I lie awake in bed, too numb to feel my own heartbeat.
Underneath these calm features lies a panic stricken freak,
Broken beyond repair, paranoid of the air around him.
Dead eyed and drowning, without the hope or the will to swim.
Swallowed whole by the darkness surrounding the thoughts in his head,
Survivors Remorse, when he lives, but better people are dead.

Thirteen is a fragile age
For both boys and girls
Not only for girls
But mostly for girls
When you are a female,
By the time you’re thirteen
You already have a basic idea of what you’re supposed to be like:
What you should wear, how you should behave, what you should say
By the time you’re a thirteen-year-old girl in the year 2008
There is an unspoken list of rules,
A non-verbal inventory of criteria that you should have met
By your fourteenth birthday
You must shave your legs,
You mustn’t wear dresses above knee length,
You must lose your virginity
By the time that I was thirteen years old,
All of my closest girl friends had lost their virginities
Albeit, they were fourteen and I was thirteen because I was a year ahead
But that is a different story for a different poem
This poem is about ****
I remember hearing my friends talk about how they had lost their virginities
In their beds, in the shower, in the backseat of his car
But when I was thirteen, I wasn’t worried about ***
I didn’t want to lose my virginity
Not in a bed, or a shower, or the backseat of a car
No, when I was thirteen, I was highly preoccupied with other things
I was worried about love and what love meant
I wanted to feel love in my heart and in my head
Before I ever felt it in my ******
And let it be said, now, half a decade later
That *** and love are not always the same thing
I wish I would have known that then
I wish I would have known that when he put his hand down my pants
While I was only trying to enjoy a movie in the company of my boyfriend
A man who I thought I could trust
Excuse me, a boy who I thought I could trust
I wish I would have known that when he whispered daggers in my ear
Telling me that he loved me enough to “grace” me with his touch
I wish I would have known that when he pushed me into the couch
With the rough insides of his palms
And gained entry to a gate
That I never gave him the key to
And I wish I would have known that when I asked him later,
“What just happened?”
Too stunned and in pain to cry
And he replied,
“It’s what girlfriends and boyfriends do.
It’s what you do when a girlfriend loves her boyfriend.
You do love me, right?”
And I said yes
When I went back to his house a week later,
I told him that I felt ashamed, and guilty, and *****
Because I didn’t want to lose my virginity
And I had told him that again and again and again
And I was enraged
I was angry because I didn’t have a word for what had happened to me
I had been taught that **** only happens in dark alleys
Not in the basement of your boyfriend’s home
I had been taught that **** only happens when you wear short skirts and halter-tops
Not jeans and a sweatshirt
I had been taught that rapists were old men who I didn’t know
Not my sixteen-year-old boyfriend of two years
And he responded to my anger
But instead of pushing me into the couch,
He pushed me into the wall
And then into the floor
And then out of his life
And you would think,
“Good, this is where it ends. It’s all over now.”
But let it be said, now, half a decade later,
That for survivors of ****** assault, it is never over
The story continues with Planned Parenthood staff, two years later
Having to be the ones to break the news to me
That it was not normal relationship behavior
And hearing the nurse, outside the door, tell another nurse,
“We’ve got another one.”
The story continues with my father asking me,
“Are you sure you didn’t just have *** with him? Were you asking for it?”
The story continues with my sixteen-year-old classmates
Calling me a ***** *****
Because a friend of my ****** decided to tell the entire school
About what had happened to me in that basement three years prior
The story continues after I broke up with my ex-fiancé
And he befriended my ******
In an attempt to **** me off for “breaking his heart”
The story never ends for ****** assault survivors
Statistically, a quarter of the women reading this poem
Will be or have been ***** at some point in her lifetime
And for those women, the story will not end
So now the question presents itself:
How can we end the story?
Therefore, as the author of this **** poem,
I take responsibility for this question,
And I answer it this way:
In the same way that I learned
When I was thirteen years old
That love and *** are not always the same thing,
You must teach your boys
That yes and silence are not always the same thing.

The flower doesn't ask to bloom;
Nor does it whisper,  "I will one day die. "
It's aware of its penultimate doom,
But yet, it lives; it's aware of its life.

