why am i to spend 12 years of my life
learning the same history 12 ways
each year getting more into depth
about how straight, white, and cis,
"all" of history just happens to be
when in reality anything that was ever
deemed abnormal or harmful to america's image
just doesn't get taught.

all these years of being sheltered from the truth
about america the great
has left me with questions i'm scared will go unanswered
and so

I'd like to know which group of old white men
decided erasing history was a good idea
If i'm stuck learning about these so called achievements and revolutions which only came from the self proclaimed superiors
i'd like to know whose idea it was to forget about
The whips cracked in to bleeding black skin
Making it known that my ancestors were no more than a tool
No more than what white men, white masters made them in to
No more than a slave until 1865

I want to know who made it possible for my history teacher to ask me what my opinion on slavery is since i’m the only black kid in sight
When will they teach me why it’s okay for the 20 white kids in my class
To call me their ***** but it’s not okay for me to get mad about it

Please tell me how these people figured out
who all they should kindly choose to silence?
maybe they thought it's too much to cover in class
Since we have to have time to be taught about manifest destiny
And how Americans had every right to take land and lives
Because white men deserve to take what doesn’t belong to them
or maybe it's been deemed inappropriate
because they're too scared to admit
That America would rather hose down black kids
waiting for our skin to become clear and
praying for our melanin to wash off just so they would stop having to look at the skin they deemed sinful
than admit that America loves to make black people fearful.

When are we taught about who chose to write about all of
america's triumphs and good times but
somehow seemed to forget about the scars passed on to me from over 100 years ago
But didn’t know i had until i was ten years old.
And honestly that no longer surprises me i mean
America only speaks of cishet white guys.
and I bet you didn't know about very first gay pride.
It was a series of riots started because America decided
Loving who you want makes you unequal
And the only way to fix that is using force that’s lethal
Force that would leave lovers lives laying in the street like the never even lived
Force that led to June 28th through July 1st becoming riots that didn’t need to happen but the police couldn’t keep their privileged fingers off of gay people
But it’s fine because ignoring that part of history has become an American steeple.

At this point I know all the answers to every test asking about the history you feed us
In attempts to hide the truths of this country that wishes it never freed us
so stop teaching me the same
cis, straight, white history I've already
been taught 10 going on 11 years of my life
because i don't care about the men who wanted to keep my ancestors bound
Or the country that keeps trying to tell me that my love isn’t allowed
i care about the history they'll continue to ignore and erase.
i care about the history America begs me to forget.

I don't know what I did wrong.
Don't yell at anyone for something "I did".
I hope your happy with yourself.
Tearing people apart.
Hurting the ones that care about you.
Turn people I care about against me.
Turning my friends against me.
I hope you are happy.
I hope you make Erica happy.
I hope she knows about how bad of a person you are.
Biting your tongue.
Clenching your fist.
Smoking your ****.
Crushing your pills.
Spreading your lies.
Devil's tongue.
You're a sociopath, I believe.
You can get anyone to believe your twisted lies.
I even got down on my knees for you.
How pathetic was that?
I don't even like you as a romantic or a ****** partner.
My lips touched yours.
I touched the devil's lips.
I felt the devil's warm embrace.
I guess he is called the devil for a reason.

There is only 30 minutes to get this right
She sets the paper down in front of me
Inhale then exhale I tell myself
I look over the test it is all multiple choice
My least favorite kind
My heart starts beating faster at this
Inhale then exhale I tell myself
I try to circle in as many of the right answers in the next 20 minutes
I can do this!
Just Inhale then exhale I tell myself
Oh no! Everything is starting to go blank now
It feels like all the knowledge is starting to slowly seep out my brain and leak from my ears
I sit tight and close my eyes
Inhale and exhale
The questions do not make sense anymore
Is it B or D
I erase my original answer and began to second guess myself
The pencil shakes in my hand
Inhale and Exhale
I give my eyes a quick rub and read the questions one more
No that's not right Its D not B
I Inhale--
Time's up!

pillows of wind, freezing the minuet dew drops on each blade of grass,
tiny ice goblets
dutifully every morning.

it whistles, slipping between
the barren trees,
curling around the crumbling houses
built in the '70s
a time when,
they may have kept us sheltered from Mother Nature's ghastly wrath.  

whispering against the window panes, creeping past the glass frames.
icy hands claw their way across the floor, up the bed posts
beneath the sheets.  

gliding cold fingers up my legs,
down my spine. wrapping themselves around my neck,
the fire in my eyes has died.
sweet release, a gradual fading light.

my heartbeat slows,
though inches away,
warm & unaware you lie.
boney tendrils squeezing
as I drift to my glacial demise.

Unlike all the general stereotypes,
Unlike the degrading things people say,
There's an extraordinarily amazing continent
Filled with aesthetically pleasing beauty,
And music making the laziest of people dance.
Bright and bubbly, giving us energy.
People here use their bodies
To express themselves where words fail.
Incredibly fascinating movements for hours on end,
That interest people who would otherwise be endlessly bored.

i haven't met someone who made me want
to write so badly
in a long, long time

this morning i woke
the same way you did
lonely never
in a box i have made my home

you go by with your day like you always do
holding onto what is innocent
and smiling sweetly at those who pass by
you don't say hi unless they do
you timidity is showing, dear
it's so awkward on me
but endearing on you

we both are fragile extension lines
on the streets
that taper and adjust
to whatever the winds may bring

this night you wore a sweater
and i stayed up a little later only to see
if the off chance of you stopping by
would stop by

it's a quarter past
Cinderella losing her glass slipper
and my priorities are exponential
yet all the encompasses my mind
is your kindness
and how it glows in the dark

i hunger for answers
although we both may be soft-spoken
i wouldn't mind the screaming
as long as it had meaning
as long as it mended to the broken

but you are older
and wiser and smarter
and more experienced
than my little heart is

still i ask, where would this take us if it could?

i ask God to hear me breathing
to hear my singing
and wondering

if i am breathing, there is no time to waste
if i am singing, then i am on my way
to something beautiful and grand and new
and if it is in His plan, then it will be you

all this is simple mush
fluff in its raw form
half of the time i don't even know
exactly what it is i am trying to convey
it isn't something that we have to say
it is silent but it is recognized
for you said it all with your eyes

slowly falling i am
drooping to the middle
and climbing uphill again
until my cup fills again
it won't be half empty for too long

after all,
we both are fragile extension lines
on the streets
that taper and adjust
to whatever the winds may bring

your words hurt me,
your actions break me.

i'm not your friend.
for ***** sake,
i'm not your friend.

you hurt me.
and i'm sorry i cannot
talk to you.

it hurts me
to imagine hurting you.
so i'll stay quiet.
because apparently that's
what i'm best at (remember?)

but my god,
i'm not your *******
friend.

so leave me alone.

If I were to drop out my heart on a platter
and give back what's given to me;
If I were to cry hard but make not a splatter,
what's there left for to see?

Emotions are made for the playing of heartstrings
and picking of sentiments true;
But if we were bigger and grander with love-things,
wouldn't we be happier too?

Minds are the makers of falsehoods and lying
and pressing the lighting of thoughts;
But pulling the curtain on Fate's newen'd vying
could overturn many famed lots.

So treasure the ringed things that protect your heart
and plastic the lives that you own;
For living is telling, and telling, an art
that helps us to thrive and to grow.