Dreams, the friendly version of the ghosts in unfinished business. Constructing ****** minds and arguing morals, while privately respecting the Devil. Shaping poems, turning ethics to ashes. Sweeping fashions over this world.
Well done. Life given freely to living souls. Death is owed. We’re all in debt. The forbidden fruit always tastes better and generally more successful.
It’s too bad.
Dissent friction. Sparking life. Duality of individuals. I’ll keep going back. I’ve looked behind the curtain and saw everything evangelical. Faith not required. Dogma becomes an addiction. Conformity in actions of order-impressions. Laughs and hugs.
And if a philosopher is asked, reality is depending on perceptions.
Power and freedom are this world's best lovers. Enticed drawn in by people.
For some, the difference between God and the Devil. One can be meet before the act of dying as the other is waiting for you to cross over to be judged. Following one will provide freedom here on earth as the rest compensate to be completely corrupted. Don’t sin in my steps. I’m going to be punished by hard-living. Best kept secrets are told in tender moments after ******* sessions. I’ve got nothing but love for the mystics in penitentiaries, soldiers of the century. I’m directly organized and their husbands will never, because I got away. When I die, teardrops will soak into earth, I’ve got meaning in exile. I’m long gone.

Oh poetry, grant me no greatness, no skill to outshine
any other artist, for humility should meet my own soul.
Rather, every act of mistake, character flaw, have each
unlived moment I experienced shown and glorfield in
the echoes of eternity. Poetry, provide me passion now,
for my Muse needs rest of teachings, reminding that
any act now, could be my last. I believe death is a constant
in thy life.
(knowledge variable)

Unfair? Sometimes it goes like this
Starring away from it,
Makes you wonder ,
Is Life gonna stay the same,
Or rather stays in unusual way.
Sometimes I wonder,
If tomorrow they will be there,
If they will heard my calling,
if they will listen to the voice of my heart,
Sometimes I wonder,
Is there soul within a Life,
Is there answer to my words,
Is there way to my confusion.

Life is truly full of wonder.
To meet many faces,
To meet and understand many heart,
To understand different culture,
And knows the meaning of humanity and unity.

I hope my train won't stop now,
Even though it will be always hard and rough,
But I'm glad to experience what i had right
But most of all,
I'm Glad
To meet and know your name.

Mourners of truth, now hashtag your pain.
Retweet and like, righteous fury appease.
Protests are trending, do not apathy feign.
Fight and resist, till the next Marvel release.

How can you say you hate them?
And not realize the irony
How can you hate your own race?
Do you not hear in yourself “that’s a part of me”?
You attempt to distance yourself by making jokes at their expense.
Try to disguise it as humor, but I can see past your pretense.
All of your white friends, whom with you wish to blend,
Will follow suit, then use you as a scapegoat by saying
“Nah, it’s cool man. I have an Asian friend.”
Don't you realize, with your own words you're cutting yourself down
Don’t do this to yourself man, you are not a clown-
To be laughed at and mocked
Neither are the others whom this ridicule has flocked
Be proud of who you are, and from where you came.
Pass yourself off as a joke and others will do the same.

Everything I did was viewed through the lens
of some sophisticated world traveler.
You really critiqued me, from how I got on the bus,
your eyes checking my intuition of how to stand while it moved,
seeing how I engaged in conversation with strangers,
scanning the clothes I've curated,
and gladly noting how "little I seemed to care about them",
chalking everything up to "american ignorance",
to scoping my bookshelf for your overrated preferences,
you are prying into my music taste,
my palette,
my body.

Meanwhile,
I get on the bus per usual,
wide stance to balance the stop-and-go motions,
I tell people have a nice day and make small talk about most everything!
especially the weather,
my collection of clothes is a museum themselves,
I care and tend to each piece carefully,
I think American's are happy-go-lucky double edged swords,
My bookshelves,
music taste,
pallet,
and body
are all full of volumes
unreachable by those who try to see me through
their narrow monocular.