Like the classics, they are survivors.

The Hemingways, with their red rage.
The Fitzgerald's, as innocent as lilacs.
Those Bukowskis; that smell of sage
Splattered all over their heart attacks.

Like the classics, they are survivors.

The touch of the Woolf's; bliss.
The smell of the Sexton's; pain
The look of the Plath's; abyss.
These flowers; victims of the honest brain

Like the classics, they are survivors.

Like the flower, they all had to bloom.
It was the start of their doom.
Those heavenly colors, like their words,
Are survivors, yet somehow, absurd.

Like the classics, they are survivors.

I am in debt to you all.
I write in your honor.
To continue this cycle of death;
Now there's your writer.

I found I was inexperience the very day
I experienced my first experience,
So I decided to do wrong because
I was engaged in over righteousness,

I have sown a particular seed of truth
In the strange garden which I planted,
The seed must be allowed to germinate
And grow until it is ready for harvest,

It shall bear only one fruit,
The fruit shall contain only one seed,
This seed shall be the seed of crime,
Oh, some crimes brings much
Experience in liberty and justice,

We have been liberated in the
Mist of their inhumane crimes against us,
I wonder who really invented the name Africa,
They think we are poor and needy
But we are rich with excess
Untapped human and natural resources,
We are not lost
But have found the Black Star
Which is the compass for all mankind,

We never went to them,
They came to us,
They came to exploit us by cheating,
Deceiving and bringing confusion among us,
Oh, that old serpent, the devil,

They began colonizing us,
But with ***** on our side
None sustained into the twenty-first century,
They claim to be superior to the black man,
But this is just the beginning,

Within forty-years, we were able
To gain our independence
First with the spirit of Ghana
And finally crushed apartheid triumphantly,

We gave them a hospitable atmosphere
When they first arrived on our shores
As orphans and beggars,
Not knowing, they were looters and murderers,

They pride themselves as the introducers of
The Christian faith in the land of the Blacks,
They have no idea about Makeda, the Queen of Sheba,
Who later marriage King Solomon, the wise king,
No idea about the Ethiopian ******
Who was baptized by Philip in the name of Jesus,
No idea about Ras Kabutu Munhunutapa,
Was Jesus Christ not nursed in the Land of Blacks?

They realized the beauty in the
Black woman and had the gut
To propose to mother Africa (Sudan),
Upon refusal, they ***** and brutalized
Some of the daughters of mother Africa,
But the Almighty shall restore the excellence
And pride of Africa,
Like the excellence of the Garden of Eden,

Oh, what a devil with an attitude,
None of them speaks the truth,
They are full of injustice and deception,

Yes, Ethiopia is our home
And the Land of the Pharaohs is our pride,
We do not only boast in our ancient glory,
But we have a future glory of an Africa,
Which a future Mentuhotep II shall unite us with,
Yes, a future glory of black superiority,
Which a future Ras Kabutu will make us behold,

We are all pilgrims walking on the same
Road with different destinations,
Yet they are afraid of a united African force,
They shall surely give an account to Him
Who is ready to judge the living and the dead,

They sold us as slaves in order to
Steal our pride, depopulate and demoralize us,
So that, they can use their secondary
Intelligence to exploit our resources,
But they will not succeed for long,
For we know their ways of deception,
Yes, we are the prisoners of hope,
Very soon, we shall be like Jewels of a crown
Lifted like a banner over the earth and space,

Is it normal to be normal?
Oh, see how the Balance weighs down
The opportunist and the Group of Eight,
Inequalities have taking over the
Impartiality and fairness of man,
Who got away with the last hit?
The answer is always in the naive one
Who has purposed in his heart not to answer,

For they built themselves towers,
Heaped up our silver and diamond like dust,
And our gold and timber
Like the mire of the streets,
Behold, the Almighty will cast them out,
He will destroy their powers in the sea,
And they will be devoured by fire,
For we are the children of Tweaduampon,
The ones made from the richest part of the earth
The cradle of mankind,
The true descendant of Ras Kabutu,

We are the Africans
We are the survivors,
We seek a Heavenly Nation,

We keep our faith in the African Personality,
We keep our eyes on the road of African Unity,
Keep your head up on the Black star,
Keep on keeping on in the Black mentality,
Without defying the establishment!


