You feel it,
I feel it too,the sun is fading away,
The rains come down but never hit our foreheads,
The wind is the only one left ,but it’s more stronger than it was,
The learned say that the earth is moving more slowly,
The righteous say that the end is coming,
The old say that their time is coming,
But what about us? There is always tomorrow,more drinks,more fun,more blasphemy,
Those in their own worlds plan to build a new world on mars,
Those with power pass bills legalizing the illegal,
But here we are following them like loyal dogs,
Letting men be gay like bonobo monkeys,and still see themselves normal
I wasn’t speak of the women but it doesn’t mean they are right
They bleach to look like these people yet the babies tell it all
Children doing what the aged even can’t yet they say times do change ,
What about the blacks ?still trying to cling like an ant in a fast-flowing water to their principals but for how long,
Will I marry a woman or will I choose a man,
Will I be faithful or will I look for the virus,
Will I pray or will I go astray,
Will I work or will I worship to get money,
Will I .........………
Questions about what I will do,
I’m here for the true AFRICAN MAN
I’m here for the true AFRICAN WOMEN
AM HERE FOR AFRICA
We fight for our principal
That’s why am looking for a woman to love me without any western influences on money,
I’m here for an African job, principal for the western culture has failed to hide their vices

I feel like I should write today,
But I lack my confidence ,not that I’m shy,
But because you never believe in me,
Never even gave me a pen or a paper,
Never gave me a chance to pour my feelings,saying that poets are weak,

And I will write,
Of how sad it is to live as a poet,
Of how it is hard for a poet to express himself through his tongue,
Of how it is hard for a poet to relate with others through his mouth,
Of how a poet has to suffer in silence just because of his courage,
Of how a poet lacks the love of a spouse because no one loves to read,


Or maybe I should write
Of how HUMANS despise poets, saying that they are weak,
Of how HUMANS hate poets,saying that poets only see the dark side,
Of how HUMANS pessimistically criticize poets ,saying that poets lack emotion
Of how HUMANS dump poets,saying that poets carry bad omen
Of how HUMANS misuse poets,saying the world is for the strong


Or maybe I should write about me,
Of how being a poet can make you feel as an OUTCAST,
Of how being a poet can make you lack friends because you are a lone walker,
Of how being a poet can push you to die with loneliness inside,


Or maybe I should have never written

~RUSSELL~

I wish I was normal
I wish I was in your world
Happy and hopeful
Free and beautiful

I'm such a freak
I wish I could change
It's not fun in anyway
I wish the kids asked me to play

Here I stay
Lost and astray
Afraid to misbehave
I'm just a nobody slave

I wish I was normal
I wish I was in your world
Happy and hopeful
Free and beautiful

God I'm such a loser
I cry every night
Look at me Ima fright
I got demons I can't fight

The sun doesn't give me light
I must run and hide
The kids all like to laugh
As I fall and hit the grass

I wasn't chosen last
I was never chosen at all
I wish I was ten feet tall
But I'm not interesting at all

I'm such a freak
Freak
  Freak
      F r e a k

All I ever wish
Put it on Santa's list
I'm completely helpless
I can only reminisce
Other's lives

still  I wish I was normal
I wish I was in your world
Happy and hopeful
Free and beautiful

Maybe I'd be better
Maybe I'd be clever
Maybe I'd be at peace
And not such a freak

I was an outcast
in school
nobody liked me
I had no friends
noone to talk to
noone to share my experiences with
noone to understand me
noone to learn from
noone to help me
I was alone
and lonely
and sad.

Now, reflecting on my memories
of my outcast loneliness
I am relieved from my trauma
by expressing to myself my lonely sadness
as I’m doing in this poem,
and reminding myself that my school-days are in the past
and re-focusing on being in the present-moment
and striving for my joy and happiness.

With her jagged edges she stands,
gazing upon the connection between the well versed,
as her language remains misunderstood,
dark and chaotic.

Her edges are sharp,
and grooves are too deep.
The rhythm of her heart
& blood pulsation
feel out of orbit.

An outsider,
an outcast
trying to jam to fit in puzzles;
blunting her edges,
painting herself with different hues to blend.
Yet within she is out of tune.

I'm in a room at a party
And the only thing I can think about
Is how different I am

I'm stubborn
But I'm too weak to keep fighting
I feel run down
Completely drained

When I speak
The words rush into each other
I panic and feel them string together
The taste of empty words
is like sewage in my mouth

I dress like my skin will peel off if it is admired by someone
The fabric must be loose or I fear that people will call me grotesque

When people are around me
They always hear my voice
But never listen
I'm a cacophony of forgotten lines

I'm in a room at a party
And I'm the outcast
I am different
But that shouldn't make me
An outcast

I sit down and feel like I’m in a box with a label.
A label of unwanted
Of just not quite right.
Of outcast.
A label of annoying,
Of weird.
I’m inside a box in my family.
One they wish they could throw out.
It’s been sitting there
and no one knows what to do with it.
No one wants to touch it.
They don’t want to deal with it.
They try to look away to forget it’s there.
They think if they ignore it long enough
It will disappear.
No one wants the box with me in it.
It hurts.
It hurts knowing they don’t want me.
It hurts knowing I’m not what they want.