I remember I was dead..


The moment is finally here
My prayers have been answered,I've eternally dreamt
That here with peace I rest
and all is well.

My soul quietens from the rest it has been given since it's been ever oppressed.
Daily bricks are thrown my way.
Each day obstacles accumulate on my path.
A sigh is all that's spelled from me since these acts signify a cliché.


But tonight here on my bed I rest.
Peace will be regained as I pray for my subconscious to ascend to a serene place. Here, I am temporary dead.


Goodnight.

I wrote words
To try and bandage
The broken things.
Things like the mind and soul and hearts,
Of angels that fell apart and wings have given out,
I let the broken wing do its thing,
You can't fix a Devil in disguise,
With words acting like tape and bandages,
And your devil commanded wings
Flew you down corridors of sorrow,
And classroom bullies of depression,
And those heart palpitations,
Was your chest trying to protect you from within,
Not telling you to let the devil in and steal your soul for a mere sanity,
Your not as insane as they come,
Devils and Angels all are one as the same hand,
They have bend dealt and handed out a loaded gun,
And what they chose to do with the gun,
To put it to your temple,
Or to there's over an over again,
Is all in the free will and mind a god from above gave man kind,
The freedom of free mind and thought,
But why are we blind?
We have the right to things other animals have there rights stripped from,
And we do that to other countries, people, and ourselves,
Like a god wrote a bible that is lines in the game telephone,
passed on like dropped calls that still got the message with the little details missing.
Because it was a story to teach you something,
To help you get through a hard time,
But instead we use gods gifts to oppress those around us,
And those around us,
Use it to oppress us,
So my words try to act like bandages,
Like gods did,
But even God couldn't fix the broken things,
because God made the world and left the broken things,
while he rested on the 7th day,
when he could of fixed things.
what would he of changed?

It’s the magic pill
That pollutes our will
Lives under lamp lights
When strangers
Walk by at night
Passing each other
In a suspicious state

It lives in Press releases
About diseases

It lives in the never will be
Terrorist attacks
Turns foreigners and strangers
Into a clear and present danger

The twenty four hour sensationalist
News stations that press it
The politician’s platforms
That always expresses this

Born from the boogeyman
Under the bed
That now lives
In our heads

Makes men more malleable
The pill
Some find very easy to swallow
No matter if it neglects the fact

Anxiety
Horror
Terror
Fear
Fear
Fear

I shed,
Like petals,
That floated to the hard earth,
And was called words,
That dug in,
Deeper then the deepest,
Of thorns,
Because roses hold,
the beauty,
But shield the pain,
In vines like veins,
We see there stronger,
Then the delicate outlines,
We have been accustomed to,

But one thing,
He didn't care to notice,
Her eyes were not blue,
Like the violets,
Her eyes were a brown,
Of coffee stains,
And Bibles,
Where words really did hurt,
Because they oppressed,
Telling us it's okay,
To be different,
If we separate the blue eyed,
From the browned,
But him not noticing,
The color of her eyes,
Is like as if Ah wanted him,
And every man to point out,
That they had different colors,
Of skin,
That he thought,
they were example enough,
Of how these word and names,
Hurt,
But will not be,
A belief ,

For roses are red as violets blue,
And I may love you,
But you have be stabbed,
Bleed red blood,
By hateful names,
Because brown eyes,
aren't blue,
But I still loved you.

He's quiet in class,

Sits at the back,

Never put's his hand up,

Friends he does lack,

On his way to lessons,

And before school,

He's beaten to a pulp,

He spits blood and drool,

Every day he runs,

Faster and faster,

Trying to escape,

His self-proclaimed master,

Scared to roam the playground,

Scared of having fun,

Hopes it will get better,

But they've only just begun,

Eveything is better now,

He's laughing, playing games,

No more bullies in the school,

To tease him, call him names,

He decided to tell a teacher,

And then he told his dad,

Went to the head,

Said it made him really sad,

The school rang the police,

And had the bully arrested,

They took him away in handcuffs,

The one who had molested,

His gang disappeared,

Without a trace,

For they had no leader,

They had no ace,

Everybody cheers,

Fans of the Victim,

Some guy has hit a teacher,

Now in one foul swoop he's knicked 'em,

You will not keep me down.
You will not prevent me from reaching my goals.
You will not tell me what to do with my body.
You will not tell me who to love.
As Henley wrote, I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.
So listen when I tell you that I am me and I'll do what makes me happy.
I am not irresponsible for pursuing happiness.
So you can just leave me alone.

HERE’S TO THE LITTLE PEOPLE

Here’s to the little people
That means you and I.
We create the economy
With the things we buy.
The rich people object;
They say they are the best
By squeezing the lifeblood
Out of all of the rest.

What the rich don’t take directly
They steal by increasing the tax.
Only when we are powerless
Do they really feel they can relax.
And it only serves to help them
If they pass laws that are hazy
In which they can hide graft
Because we are politically lazy.

Yes, here’s to the little people
That is you and that is me.
We’re passing up our chances
And all our hopes for prosperity.
We’ve let the rich people rob us
In congress by nickels and dimes.
While it might not be too late now,
We are just about out of time.

Brent Kincaid
3/18/2015

I am but a few brittle bones
With a not-so-respectable amount of flesh
You have slowly become my skin
Clinging to this lost body
No sense of direction
No sense of emotion
Consuming me
Consume me
And now I cry through my teeth
As I lie from my eyes
All the while
Hiding behind
And beneath
You
Intimidation in a situation
Intimacy in simplicity
Cover me
No longer smother me
A moment's fresh air
Crisp as your gaze
Please
Do no more harm
To these legs
To these arms
I've got a blue thumb
Botanist of disappointment
I gather crops
As my mood drops
But if my fingers could speak to you
If my lips could reach out and touch you
I wonder if they'd be as gentle
As my words and movements are now
Because my friends help me get by
And you
You make me feel as though my life
Is all one constant high
But there is nothing poetic
About the way that you
Dismiss my feelings
Yet don't dismiss yourself
You are a joke
Never straying afar
From your obsession
Oppression
Or was it my depression?
We come to the end of yet another session
But I will see you before next week
**Oh how weak you are