Try as I might
Only see things
In black and white
Really black spreading carrion bird
Vulture wings to pick clean to bone

No friend just a fake toothache smile
Who wants something
Too bad too late all used up
Throw away mate
Past best before date
Rotten meat parasite infested

Inevitable buried garbage pit fate
Dig it just big enough for
A dead little Elliot me
Be my Big Sur Billie
And ******* bury me

How can emptiness feel so heavy?
How can a brighter day seems so dark?
How come I feel sad when I'm alive?
How come I regret having this kind of life?

I've been in my own world lately.
Black and White, that's my whole story.
Teardrops slowly falling into my hands,
Oh, I see, it's the only clear thing remains in me.

We're slaves of our own emotions,
We're prisoner of our own depression.
You're still breathing, you're the lucky ones,
Most of us are heaving through courrupted lungs.

A music without rhythm
A heart without a beat
Scars don't heal when you keep cutting.
You're just getting numb when its bleeding.

Trying to find my way,
To escape this calamity.
As I fall asleep,
All my emotions begin to sleep.

"just give me ten more minutes"
you slide your hand on snooze;
you live in black and white
and see just what you choose

then mute life's little whispers
close blinds from whats to come
radiating dreams of color
then wake to siri's drum

"just give me five more minutes"
you hit your phone once more
the neon overtakes your brain
your conscience hits the floor

As I lay beneath the covers
I stare up at the colors
The kaleidoscope of sunset
Glowing upon my ceiling
But the Technicolor is pale
The beauty flawed and faded
For under these covers there should be two
But its only me, and no you

Everything's just grey
And black, and dark, with no white;
A colorless world.

They told me the only thing that could cure heartache was war, and since the war wouldn't take me I figure the only thing to do now is take up a life of crime. Gabriel Garcia Marquez says in Love in the Time of Cholera that the only cure for heartache is to find other hearts to break. Five years have passed and I still remember without fail the flint of a lighter, the squint of an eye, and the bell of your dress. I dream a dream each night, sweet variation of the story of you. It comes down to a letter sometimes, I go to the window well with a notebook and a pencil and I draft a sonnet, sometimes a verse, any form of an expression to idle the time it takes for me to find you. I know stars that haven't lived as long. The way I cupped my hands over your ears, the way rapture lived and loved, you kissing me in the shade of the palm trees up their on Notre Damen Ave. I know the curve of the Earth wrapped in the shades of the skin on your body. I live every day for the chance that I will meet you again.

You're reason denied
Right and wrong are black and white
I am the dark grey.

my mother has blue eyes
but I'm still a ******
my mother has blonde hair
but I'm still a ******
my daddy is black as night
but I'm still a *******
my daddy has ***** curls
but I'm still a *******

I call this hash tag the struggle
because to be biracial is nothing
more
because to be biracial is nothing
less
than a struggle
to find who I am
to find who I should be
to find who I'm supposed to be

i really wish they were the same person
i really wish you understood hash tag the struggle
but you don't
and you won't

so stop telling me about my
good hair
and stop telling about my high
yellow skin
and stop telling me my parents have the fever
and stop staring at me when I
walk in
and stop trying to guess which parent is black
and stop trying to guess which parent is spanish

No

I'm not Spanish.

No

I don't speak Spanish.

No

You CANNOT touch my hair

Yes, my nose is in the air
Of course I think I'm the ****
Because I live my life trying to be better than women who are dark skinned ...with something I was born with
...out of my control
Of course I try to flaunt my plush lips around the white girls who get botox
who then become the have nots because I've stolen all the brothas hearts from the city and the boondocks

See you don't even know me
but you think these are my goals

see I call this hash tag the struggle because nobody understands the trouble in being whole
when you're given two halves
that don't match to patch up one soul
and you're born into a ****** up mess still expected to know

and they tell you to ignore them all
be yourself
race should not define you
but I can't even fill out two ******* boxes on a standardized test
because you are only allowed to check ONE to describe you

hash tag
**TheStruggle