America, land of the OJ, low pay and propane,
Cosby, Roseanne and five year plans.
Stand for a feeling but arrest for kneeling.
***** the waterways get accused of stealing.
Get accused of being seeing too much empathy.
Get too used to fleeing feeling too much apathy.
After me, comes another generation.
Outside of walls, stand a whole lot of nations.
Patience is a virtue and the same thing that hurt you,
I’d give you a cross but you already left that burnt too.
Moonwalk with the stars, sleep with the children,
we all watching Netflix movies about hurting and killing.
Desensitize our eyes and minds dot i’s, cross t’s.
We sick and ignoring the cures and vaccines.
Home remedies to patch poverty,
gunslingers like Butch Cassidy,
presidents awarded by the academy.
The majority and minority treat each other in quarantine,
even though in the end we all partake in all our dream.

Here in America,
we improvise morgues
as needed.
in the cafeterias
or by the lockers,
near the ticket booths,
and at the altars.
We divvy up the dead.
Tally them
and report the number
like an answer.
13, 20, 49, 58, 6
Every death count
a timely national shock.
Almost as if  
our well-televised  
monthly tragedy
was ever anything less
than a game of roulette.
anything less than a matter of time
and time and time again.
Covering them each
with our bed sheets,
we try and stifle it.
Do our best to
staunch the the sights,
the noises,
(“just like chairs falling”)
the names
that keep bleeding out
onto our thoughts  
and tongues,
Far too much and
too often
not to choke on.

Here in America,
we’ve learned that  
horror is level-headed.
It is debatable.  
It is pangless.
It seeps, deep to the core,
perverting with a silent smile.
the steady, feverish dread
weaving itself into the mundane.
the “god help us”  
annulled by the
“respectfully disagreed”
the nightmare that lies  
always just underneath,
and just out of mind,
Until it insinuates itself
Again and again...

Here, in America
We line the bodies,
death slumped, and  
bled out on the pavement.
We arrange them-
Side by side.
Most are missing things-
a hat, a piece of face.
one shoe, a dulled pencil
(fill in C)
phones
buzzing on the ground
lit up with unread messages
(“Please call me”)
They are missing-
an upcoming  
7th birthday party,
(Star Wars themed)
They are missing-
their vacations.
their first dates.
their college applications.
job interviews.
kids.
fiancées.
Lined up lifeless,  
they are missing
far too many things  
to gather.

Welcome to America,
Where we don't judge you by the color of your skin
But maybe you shouldn't say it
If you have to defend saying you have a black friend.

Welcome to America,
Where every election talks about illegal votes
from a bunch of illegal hosts
From the side you hadn't chose
Then throw your opinion down legal throats.

Welcome to America
Where the news said socialized medicine
Was just another word communism
And you believed them.
Another man got a six figure bill for cancer in his throat
Walking out alive with his house foreclosed.
No money for food, wondering streets unfed.
He's alive but he wishes he was dead.

Welcome to America
Where we talk about gun control
They think that a ban is the goal
But maybe we should look more into who gets sold
And maintain a license to keep
Knowledge is power, totting guns but weak.

Welcome to America
Where the internet is your MD
Don't trust the man who got a degree
Who went to school and ruled your move
But you just Googled it so it must be true

Welcome to America
Where I have pride in this land
But everyone is out of line
For reasons they don't understand
Being ignorant doesn't justify your mind
And maybe even I am out of line
But I'm listening to comprehend

Like wild geese, fishermen
and monks landed here, others

sailed on and discovered America
but they came back

by the north, Thule
where it rains glowing stones

where the land burns and the rocks
swim between boiling fountains

There are the gates of hell
and the paths to heaven

invisible above the clouds
around huge curtains of ice

They came back to tell
about these wonders, too biblical

to want to keep it secret
from their family and friends

And the new world
they forgot

Hazel eyes, hate is very much alive.
Bleached striped hair, parents never cared.
Desaturated makeup, abuse save up.
Branch like lashes, left the guns in the attic.
Bloodied pores, closing doors.
Chipped nails, bleeding Dale.
Scarred skin, occurring sins.
Bloodied skirt, exposed hurt.
Bloodied sneakers, driving by the bleachers.
Steady hands, acting out plans.
Pressurized trigger, pull back finger.
Black handle, blood covered handles.
Full magazine, gruesome scene.
Empty canister, a new cancer.
Staring scope, deprived hope.
Heated Barrel, death written peril.
Dispensing bullets, anger she’s full of it.
Chipped desks, severed heads.
Impacted walls, faint police calls.
Shattered glass, death attracts.
Bodies down, the flag is proud.
Blood soaked tiles, bodies litter the aisles.
Wounded souls, doors closed.
Narrowed screams, a violent portrayal gleams.
Distant sirens, victims silenced.
Blurring smoke, the gun provokes.
Gas mask on, a tragedy in the dawn.
Emergency services, the hurt she did.
Police, she’s loaded to release.
Erupting explosions, a bloodied corruption.
Officer down, **** she’s proud.
Reloading yet again, pain is about to begin.
Hit through the torso, she still has the guns though.
Hard to move, starting to lose her homicidal groove.
Sheering pain, every scream sounds the same.
Another shot, her moment is lost.
Killed by the law, psychosis remains a common flaw.
Aftermath: A tragic path.
Overlooked as a simple girl, an untouched disturbed world.
Within the fragments of abuse and fantasies. Unknown abnormalities
She herself was very misunderstood, had no teachings of the common good.
Parents exposing death, they just didn’t know it.
Breeding a killer, giving violent media to justify a sinner
And they wonder why their daughter made violence a neighbor instead of a impostor.

