me over the edge of the line.

From me you will seek my riches,
But some of you have already stolen my wealth,
And what I have left is darkness for you to enjoy,
I will not be able to give you what your eyes will,
Unless you have given me back what was once mine.

It is my time to show you my strength in this pride,
I am one of which you will find in beauty,
And what keeps most of you sane in your chaotic life,
Do not underestimate me because I am at the bottom,
For you should know I am what keeps us standing.

Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit

back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack,
blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication,
dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin

of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s
skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist
some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics,

******, exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a
handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap,

gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles
and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we
were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.

If trees could speak,
What would they say?
Could they recount the tales
Of all who crashed
Under their boughs?
Do they keep a list—
Even make it a game—
Of how many cars pass
Per day, per week, per decade?
Do they remember
Each fallen brethren,
Move to catch them
When they fall?
Do they have rivalries
About the biggest size
Or the best patch of soil
Or the most growing seeds—
Or are they past all that
And the weeping willows
Took it upon themselves
To weep for us humans
Who distinguish between
Small insignificances?

Little figures of purple and of blue
The uniforms cannot hide different places: different faces
Starting friendships, rivalries and thunder races
Personifying love, and energy, and whatever is true

Like the sun, illuminating, burning bright
They move at the speed of light

We are unable to fit them in one flat form
Or to keep them lukewarm.

Even with the uniforms.

"The population is expected to level off at around nine billion," says my father
A nearly full plate of Thanksgiving feast food in front of him
but he has been asked to pontificate which is what he does best
and I hear a tremor in his voice like I have when I teach
I know he is in the throws of excitement about what he's saying
planning for his keynote in Brazil, and what plant scientists can do
to help save us from global warming and the lack of water since there isn't
even two liters of fresh water for every person on the planet for use every day at seven billion
I gesture as to what two liters looks like  and my mother snaps "I know what two liters is!"

It's cold in here, in this large Oakland short sale house that fits my cousin's family
and my Aunt downstairs, where I like it better because the children aren't there
Like two houses put together and there are no carpets just hard wood floors and
open windows that make it cold and it is anything but warm and fuzzy
My Aunt is angry with me that I shop at Walmart but that's what I can afford
Tomorrow she's holding a strike at a Walmart with her daughter which makes them superior to me
She's also mad because I don't like my "Union" which does nothing for me since I'm not tenured
"You have to organize" she condescends, like that is a reasonable thing with my one and two year stints at schools but she is the big Union Head for CSU so she should know
She was on TV with Jerry Brown after all, so what do I know
The kids are noisy since they all have their own phone and can play anything they
want at any time in addition to turning on the myriad of TVs and radios and stereos in the house
and the noise ricochets off he hard cold floors and walls that have pictures on them
of people from the family, but they don't look quite like they belong
and they hang there uncomfortably and self consciously
There is every skin tone except deep black at the table
My family--all that is left

Childhood: I loved going to my mother's family in Idaho
It was hot in summer or cozy warm inside in winter and
a wonder land outside for snow shoeing and skiing
It was quiet and they always had wall to wall carpet
I rolled from one end of the room to another in it the first time I felt it
It was warm and fuzzy.  
People listened and there were breaks from noise and chaos

Here, every conversation is disjointed like we are going
in and out of different time periods and different petty rivalries and
fierce competitions under it all and families are blending and being
torn apart and the latest one has formed from "OK Cupid" online
and my Aunt has to be right, the smart one, the good one, the one of the people
and it is so cold, so very cold, and the windows are opened to let in more
cold Oakland air as if there isn't enough of it and all the sounds of
kids and electronics are driving me slowly insane

What can plant scientists do to help nine billion people
without water?  Not a whole lot, except invent crops that
survive like camels, or can live underwater like fish
since everything will be either dry or deluged with water
and I wish there was carpeting, warm carpeting and less
noise and more harmony
and this is the family I have now
the old one is gone, like the glaciers that will melt all at last
and the rivers that will run dry forever.
And I think: what we need to do is invent a way to make water
Make enough water for everyone, maybe from recycled bags or used Nike shoes
and if we can do that, maybe the air in this house will warm
and it will become quieter and the hard wood floors will become soft and warm and fuzzy
and I will feel at home here, with my family

The inside's come out of the skin. Nothing is satirical. It's just not funny. Spiderwebs on the elbows and cancer coming into the ears. Hair is everywhere and all of a sudden. The writer risks blue and black blood for another second of this bliss cessation. But cleverly, sins and bedevilments come. They hide poorly or not at all. bump they go go go in the daytime while I am fastening sleep and heating up.
     The cadaver masterpiece is happening again. The same as it always was for has beens when their lucid dreaming raises the rage in their real lives.
     There isn't a safe-word, just a blanket. Two tee-shirts with signatures, and lingerie that lacks a heartbeat.
     Half a tooth brush missing the rest of its teeth, and a knit panda hat empty from above the bottom of its feet.
    To be sick of it does not make a difference. If broccoli was the word, Dana Carvey would have come to chop it up.