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is Vanda Station.
We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind.
If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station.

Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one
Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions.
November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station.
Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island.

For the next few hours
There was no word
worst feared not heard
The radio crackled through the night
In the un natural sound of SSB
All crew up drinking coffee and tea
with the midnight sun
Glued to the HF single sideband
November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is
mac centre mac centre
howcopy
November zulu niner zero one
This is
vanda station vanda station
five four zero zero
Relay relay mac centre mac centre
Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Relay relay mac centre
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy

All through the night
Over and over
Hour after hour
The same message
Until that fateful call
Feared by all
Mac centre mac centre
This is
navy three two one
wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy

mac centre
navy three one niner
Longitude
One six sefen
Two sefen echo

Latitude
Sefen six
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre mac centre
This is
Navy three two one
Correction Correction
I say again latitude
I say again Latitude
Sefen sefen
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre
Navy three two one
Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors
Howcopy
So it was then,
That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash
Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship
by not relying on one thing alone.
was repeated in similar fate
by a latitude error
in the crash site location message
from the search aircraft XD01-48321
that found a terrible sight
that the sun stayed up on late
on a truly awful night
when 257 souls met their fate.
©GARY LEWIS.2009

I had a sister once
She had sunshine in her smile
She was everybody’s friend
For you she’d gladly walk a mile

When I see her in my mind’s eye
Jeanette’s forever young
When we lost her to the monster
She was only 41.

So that is why tomorrow
I’ll be racing for the cure.
With caregiver’s and survivors
We will beat the beast for sure.
And if my step should falter
As I am no longer young
Her ghost will run beside me
Until my race is run.

Perhaps you have a sister too,
Or someone that you love
Perhaps she’s a survivor
Of a battle bravely won

We must celebrate the victories
Each year there are still more
Until what was a feeble cheer
Becomes a mighty roar

So that is why tomorrow
You’ll be racing for the cure.
With caregiver’s and survivors
We will beat the beast for sure.
And if your step should falter
For you are no longer young
Your survivor friend will pace you,
Until this race is won.

Gather at the starting line
Young and old together
The sisters and the daughters
And survivors feeling better
There may be 20,000 here
The organizers say
They fail to count the shadows
Who will run with us today.


So that is why today we’re here
All  racing for the cure.
Family , friends and lovers
We will beat the beast for sure.
And if our steps should falter
For we are no longer young
Our dead will bear us forward,
Until their race is done.

I'd like to tell you a story
It begins in 1492
When dear old Christopher Columbus
Sailed the ocean blue

He landed on what he thought
To be the country of India
He stumbled upon a group of people
Who appeared to be indigenous

Because these native people
Happened to be where he thought he was
He called them all "Indians"
&& somehow that name stuck

They welcomed his group with open arms
Even offered them their feast
Unaware that deep inside
They were but wolves, dressed as sheep

Columbus && his crew
Soon ravaged the land
They took what they saw
Then they took full command

Of the people they found
On the land where they landed
They felt they should rule
So they stepped in, heavy handed

They murdered the people
Who had taken them in
Set fire to their villages
While the victims watched with their kin

Flash forward to the future
It's now 2016
It's been over 500 years
Since the overtaking by the regime

Future settlers decided
To let the survivors live on
They designated them small areas
Of what had not yet been robbed

These Native Americans,
Generally keep to themselves
They get by living off their land
But now they need your help

The Sioux of Standing Rock
Are being horribly mistreated
The state of North Dakota
Is poisoning them without reason

A pipeline has been built
That runs through this Native territory
When Bismarck residents didn't want it
It was rerouted, how discriminatory

People from all over the country
Are seeming to agree
They are making the commute
To protest peacefully

In defense of an oppressed people
Who only want to live
But the government is stepping in
Even blowing off some limbs

"Let them die, they're not like us"
the message the administration is sending
It seems that after all this time
The battle is never-ending

What exactly does it take
For people to see eye-to-eye?
In the end we're all just human  
We kiss, we laugh, we cry

So if you have a heart at all
If you know that this is wrong
Please join the Sioux in their mission
By coming together, we can be strong