Above the mountains
Alone in the clouds
Around you a grey mist shroud

Down the mountains
Live poor peasants
Laughing at them aloud

High above you wear your crown
Finding amusement in others’ frown
Isolated in desire
A fort of thirsty fire
Impregnable or so you thought

Down
           Down
                       Jack fell down
Following his tumble you broke your crown
Can you still laugh
Can you still mock
When you always were
Below their ground

I don’t believe a word you say;
You voted for Trump, so go away.
I don’t want your opinion any more
On literally any kind of issue.
Though you now begin to realize
What you did to us all. Get a tissue.
Go stand in the corner and let us
Adults fix up the mess you made.
None of you paid attention
Further than the second grade.

It’s not truly all your fault, I confess.
We have to lay blame on the press.
I’m not much happier with the
Millions who didn’t even vote.
They stayed home and ******;
Made the country miss the boat.
A lazy, worthless population
Is a shameful kind of circumstance
But a stupid loudmouthed bunch of fools
Is at the prom without any pants.

Then we look to a political group
That rolls around in their own ****
By electing a pompous baboon
Who can barely read or spell
Who spews out daily jabberwocky
That drives us all to a kind of hell.
He's an attention ***** and monster.
A spoiled rich brat with no brains
Who wants to set fire to the USA
Then urinate on the remains.

The horror is, though it’s all visible
Your lack of care about facts is risible.
You gladly go along with him when
He blames his predecessor instead,
Saying the fault is what your idiot did
Not keeping the truth firmly in your head.
It’s no longer campaign rhetoric.
So please wake the hell up and see
What your stupidity is doing to us
Because we can’t bend you over our knees.

I see you,
Standing in front of me,
So full of life, so confident, so free.

I blinked,
Then you started to doubt everything about yourself,
Just like when you left a book unfinished,
And put it back on the shelf.

I looked closer,
And I could see your soul trapped inside your eyes,
Waiting for your tears to fall from the skies,
To wash away the stains of all those colorful lies.

I found you,
Scattered across the floor, shattered and broken,
And now it’s too late to fix you as darkness has already fallen.

Your reflection is fading away.
If only I could find the right words to make you stay.

Now I just want to close my eyes and pretend to be blind,
For I could never put back together the pieces you’ve left behind.

We see the infinite vast expanse of my ego.
.
The midsummer sun, still in his youth, taunts the seemingly never ending streams of black tar I have gathered over the years.
.
The perfect ingredients for a good mirage!
.
Through this optical illusion, we see everything.
.
We see the choices I made.
.
We see the People I abandoned.
.
We see the mistakes I regret.
.
Most importantly, we see me.
.
Me and my ego, we have things in common.
.
We bring out the best in each other.
.
And we are not quitters.
.
.
“Today, we shall fight as equals and fate shall decide”
.
We roared at each other and his hands came up like claws.
.
Alas! Time has come again for both of us!
.
It was for this moment I have been preparing my youth.
.
But I have no weapon capable of slaying such a monster.  
.
.
I am the monster.

This is an ode to my own self love
Because tonight I forgot who I ******* was
I was looking at a profile with the guy i was on a date with and he said that the girl in the picture was pretty and I asked what about her is pretty and as we scrolled through the pictures he said I like the ones where she looks normal
And when this ******* meant normal
I knew he meant white
He mean blonde haired, blue eyed, perfect skin and white teeth
And I looked at myself I knew I was none of these things
My skin is not white, neither are my teeth, and they are crooked
Like my skin, which is not flawless, no Beyoncé, I did not wake up flawless
My hair is dark brown, almost black, but that's my natural color
I've been bleaching it blonde since I was twelve
What the **** does that tell you
I got my first two tattoos when I was eighteen
And I saw how the girls face had no piercings
And I looked at my 00 gauges and my septum, cartilage, tragus, and second hole piercings
And I wanted to rip them all off
I wanted to scratch my tattoos off
I wanted to take my hair off
I wanted to rip my skin off
I felt inadequate
I felt like I could never be enough
Well I'm tan and unconventional
So that means I can never be ******* loved
So this is an ode to myself:

Dear Ella,
Look at me,
Thick body, with curves that slay like Beyoncé's
Glasses thick so you can see your own beauty
Lipstick dark like the shade of a ruby
And you don't care
You don't care what anyone thinks because you know you rock it
Your blonde and brown hair is unique, no one else can rock it
Your piercings are a part of you, that's why you ******* chose them
The same thing with the tattoos, girl, that's why you own them
They have meaning to you, they're beautiful to you
So what the **** does what this guy thinks phase you
The way you do your makeup is beautiful,
Your style is beautiful
And every scar on your arm is important to you
So don't pretend that what he thinks is more important than what you do
Love yourself, girl, because without you there would be no you

-E (c) 2017

In the arena,
success means everything,
and potential means nothing.
And everyone with tattered sleeves
is written off as vague, gray, and
lost to the doldrums of dreams.

No one wants you to be lost here.

It was cute when you were younger,
but you're too old to pretend.
Just be successful at being you,
whatever it is, that you do.

I want to go back to the playpen,
but not just to **** around.
I want to be a puppy with potential,
not what you perceive
to be the success
or failure of my identity,
Because my potential
is what makes me successful
as a human being,
so, believe in ME!

Mother, please believe that
my zigzagging monogamy
is a rainbow array, not color theory.
I'm sorry you'll have to wait
for grandchildren to play
in your backyard...
with my future husband...
What if they were playing...
with my future wife?

Lover, please believe that
when I open my heart
I'm not doing it
to capture and pin yours down
I just want to feel it beat.

Stranger, believe that
I am not trying to win your praise,
I am ignorant, naive,
and ambivalent to white lies.

Friend, believe that
I am actually concerned
with how YOU feel.
I'm not just asking to be polite.

Boss, believe that
I am not the title
you use to assign and reward me.
I am a human.
I'm good at learning the rules of these games.

Audience, believe
that I am not a poet.
I just feel strongly
and write those feelings down.

Ego, believe that
I am smarter than you, wrapped up
in other's presence about ME.

I am just ME,
yet I rarely feel like ME.
I often just feel like trying to be
what you want me to be.
Ego, I must remind you everyday
to leave ME at peace.