So what I drink all my calories
I'm sane and you're not, bruh
It's never enough even to wear
what you're wearing and talk
like you talk, do you even care?
Killing myself keeping things legit in your sphere
Black sheep combine forces to feel
wanted, keeping your company
I feel blocked when you're nodding.
Yes, I'm acting just like you want me,
bruh, I'm coming up short to your haughti
ness, blessed with a sense of self
stopping just short of your level and
what the hell, what I am doing here
fighting for otherness, concerned
with the purity of water of my brothers
and my sisters of the covenant
You talk about faith when it comes
to prey that you're stalking, keep
it strong, yolo, fleek, and a hashtag
To be honest I'm scared that my hometown
will be infested with those the internet
claimed and ingest, swallowed with
speed of light, people spit out as pesticide
turning the verdant green such a ****** brown
Yes you're so on top and classy, lacking
purposely the tenets that turn a body fancy
Cool *** beard bro, girl that's a freak ***
hairdo, up in the midst short sides a pool cue
locked in your hands up inside a ******* dive bar,
midnight drive holding a pipe 'hind your
headlights, Yes you're mixing with the best
making them arrogant, such a lens to view
the struggles they been through, Weird queer
younglings in their late twenties and homeless
at some point, only the noise of the sirens
and blue lit bathrooms, keeper of the needle
rights, and happiness,5-0 lights blasting on naito, picking
on the kids white/brown outside washing
the day away with the kiss of the pabst
taking a nap on the grass on the waterfront
blessed with lives with beards and queers
passing by as they want one.

Not knowing where I belong; 
Here, at home or beyond?
Spreading thin, cut in quarters,
What became of the unity we fought for?

Afraid of the landscapes built upon
We paint over lived canvases,
Struggling to focus for too long,
Looking for the creative thread among the masses.

Saying we will settle in years to come,
Waiting for a moment telling us its time,
"Don't you know that settling isn't for some",
They shout as they search for a place to call "mine".

Firstly perched close to the shore,
Seagulls as a waking call,
Horizons as signs of furthermores,
Avoiding any reminder of the restricting city wall.

Secondly a little closer,
To those who we hold in our hearts,
Greeting mornings with a train tracks murmur,
What an adventurous start.

Then wishes slowly lost their power,
Landscape stretch to resemble concrete cubicals,
Lighting up in the midnight hours
Yet another sign of the lost will.

Third is when we return to where it all started,
A full circle without filling the core,
Was this what all the searching led too?
Is home where I began reaching for?

It doesn't need an ending, 
just a beginning and middle,
Endings are the one sure thing,
In life's great sodden riddle.

Today a thought or two sped into center stage,
Disguising the space that surrounds the seas,
What if the lands we ran from were where we ought to be?
What if the green leaves of summer could no longer be seen,
Autumn colors only reminders of pastures in a dream.
Birds singing unfamiliar songs, ones we had never heard,
Yes, it is great to be part of the new but it isn't as new as it seems.
Dave, John and Mary have been here before,
Sure didn't they talk about it in the times?
No, that was some other folk, turning memories into sweet rhymes.
You weren't the first to open the door, spreading wisdom, giving new hope.
Remember all lands were founded so play in them how you may,
All of these pastures were built for your pleasure,
New characters created each day.
Its not that you are less special then all who have gone before.
No, you have a purpose, so use it, adding blocks to the core.
In memory of Seamus and Thomas, sing out to all who will listen,
Give them your whole hearted vision
Explain that a pasture isn't a prison.

Us diaspora kids
we are an elite club
not feeling fully rested neither at home
or away
or constantly questioning ourselves
“Am I home or away?”
It can crumble some of us
to feel lonely and in despair
whilst some of us try to blend in

Us diaspora kids
have guilt tied into a noose around
our necks
because we feel that whatever we do
it is some form of betrayal
to our cultures.

The crown can feel hate, fear and shame—
never gratitude for starving a nation into sailing across
the western ocean—thousands sailing in a coffin
ships to break the chains of poverty in hopes of bellies full & bodies free,
but the hand of opportunity draw tickets from a lottery;
spirits celebrate in their hearts forever
the that land that makes them refugees—while those
who never got so far that they could change their names are robbed
of their toil to stuff the bellies of sentinels mowing down rising crowds
in the crown-jewel of the empire never kissed by moonlight.


How long with the Island remain silent
when ghosts haunt the waves?
Éire: within its minds sit hopes of peace