embark on activities
that build character
rather than prestige
for character will triumph
over any adversity

if you don’t play
by their rules
you can’t lose
at their game

Her stained thoughts manifest
as reckless voice that
critiques and confines.

Her words jars authenticity
and snubs their narrative,
cooked from their perspective,
and experience.

Flames of disapproval,
burn brighter with every beat
as incompetency bites
and acceptance withers.

She captures snapshots,
and confines them into
stereotyped framed
of idiosyncratic value.

But steadily,
as she delayers,
scrubs the scrutiny of judgements
of her thoughts, and emotions —
she steps off the battleground
of others skin
and becomes the change of creating
a embracing society.

when did mankind
mutilate butcher and crudely
stitch back together happiness?
for i cannot recognize
what we call happy anymore
cheap thrills and shallow substance
happiness, the drug of choice
for the modern generation
ancient moral virtues
lay fallen by the wayside
take out your pitchforks and hunt down
that “frankensteinian” happiness
for he is an abomination
of what happiness was
of what our society needs
make an example of him
to set us on the right path

The wind slaps,
The sea frays,
Yet through it all,
Caw, caw, caw.

That incessant bird,
As much sea as air.
Its offensive call,
An insult to the wind.

He squabbles over the green,
Slimy river carpet.
Another affront,
An almost violent hue.

**** them both,
How dare they be,
As they are, so
Annoyingly free.

And I on the bank,
A bottled storm.
Unaware that their freedom,
Is an invitation.

Instead I keep the stopper
Held fast, silently rage.
A lonely begrudger,
Angry and afraid.

we love our parents
but we must not be our parents
we honor our parents
by having our own identity
better to be the apple
that falls far from the tree
better to live your life
your way

with his heart broken
the artist sank inside himself
drowning in fear and self-doubt
once hopeful now defeated
inspiration abandoned him
unable to paint masterpieces
with the poisoned blood
gushing from his fragile heart
that now runs dry

it is always the lovers
the mothers and fathers
the friends and teachers
those closest to you
who plant seeds of doubt
in your mind
who push you away
from your dreams
only the strong (and stubborn)
may follow their heart
while those dearest to them
cast stones at their passion

When it’s finally quiet  
I can’t help but hear  
The pained melodies
My soul sings to me