they say you'll never forget
where you were on 9/11
i was nine
i sat in the kitchen
and watched the television
play out the violence hour after hour
my child-like mind conflated the Two Towers
in Tolkien's literary fantasy
with these acts of misanthropy  
and i was taught at the dinner table
that very evening
that all of life could be reduced
to capital letters defining a
cosmic struggle of Good vs. Evil

and yet
regardless of their affiliation
on this defunct
political spectrum of
left left
left right left
politicians canonize a legacy of
injustice and oppression and
in order to suppress
democratic expression
they propagate the notion
that dissent is treason

because the wars we wage are blessed
by the sagely insight of rich old men
who sit safely in mansions protected by
picket fences as white as their skin
while they play off our emotions and
turn us into thoughtless sheep
content to stomach the whims of
politicians propagating vengeance

i will speak this out even
when my voice shakes
because i have seen the hypocrisy
of this war on terror
that relies on terror
to cultivate more terrorists
in order to perpetuate the notion
that Orwell posited

war is peace
freedom is slavery
ignorance is bliss
isn't it

in my naïveté
i rejected the reality of
torture and murdered children for
i nursed a secret hope that
despite the pictures and videos
that served as empirical evidence
we were still somehow
the good guys and
they were the bad guys

but Americans rained white
phosphorous on Fallujah
dropped the world's first
and hopefully last
atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki
we toppled democratically elected socialists
whose interests betrayed our self-serving agendas
cultivating a policy of extra-judicial assassination
regime change is the name of the game
just ask the CIA
they'd tell you
business is booming but
then they'd have to **** you

so i switched off my TV screen
and picked up books
i read Slaughterhouse-V
and treasured the way Vonnegut
looks at the lives of even
bees and butterflies as valuable
intoning "so it goes"
every time a living thing dies

i read O'Brien's
recollections
of Vietnam
a month later
he said that
like white lies
tall tales and
fishermen’s yarns
every war story
has a bit of truth

and i've seen the proof
in the photographs of
Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay
in the aftermath of drone strikes
that left pieces of kids scattered
across the desert sands of foreign lands

i see the toxic side-effects of
systemic violence in the eyes
of homeless veterans suffering
on the streets with PTSD
a flicker of fear livens a
deadened gaze at the sound of
every backfiring engine
as if they're a thousand miles away
on some distant shore

betrayed by their own
government once again
a Purple Heart is
a death sentence
when there are 22
military suicides a day
thanks for your service
now die in silence

like bad religion the phrase
war crime is rather redundant
and i testify not because i
aim to disrespect the
men and women in uniform
on the contrary

when i say
**** war
it is because i
cherish every brother
and every sister
who has perished in the
churning gears of conflict

they shoved tall tales of hope
for a collegiate education
and far-flung travel
down our throats
just sign here
right along the dotted line

we want you
to march into hellfire
we want you
to send missiles into
tiny huts and villages
tracking cell phone signals
we want you
to sit down
shut up and
just do as you're told

to every fallen human who
has been sent off to fight on
behalf of this
or any other
corrupt nation
i sincerely apologize
for not taking to the streets to protest
a vitriolic ideology

i regret filing my taxes
when 54% or more of our budget goes to
military expenditures so they could
stick an M-16 in your hands
and ship you off to die for abstract
and so often arbitrary phrases like
freedom and justice for all

you were robbed of your liberty
by a capitalist system that seeks profit
like a false prophet for
bank accounts soar in times of war  
and in my apathy i hammered
nails into your coffin

and i pride myself on  
being an anti-militaristic
non-violent anarchist because
i don't hate soldiers
if i did i would remain
silent and apathetic
and let the government
abuse its youth

i celebrate humanity
regardless of ethnicity and creed
which is precisely why i despise
this system that sacrifices
generation after generation for
conquest and imperial notions

pray tell
will we turn from the
error of our ways
wake up from
this terrorist daze
before it's too late
and say

the State can try to
whitewash history but
i refuse to let them
brainwash me

K.p’s dad was a Science Fiction author,
While his son and I learned at school.
The teacher talked about planes, bombs, and towers-
Explosions, debris, and jet fuel.

We were poised like guppies, fidgeting with our lips,
Our bodies seemed made of lewd rubber.
Not one of us understood the weight or gravity-
Of one person killing another.