I grew up in the putrid decay of trauma
Trying to reconstruct the systems drama
Playing a part of victimized slaughter.
Of every word of hope I had, every laugh
Every stab, every push in the back every part of love I lack
Every piece of hate I contract. Man I'm losing track.
Keeping every Jenga piece in the stack.
And I hate the negativity I attract.
Thats why I’m trying something new.
Turning my progression into something true. Every copy, Every piece, Everything I do
Constructed into a new brand of truth
And as time is passing. Voices are still asking. Why is this white kid up here rapping.
And I ‘ll tell you why this is my passion. I hate the thought of our trauma crashing.
Making the better of us while the devil is laughing. And in a corrupt world where body’s are stacking and hurt is open traffic. And the only frequency we receive is static.  And the fact that my mom was an attic only adds comfort to my panic. This system is nerving ending. And the shock is sending a mixed wave of pending impulses. And when the action is constructed, Their only thoughts are the past your stuffed with. Gagged and fed in. The hate of what you did that you’re continuously stuck with. And no matter your current sins. You are still given the opportunity to be forgiven.
Points are misconstrued. Any question, Every answer. Anything you choose.
Lets pick one to re-construe.
Our systems are filled with hate. Abuse to recreate. Siblings are disconnected.
And our worlds are fed with the continuous negativity within our media that our minds our sent with.
Peace within the races is drifted apart. And theres no light in the dark. Only bodies of morals that were taken from the start. Blood fashioned into a negative art. There’s racial divide right where the lines are. And the distance of peace is mile like far. Crimes committed every hour by the powered while someone innocent is arrested every hour. And when the diverted posture of hate is playing a part to keep our mouths sour. Eyes are closed. Centuries of neglect rose. And hatred is like fire ready to emerge from the stove. And our ideas of morals are completely distorted. Warped and contorted. Flooded with the pattern of systematic blood. Ideas of change are purposely adverted. Not enough pineal glands Removed  from the skin when the knife is inserted. The system designed to keep us devoured. Within the difference of civil slavery and power. You want something to pray about. What about the neglect of the deaths of the ones who are left. And yet we are still having *** with the devil, who is the one to meddle with our lively hood.  And yet those things aren’t understood. The first thing to truth being unearthed is.  
The possibility of the word ‘could’. And then change can finally give birth.

In a time where making ****** is entertainment
Icons of killers and repeated death giving faces.
Parents leaving kids alone with guns in the basement.
And when kids are in placement, we wonder what the **** happened to Sarah and David.
A gun does not make a medal of honor. When the same gun is used to **** Billy and Connor.
Saviors are portrayed within the bodies in graves. All the while the victim never gets saved.
And all it took was a unlawful ******* to give the kid a gun in the first place. Then they wonder why he caught a case. Masters of manipulation are more than we can tame with. And then that gun is small enough to hide in the width of a backpack. Guitar cases and duffel bags. All plotting the innocent attack of human beings caught by bullets in the back.  And then you got family’s who want to ask why the little kid deserved to die in his desk in his class.  Transforming ammo into trauma. Then you got politicians transforming ammunition into budget raises. And you didn’t know that the same people you praise are helping you give your life away.  And as he walks down that hallway with a AR. Just as you call him a monster think about all the people who contributed to his downfall. The people who abused him and made a call to give that fool an assault rifle. The things projected in his head had to come from somewhere. And I know most of you don’t even care. Just know how the victim feels about it being ‘fair’. I know what you’re thinking. It wasn’t me. Shut the **** up please. You are the reason they can’t breathe. Thoughts like that are the reason this keeps a tract record of continuous attacks. What if it was you. What would you do. You do not want to be in those shoes. So realize the impact of the media you contract and show your kids. Sins all start with a purpose. I just hope you heard this. Because no one deserves it.

The job market is a farce,
and for the poor, money is always sparse.
No longer a child, I have to stop kidding myself -
now a dad I have to pass on Santa and elves,
the tooth fairy, and the economy,
a lineage, and a history.
I've been a ******* in more ways than one,
America's sociological experiment of a son,
whose dream wasn't tied to a flag,
a political party, nor ****.
But I understand it takes strife to fulfill life,
an ingredient in the recipe that creates might.
El sueño Americano es el mismo Chicano,
sueño Colombiano, Asiático, y Africano.
Ain't no difference when it's all a Google search away
and the world works to pay a debt it never owed.
Be free, baby, but before you do -
you gotta figure out what that means to you.