Smite. Fight.
I find myself angry at me.
I hope you're happy.
This thought strikes me often-
I want to crucify you.

Well done.

You've forced me to resort to relying on my old self.

I sincerely hope you've achieved the effect you wanted.

I wait for you to see what you've done.  
I wait for you to speak.
You do.

But you don't acknowledge me.

You go at your own leisure,
Don't you?

I am blinded.
I scream, and shout.

But I only destroy what was.

I can't take the reins,
But I can no longer wait.

Let's try a hint of bluntness
Honesty.

When I was little
I didn't know
That the Redskins name
Was wrong.

No one taught me.
I knew it sounded weird
But not for anything heartwarming-
I thought more about cannibals
Wearing someone else's skin
Than about racial discrimination.

I wasn't able to pinpoint

Black or white
The rivers have had their fun

They've finally done it.
Your countrys waters are murky.

They have torn it all asunder.
Muddling the waters with red
Poisonous elements to ensure
You are blind.

Child or not
I am blind too.

I wish I weren't.
I wish I was removed.
I had enough of the bloodshed for
Race and religion in Yugoslavia.

Your words will turn empty
They will fail on the deaf
Fall off the angry shields
And fists.
They always do.

But
Maybe you'll be the lucky ones
Maybe the system you fight for support
Will actually turn around for you.

I wish I could be Switzerland
I wish I'd never come to the U.S.
People here are just as terrifying
As they were at home over 20 years ago.

But I'm not a child anymore
So I can't use that excuse not to be involved
But, I'm scared.

I wish I could just go home instead.
Witnessing the history of violence
Taught me that it doesn't solve
It only angers more and more and more.

Sometimes I'll lose myself
Writing up stories.
Of females.

Always females.

I can write from a Male perspective,
But I'm not comfortable.
I'm not in my element and
The words don't flow.

These females will have deep
Backgrounds, memories of their relatives.
Sometimes a privileged one
Sometimes one which leads them on their
Own personal journey.

Still they will suffer all the same.
Something is always stolen
It's always concerned with what
Great atrocities
They will suffer
In the great and copious details,
Which I provide.

But they will always
Find a way
They persevere.

Right when they're
Just about on the mend
I stop writing.

I cannot continue
To the point which
My readers panic,
Perhaps I've died?

No.
I have simply ran
Out off a track.

It recently dawned on me
That my characters
Were so real
Felt so genuine
And oh so guttural

Because each character displayed
A small piece of me.

Anger.
Arrogance.
Intelligence.
Love.
Forgiveness.
Naivety.

My heroines always find a
Place they can control
With kind people
And flourish within it.

But most of all,
they never get a happy ending.

Simply because I don't
Understand how to
Write a genuine happily ever after.

I always thought it stupid
Or perhaps idiotic
To write yourself
Into your own story.

Who needs a dozen mini me's?

But look at me go.