K.p’s dad wrote about a fair United States,
Called: “The Defined Territories,” rather tenacious.
A satire exploring justice with exaggerated sameness-
That most readers found to be tasteless.

His main character was a ‘rookie cop,’
And every skin color was uniform and equal.
Homosexuals gladly aided population control (by not making babies)-
And bullets were designed to be non-lethal.

In the story: a group of smugglers find a stockpile of real guns,
Automatics, ammunition and bombs.
The valiant cop pursues them through page turns and plot-
With sweat budding on his palms.

K.p and I fought over a girl at school,
I broke his nose and we each served detention.
At the end of his dad’s story the smugglers are caught-
Fined $1,000 and given lethal injection.

Here i turn     and look outward
A practiced eye seeking more
To see     to sing sweetly
To lark and to crow and to sparrow
To twitter whatever appears
To imbibe and regurgitate life

Somalia taxi drivers
Mexican store owners
Black cashiers   policemen   lawyers
          in suits
White nobody's with hard bodies
White somebody's with soft bodies
Computer mind    buddha mind   angry mind
Is an angry mind    red angry haze mind
Red army    massing hoard
******* car horn out the window
Crashed air planes into buildings
White paper fluttering down from heaven
Black boiling smoke    *** smoke
Crack puff cloud smoke    cigarette
          death
Rage against the machine failure
As the raging machine rages on
Expensive cars    poor people buying
          expensive cars
Hot humid days   cool nights
Sticky cummmmmmm thighs
Whale cry     baby sigh
New confusing war cry

I know a girl who's hurting,
But you don't see her cry or pout.
In fact, you'd never know it was her
Unless I pointed her out.

She tries so hard to keep on smiling,
To hide her noose and gun.
But inside, I know she's dialing
Her depression's 911.

All that you can see her as
Is happy, skinny, tall.
But long before you knew her,
Her hopes had begun to fall.

There's still some left of what she was.
Independent, Loving, and Strong.
But there's only so much you can do to cope,
When you've been so sad for so long.

You'd never know she cuts herself
For every sorrow she keeps.
You'd never know that every night,
She cries herself to sleep.

You still think she's so happy?
You haven't reached your goal.
Instead of listening to the stories she tells,
Try listening to her soul.

I know that it's April.
Months away from the anniversary.
But I just got done watching an episode of I survived, that focused on those that made it on 9/11.
My heart breaks more and more for all of those people, and for the country I love so much.
But it goes to show how strong the human spirit is, that people actually lived to tell their stories.
I hope to visit New York one day just to stand where all of those braves souls stood, who risked their lives for those of others.
It's powerful. And humbling.
I was just six years old on that day, but I remember the fear I felt all the way in Ohio.
We were released from school early after the principal came in to tell our teacher.
Crying; she said that something terrible has happened and we need to be with our families.
On the bus ride home, my sister and I didn't speak while other kids chatted away like nothing had happened.
When we got home, I saw my older step sister crying, and screaming on the phone in front of the TV.
I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing because I was too young to understand.
But I was terrified.
What seemed like awhile later,
we were playing in the back yard, when the loudest noise I'd ever heard blasted through the sky.
My mom ran outside and yelled for us to come in, we were being bombed.
We went down to the basement,
and waited.
After about ten minutes of silence, my mom went upstairs, soon saying it was okay to come out.
Later we learned the sound barrier had been broken
That day, the country became one, out of the fear, heartbreak and love for our fellow mankind,
and that is why I'll never forget.

America, land of the free, home of the truly brave. <3

Crawled inside a whisky bottle
For I am no aristotle

This is my hiding spot for awail
There is no need for 911 to be dialed

I'm only trying to drown my misery
Surly that is plain to see

Please don't shake me out
I need my whisky stout

Let me stay In here for now
I'll find my own way out.....some how

Sirens signal my coming
with chirps and wails,
Primary lights flashing
to alert them to my presence.

My purpose pumps from a well
that is endlessly deep --
so deep, in fact, that
many shallow people have drowned here.

I don't falter, I don't pause,
I act with precision and skill
to give my charge his best chance
at seeing tomorrow.

Gloriously efficient,
Confidence and purpose
radiate from me
as my insides quiver with fear.

all that's changed in nyc
since he begged for a chance
that plea for peace
the power he gave the people
twenty years to be free,

is a body on the sidewalk
with a bullet in it's back
and six miles down the hudson
a space
where two buildings once sat.