The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will be live-*

The revelation will be streaming through your Windows
laptops and smartphones.
The revolution will be blogged
Tweeted, liked, shared, RE-blogged RE-tweeted
and Stumbled Upon in between
midnight ******* sessions
sandwiched between funny cat memes.

The resolution will be HD.
It's evolution will be high speed.
The whistles will be blown at with frequency.
The revolution will be commented on;
Scrutinized.
Vandalized.
Scandalized.
Stylized and advertized.
People will pay attention -
People will forget to mention
that some stand up, occupy, riot
and die.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution be streaming live
through the filter of your choice.
The facts will be democratized.
The democracy will be corporatized.
The corporations will personified.
People, objectified -
Spied on and villainized  
The powers that be will will lie, deny, and try to justify.
The people will be disenfranchised.
Prisons will be privatized.
Death drones will be utilized.

No one will bat an eye.
Because revolution will be multiplied, over-simplified,
The violence, normalized.
Lives, sacrificed
to satiate the Golden Calf's appetite.

The revolution will not be televised
but Jerry Springer will...
Go figure.

i am sorry for having villainized you.
let me say this first:
i am so sorry for the pain i caused you.

i am also sorry for the grit
and rough
and mess you saw in
my skin. i am sorry
that i let it matter to me
that you saw these things.
i am sorry that i let you
make me feel like the
skin that i was writhing in,
that i was trying on
and tailoring (am still
tailoring) to fit me correctly
was somehow *****, somehow
not so clean. somehow covered in
the hands of too many boys
who made me unpure.
who you believed
somehow stole my
virtue with their kiss.
(like they would be so powerful
as to **** it from my lips)
i am sorry that you believed
that this caused such a gaping
space between us that we could
no longer lie next to each other.

the truth is,
i miss you somedays.

it makes me ache to know
that you missed my first
love. you missed his smile
and his stupid decisions,
and the effect he had on me.
you missed the way he brought
my mind to a lull.
my whole body to a
present moment.
you missed the disappointment,
the pain, the deep and crushing
heartbreak.
you missed the day he said goodbye.
you missed me picking up
the parts of myself i didn't
know existed in such a way
that they could fall apart.

i had seen you through that all
and you will only know of mine
through what i will tell you.

i am sorry to have hurt you.
to have lost you.
i was shedding skin and so were you.

*january/27/2014/12:23 A.M.

everyone

villainized
victimized
ostracized
and

crucified

Let me tell you a story.
A story of hurt, pain and eventual healing.

Once upon a time, there was a boy as joyous as could be.
A boy once described as a gentle giant.
Who had big dreams and aspirations for the future.
A boy happy and proud of being their authentic self.
Was taught about the importance of culture and the sacrifices of his ancestors.
Was taught the truth about our shared history; a truth that would soon be undermined, rejected and punished.
Where innocence died and his colour became villainized.
The day he  first went outside his house.
The day that pride and happiness shattered and reality became tattered.
The day his heart became bruised and battered.
Where the gentle giant became an angry monster like the Incredible Hulk.
Except for the part where he felt anything but incredible.
Humans sure can be cruel.
Illusions of difference kept up by oppressive rules.
And those unable to see beyond it, truly are the biggest fools.
Blind truly lead the blind, for real.
Some call it cynical, some call it political, yet many ignore the pain it yield’s.
But unlike bread for many like this boy it’s hard to rise.
Hard to overcome all the factors that keep many sidelined.
Left to pretend everything’s fine.
When it’s obviously not.
Healing is hard; it takes time.
Especially when many of your friends die.
Believing in the lie’s.
Who’s to blame?
Perhaps everyone is.
Which got many like the little boy wondering?
Are we monsters by choice or by circumstance?
Perhaps both?
Perhaps neither?
All I know is many are hurting.
All I know is people are crying.
Which makes the little boy wonder?
How many tears are enough to create change?
How many deaths does it take to create change?
All the boy knows is he’s alive and has overcame.
All he knows is that it took years to heal, and understand that he isn’t insane.
Or some monster that needs to be tamed.
He knows that he may be indigenous, but he’s human all the same.
And he hopes he can help others like him someday.

They call it it attention deficit
if feels like the ******* opposite
I'm paying too close attention to all of it
and I want you to be good to me
I'm not sure exactly what it is I'm craving
I’m so tired of being villainized
in so many people’s stories
I’m tired of the manipulations of reality
for someone else’s personal glory
your life must be pretty boring
And I get it, living is trouble
and the trouble of it all is living
what someone channels their passion into is telling
and I want to be good to you
but I'm tired, too...
And I know
the other trouble of living
is everything dying
The trouble about knowing the truth
is knowing who is lying
but why do I care what you think about me?
I wish that would just die peacefully
I'm filled with burnt out vessels of energy
thoughts of you, and everyone, harboring
bringing in nothing
I want to feel like I bring something
to the tables I sit at
but lately
I feel like I'm bringing nothing at all