It's in the dark where appearances don't matter,
it's a place where your thoughts define who you are.

Not to be silenced because of a flaw on your skin;
not to be silenced for being too fat or too thin.

It's in the dark where the flower of closed-minds open;
illuminating genuine and raw emotions.

It's in the dark where this flower is all that you can see,
surrounded by nothing but love and purity.

When we see darkness,
we instantly assume we are blind;
but truth is, it is in the dark that we see clearly
of the importance to what defines mankind.

You must've misunderstood the type of women I was raised by
Because when they rose their fist and shouted
I AM EQUAL
they did not put it down to raise me
But instead lifted me by their shoulders and showed me how to raise my own

As the night sky breezes cold
From winter's time to snow
Liberty has nowhere to go
Buried dead in this pile of snow.

The bird was trapped in a tree
With white, as rose white wings
Wings frostbitten in the snow
Of those crippling heresies.

The bird was chirping in a tree
With red, as rose red beak
Singing out love be freed
Eluding poisoned melodies.

The bird was crying in a tree
With clear, as glass clear tears
Waiting for his love to come back
Alive in this stormy wind.

The bird saw his love
Pelted by the striking snow
He flew out not minding
If death would shoot his bow.

They both died leaving no memory
Cause they both cannot lay eggs
Now the love they had ends here
Buried dead in this pile of snow.

As I bathe upon the serenity
Of the night with silence echoing
In my innocence as it brings
Fathomless piercing words of reality

In this unspoken massive universe
Of relentless wonders and questions
Where are we to lay our fragile hearts?
Where passion and goodness be in fruition

The goodness of the world tells us
The illusion of being our own
And the love that had brought us to be
Was made to become throwing stones

The beauty of the world shows us
Of how and what beauty should be
And the fairness that dwells in each of us
Was bounded to a certain degree

The peace of the world longs for us
To sing melodies of freedom
But the grandeur of our songs
Was corrupted by hate and its kingdom

Now where are we to lay our hearts
In the vastness where the universe lies
And still we've wandered in our own paths
Living and breathing, under the same sky.

And only ever that

Must we ask an unpayable fee?
Saying “wait” just to later decline?
It now seems that the land of the free
Is a home that the brave cannot find.

How vexatious that they storm these walls
Pleading reason and asking charity.
Oh, how dare they try escaping home
To a land we brand OPPORTUNITY.

I fear the longing of millions of souls
All brimming with fury and cause
Is more pond’rous than the marching soles
Of the soldiers defending our flaws.

Another ****** died today,
his blood steaming, cooling, in
Pittsburgh's winter streets.
The pale, blue, afternoon sky,
moving too soon into night,
settled darkness on the day,
and on the junkies life.
This all-too-common narrative,
the background noise of our lives,
fails to stir our outrage.
Crawling on top of the man,
as he gasps his last,
his seven-year old son.
They die together, son cradled
in father's embrace.
Both riddled with bullets.
And still, the community fails
to find the outrage.
A black man's death means
nothing to a society conditioned
to judge his worth by his vice.
The death of his son means
even less.

Why don’t we give flowers to boys?
Is it not masculine for them to enjoy
The delicate curve of petals,
So very like lips?
Why don’t they get Teddy bears
And soft stuffed things
To cuddle like a lover,
So very like girls do?
Why don’t we give them
Mushy little love notes,
Just like we expect?
Things go both way my friends.