When it breathes my pores leak nostalgia from the predicaments; We pretended to grow up. This isn't the adventure season I hoped for. I could see the page crawling up the street beside every single cigarette I threw across the parkway. Now Michael styles the mercury, while those grown ups we knew cry themselves into a blur; Like a movie they just couldn't escape, or the way they met one half of chaste, there are just some things that shouldn't be erased.

Playing with a bazooka while emptying my ice box. I build on schemes of crazy the d oh d just wishes they could ignore. I drink lemonade, you drink lemonade. IPA after motherf*ing IPA. It is or it isn't but I'd thought you had enough trying typhoid drip one after another hysterical catastrophe. Dear I was poisoned from an ill-witted sickness, I messed around with your Blackjack and doubled-down into two black diamonds. Instead of learn'd weekly abuse.
                                                          Our island on a hundred dollar towel. An eroteme waiting to implode. Four periods every other week, I just waited for the mouse to roll.

gut rot
migraines.
painful exploding pressure of the skull
does not eat
hearing increase
eyesight improvement
proudly made in the u.s.a.
chipped nail polish comes off middle fingers
does not sleep
erupts verbally
bleeds from fingertips
hates. hurts.
Be is the short form of Is
She has eyes that tell her truths
That bruise youth
But do not amuse
Ferris Bueller's muse
Silver too. Haircut rivalries.
Privy eyewitness testimonies
For assassinations that haven't
Begun happening. But rapt
The veiling attachment,
Froth of words, the disaster
Never brings.
Lies upon lies upon lies
Until we both stood up.

Just like you, I couldn't wait to leave this place.
We drew lines across the map from point A to
anywhere we'd rather be but here.
We kept bags packed in the backseat, ready
To leave at a moment's notice, if we decided
Memphis called our names louder than
our worried mothers and fathers could scream.

You and I put ten thousand miles on that car;
We knew we were getting nowhere, but
we couldn't get there fast enough.
You told me we were born with gypsy blood,
ready to run.
I almost thought we were scared to stay in this **** town,
with the cobweb legacies and long-standing rivalries.

We weren't a tragic Romeo and Juliet, we could have been
together forever in a white house with a picket fence.
We could have had a family here, two kids and a hound dog,
beer on Friday nights with our friends
who swore they knew we were meant to be from the moment we met
when I was in love with your best friend and you
were scared to touch me.

I was a hurricane.
You were colder weather.
We had a whirlwind time, tearing up the country
and leaving our traces all over trailer parks.
You made fun of my metaphors, then told your worst story
that ended like our relationship-
without warning, with unexplained wildlife
and scabs on your knees.

This is not a mystery.
There is no hidden meaning here, to be examined
by critics and explained.
There is only country music lyrics and the lives of petty thieves.
This is not an expose on the triumph of human souls.
This is you and me.

This is fishing in the dark, caving in a blizzard,
running from the man with a banjo.
This is skinny-dipping in freezing water under the cliff
when you couldn't get me to dive in
and you proposed from the water.
I was so surprised, I fell.

This is not a mystery.
We are not an allegory or a parable
about the fallacies of human nature and the transience of lust.
We are lost souls: the classic drifters, who were born too late
to be outlaws.
You said this is progress,
the Industrial Revolution and the end of us.

I stood you up, and I'm sorry.
You had made your bed, so I ran
and you slept with her instead.
You found salvation in the Bible, while I had a
shot glass revival.
There was silence on the telephone lines-
I couldn't dial the number, and you never tried to call.

We were born to run, and we were scared to stay.
I stood you up, and I'm sorry.
You never loved me, and you're sorry.
All we ever say is sorry. You knew I stood you up, but
you were too proud to ask me to stay.
We kept the car packed because we were born to run,
but we always turned around just before we hit the interstate.

We were born to run, with gypsy souls and anxious hearts.
Fresno, California called our names, and we knew we could hit Memphis
in less than a tank of gas and half a day.
This is not a mystery, this is simply the fact
that I left before you made up your mind.
You had made your bed, but you weren't ready to sleep.
And this isn't about you. It's not a mystery to be deciphered.
I'm just tired of driving, and I wish you'd called.