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Gerry James Jul 18
Jay.
He was a nineteen year old high school dropout.
He was black.
He wore his hair in dreads.
He had a few nose rings.
He wore gold chains and expensive clothes.
He went partying every night.
He got drunk on alcohol but his drug addiction was the biggest problem.
He had a lot of friends.
Because he was ‘cool’.
He was the ‘man’.

Gray.
He was 18, finishing his final school year.
He was white.
He wore his hair very short.
He had large round glasses, sitting lopsided on his nose.
He wore a long sleeved shirt and trousers.
He studied hard, and he got good marks.
He played the cello in the school band.
But he was ***.
And so he didn’t have any friends.
But he had his family who he loved dear and who loved him back.
He was happy.

The differences between the two are unbelievable.
They are nothing alike; they are complete opposites.
Yet, they are human.
They walk the same streets, at different times.
They both live on the same planet, if not the same world.
They both have a right to live.
They both have people who love them, despite all they are.

It’s their differences that make Jay and Gray human.
Both of them.
Until Jay raised his gun and fired three times at Gray.
That’s when Gray was lost to humanity.
And Jay had lost his humanity.

Coz Jay shot in the chest a boy named Gray
Killed him without giving him any say,
The boy who did no wrong, but was ***,
With his life, he had to pay.
His family cried in despair and dismay,
For their loving son had been taken away,
And now they all sat in silence,
For Gray would never see another day.

For souls who have had their lives ripped apart, and those who rip their lives apart, we pray.
Annete Dec 2017
The worst ache went through
As mind tried to escape the body.
I stand still
Yet, exploding.
I’m losing battle
To myself.
to my pain
Annete Dec 2017
I took the dress off
And there you saw
Constellations on my skin,
All the stars,
Backwards of my loving
Every part of you.
All my feels imprinted here
Collarbone in scars.
Annete Dec 2017
Hideous creature,
Monster in the flesh
Living in your mind,
Feeding of your veins.
You raised it
Darkest shade of black
Hatred in your heart.
Annete Dec 2017
Who we are
To interfere with Universe?
And ruin the paths
She had destined for us.
In our very own selfishness
Blinding the truth
We’re not meant to be together.
Odious Wench Oct 2017
Irony
The other word for
Karma
also known as
Poetic Justice
Shawn Oct 2017
Is it
immoral of me
or just mortal of me,
that i want you
more than the heavens . . .
Pax Dec 2016

words creates strings of emotions,
it connects from one reader to the other.

-quote-
i just had a passing thought earlier on what to do next year or whenever i got the time to retrack my life. I really wanted to write a story or a tale. I want it to be completed this time. When writing a story went inside my heart, i manage to write several chapters but i never got to finish them. I always thought that my knowledge or experiences wasn't enough for me to built a solid plot or realistic/fantasy viewpoint. I remember this quote i wrote for a review in wc i did last week and realize that our poetic words is an extension of our life's strings, maybe this is one reason why i write quotes which reflects my life and the life around me whenever it is in writing or reality. It is a reminder, a guide, or even a inspiration to those who write. You know, at some points within my realm of thoughts, i tried to forget and even give up writing because i have a low self-esteem, as i grow older it never went up to confidence, so it went to my heart and become stone that i went on isolation to never finding any relationship, even friendship on the real -world i considered them as acquaintance, i built up a wall upon myself. sigh... i got side track on my life, sorry for that... my point now it that never stop writing, as i am doing myself to keep on going. thanks for reading....
Listen to Things
More often than Beings
Hear the voice of fire
Hear the voice of water
Listen in the wind
To the sigh of the bush
This is the ancestors breathing
Those who are dead are not ever gone
They are in the darkness that grows lighter

And in the darkness that grows darker
The dead are not down in the earth
They are in the trembling of the trees
In the groaning of the woods
In the water that runs
In the water that sleeps
They are in the hut,
They are in the crowd

**The dead are not dead.
An excerpt by Birago Diop
which can be found in the African Philosophy Reader (Coetzee & Roux 2003: 723)
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