Time to leave
Break the screens
And find our true eyes
To live the dream
Leave the clean
And head out for a ride

The American dream we seek
To go out for a week
And look for some hell to rise
Get drunk under the stars
Stare at mars
And smoke all the grass i can find

For the American dream
Is were the real people meet
And talk about the times
To do drugs with a couple of thugs
And meet again up in the sky

To discuss the cancer
That grows in our homes
And molds itself to the young
That has done went
And ruined their minds
And destroyed them
Of their good times

For they will never understand
That long travel across the land
Looking for those great friends of mine.

An open letter to my mothers boyfriend,

When you blame millennials for the current state of our nation, you are disregarding the environment we've learn to survive in. Cookies hanging over our heads, blindly following the sound of people celebrating empty dreams. Dreams recited by our fathers.  I am not trying to place blame on you, as I know you too have been infected by these unspoken rules. You too had a cookie hanging over your head. But I want you to know that our cookies just look different. As time passes recipes’ recalibrate and cookies transform. And I feel for you, maybe you’re still chasing the cookie, maybe it’s getting harder to chase, or maybe you ate the cookie and still felt hungry. But if we really want to have this conversation, about the current state of our nation, I’m gonna need for you to stop talking about cell phones and 20 something year olds and start talking about where these cookies came from!

We're a world and generation set on depersonalization
Where everything is on social media but everyone is scared to socialize.
We all promise we "just need to vent" but is it venting or is it depression?
"He loves me, he's just tired. Its not abuse, she's just tired. I'm not okay, I'm really tired."
We all need to stop and chill without the help of benadryl.
But we need the drugs to feel normal.
A normal that they tell us to be
on the covers of our magazine
When we are all medicated to achieve the status quo
We can't learn from our mistakes if we can't remember them.
Instead of dealing with the guilt,
we soak in a bath as if the lavender suds will rinse away our ****** personality
We do it nightly and call it self care.
And the self care we really need is lunch that isn't Oreos and to join therapy.
We fill the empty hole inside of us with cigarettes and ***** and food
And we don't even know we're empty because our parents are empty too
And the only ones who can recognize the absense
Are the same ones telling us to work harder to buy our first house and car before the age of 25
When really, we haven't even settled on what we want to be when we grow up
Our grandparents and parents beg us to have babies because "I'm not getting any younger."
But I'm quickly getting older Dad, so shut up and let me drink until I pass out without worrying about how much my child will have to heal from, just like I'm healing now with Bacardi 151.
Its a cycle and there's no handle bars
Celebrities writing songs and movies, a fill-in-the-blank series that mimics a horoscope
To drag in the masses with feelings of unity when really we have no idea what our brother went through when we were laying on our uncle's bed at midnight at 5 years old.
They want us to be the same except for when its not convenient, and suddenly the children of rich people are to be scorned but they hate the black people who hate the black rich people
And its another cycle, the chain popped off and the brakes are our feet
Just like when we were kids except now we have no shoes on and we are rolling down a hill that stops at a lake
And our empty parents forgot to teach us how to swim.
Its 2019 now, when will  America be great in the first place?

The scale of my ambition.

It’s getting too large to construct on my own.

Like many Africans, I’ve had enough.

News coverage showcasing this region.

Does nothing but reinforce the legion that you bring forth.

Continuously.

Now, I’ll spare you the analogies and set it out clearly.

To all those that are out to “end poverty”.

I applaud your initiative, your drive and determination.

So bear with me as I lay into you. I’m doing it out of love. Trust me.

Whenever I hear your mission.

I think “here we go again with the bare minimums.”

Nothing but bare minimums.

I yearn to be part of a new breed of Africans.

Who want to do more than just end poverty.

What about all those who have escaped its deathly grip.

But still live precarious and unfulfilled lives?

My mission is to build an empire.

To empower. To nurture innovation and prosperity.

One that surpasses anything you could ever imagine and conceive.

If you think that’s ridiculous and absurd.

Wait till you see how I plan on going about this deed.

If I hear another **** politician talking about “ending poverty.”

I swear I’ll ******* snap.

But don’t worry, it’ll just be a picture.

One more to my growing catalogue.

Reminding me of your never-ending plan of world *******.

“So remember guys, bare minimum. Say it with me.

“Bare minimum.”

Tengo un obsequio
en el alma de los sueños
se bebe como licor
o se fuma como el tabaco.

Me miro en un charco
de agua enamorado,
mi cabello largo,
saludando al viento
y mis pies con calcetines
aunque no hace frío.

Tengo en las manos
el tiempo relativo
tengo un reloj
que marca mi ubicación
pues cuando muera
el tiempo no es nada
el aquí, y no el ahora.

Sabe a café
amargo regalo
de tiempos extraños
se bebe como el vino
o se fuma como el habano.

We all go grocery shopping on Saturday at 4pm, and that’s America for you, but do you have to buy the last demi-loaf of artisan rice flour sourdough and swoop in to get the only carton of organic, local, grass-fed, 2% milk that I like, then have the tenacity to take the final gold foil-wrapped bar of imported Belgian dark chocolate and, for that matter, give me a Christ-save-your-soul stare when I spend a good five minutes debating the respective virtues of KY and Astroglide?

Thank god, at least, America sells liquor with its bread and milk and ****.

Flesh golem, walking toward,
you're not searching for me.
You're finding an end
with your kit of means.
It's obvious you've

*** to loose -

it's backed up high
enough it's the light
inside your eyes,
and do I see it?
Yes, I do.

Promising heavy
shades of heaven
within the pleasure
you bring -
thing is, dipping stick

is boring as ****.

What about the places
you forgot to touch?
I breathe *** deeply,
your lungs are shallow,
you're in a rush.

Oh, but you'll have your stories.
Construct the pulleys,
form factor, until you ascend.

Oh, but you'll have your badge.
The sheer facade of your fragile persona,
is simply crystalline.

:)

this country would be so different
if we built a mirror rather than a wall
we could see that our reflections
aren’t so different after all

Blue skies and apple pies
Football games and guns to aim
40 hours of work and fireworks
Heteronormativity and conformity
White tranquility in the midst of police brutality
White terrorism claiming nationalism
What is the American Dream?
Shutdowns and cages and riches for ages
Fascism raises from hateful rampages
Families taken away from their own
These are a few of Trump's favorite things.
What is the American dream?
A flag always at half-mast
In preparation for the next mass shooting
Killing the poor with a minimum wage
That can't even afford rent
Mocking the people we stole this land from.
America the land of the free
Construct of the patriarchy
Thousands of dollars in medical bills
Treating our oceans like landfills.
Oh say can you see by the dawn's early light
A country so broken the end is in sight.
Capitalistic ideals that possess the rich
Destroying the poor as we're thrown in a ditch
Together we must rise above
And show Trump's cult what we're made of.