Silence locks you in a room full of darkness,
blinding you from the nightmare outside.
It pulls the trigger on the gun,
while vowing it’s okay because you didn’t load it.
It watches as the world burns around the unfortunate
while claiming you didn’t strike the match.

It is too late in the evening to continue to stay
in the shackles of this silence.
The sun is setting, and you can no longer
ignore the irreversible night that threatens
to drown us in its pressing darkness.
We must allow ourselves to shatter its silence.

There's a boy being beaten
By with nails and weapons
For no reason
He was only a little different
He was innocent
Yet what do people do about it?
Do they run to help and see what's wrong?

THEY HIDE!
THEY HIDE BEHIND TVS
THEY HIDE BEHIND RADIOS
THEY HIDE BEHIND CAMERAS
VIDEO TAPES AND PHONES
THEU JUST HIDE
AND DONT DO A THING

What about that girl in the video?
Telling stories on paper
With a marker as her voice
Her eyes of sadness
Hidden behind the frame
As she cries
And begs for help

She's dead now
Becuase no one told her
Things would be ok
No one stopped the torment
The embarrassment
The shame

Are you embarrassed now?
Good thing it reminds me of death
Because six million died

BUT NO ONE DID A THING
THEY COULD BE LIVING
THEY COULD BE HAPPY
BUT WE ALL HID
BEHIND RADIOS
AND NEWSPAPERS
AND NOBODY DARED
TO TAKE A STAND
AGAINST THE BULLY
THE MONSTER
THE MURDERER WHO DID THIS

Why do you call them ugly
Why do you put them down
Why does nobody help
Why does no one make a sound

Why do you think you can judge them
Why do you sneer at them in the hall
Why do you treat them so cruelly
When you don't know them at all

Why do you spread rumors
When you know they are not true
Why don't you ever think about
How you would hate it if it were you

Why are you too ignorant
To care how you make them feel
Why are you a heartless thief
Why is it their happiness you steal

Why must you behave this way
You strike others down to build yourself up
Why can't you find other outlets
Why does sadism fill your cup

Why must you take your pain out on others
Why must you hurt people to feel good
Why don't you turn the other cheek
If you opened your eyes you could

Why can't you see their epitaph
And know you'll have no one but yourself to blame
Why don't you realize your wrongdoing
Before it is too late

Why do you think you're untouchable
You don't predict reprisal from those you are nasty toward
I really hope you change your ways
For being a bully will have its just rewards

There are still lessons to be learned.
His love tightens around her throat,
While his words take stabs to her heart.
Unconditional love makes up for her pain.
She's forgiving.
He's sick.
And I can't take it anymore.
I'm unfamiliar with the art of protecting and defending.
I, too, choke on my words.
As actions speak louder,
She will cry again.
I will give pass her a knowing look.
They will speak redundancy.
How much more can she take?
No more scoffs and oh's
She's the source of my stubbornness.
She's the only beginning I know.
She'll curse me to the pits for thinking like this,
Death can't come any quicker,
To this ugly fat f*cker.

Sometimes
I see a picture.
A picture of a woman
in a kitchen.

Her hair is tied back. But sometimes
it’s not.

Sometimes she winks at me.
A knowing
smile and twitch
of an eyelid.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she’s angry.
Drenched
in the sweat of steamed
broccoli and cauliflower.
Sometimes.


Sometimes she’s cleaning.
Scrubbing her kitchen
spotless. Red tomato
sauce and broken
glasses.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she wilts.
Beside the petunias.
Black
and purple.
Blue
and pink.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she’s spilling.
Water flooding
over the counter
top and stuck
to the clotted drain.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she sees me. Usually
not.  Sometimes she smiles. Usually
not. Sometimes I help her. Usually
not: sometimes.

Where marinated in our murky past
have we found justification for the travesties we do,
build prisons where our prejudice lasts,
and allow its prisoners to fester as they stew

I have felt this heat.
The flame which boils in the toils of others,
whose oils lick embers into wildfire.
And we fall back into the Dark Ages.

where minds who place burden on those with different skin
slink flicking flint to fire, raising from the earth
the walls we have spent decades taking apart one brick at a time.

one brick at a time,
comment by comment,
each passing moment
condone it.
ignore it.

passivity pays the builders of this monument.
who see no wrecking ***** to stop them.
passivity, fills the pockets of the petty
coin by coin collecting courage to speak
outwardly outrageous
slurred hate speech contagious
barbary amounts its fortress from our silence,
one brick at a time.

I have seen the origins of intolerance,
holding together the cinder blocks of utterance
all the moments we should have said something and didn't.
In my selfish silence I see senselessness slip past my snares.
In my hush I hear hate harrow the ventricles of hearts much weaker
than the speaker.

Loathing left untended like
loose mountain snow
will like an avalanche gain strength
in movement.

To you,
the architects of abhorrence
the creators of execration
I plead:  lay down your urban dictionaries.
Know that you lay a foundation
whose structure will build  up,
but whose existence will tear down.

To you,
those who watch the construction
and stare in silence sufferance,
know that although no sweat has fallen,
and no aid has been laid by your hand,
That this malicious monument is as much yours
as it is theirs, through your willingness to watch it go up
one brick at a time.

You cannot hide,
It will find you.
It is not meant to be camouflaged,
Rather avoided by those who claim 
They are innocent.
It is not what you have done or
What you will do;
It is what you failed to prevent.

Their eyes wandered,
Crowding the scene
But I averted
My own
To lend privacy
To the disaster.

Tears ran down her face
And cries were heard
And she muffled them
But the man said curtly,
Keep him crying,
It means he's alive.

What had happened
In an instant
Drew out,
As they stared
And I turned away
Thinking I was helping,
My eyes hardly probing
Like theirs.

But in the end,
I'm not the one
Who uttered reassurances
Or found the doctor.
They did.