The weather report
        has one hitch:
It never rains
        on the rich

Your water balloon will always miss
Their lips are dry when they kiss
In a flood they float yachts
In the nose, no snots

When huddled masses lose all
        slammed by tsunami
The rich on high ground
        donate salami
Point a hose at a rich woman,
        she will point you to jail
(and you will go there
        without fail)

Their roof never leaks
Their grass has no dew
The toilet won’t clog
        with their poo

The rich man is one lucky fella
A poor man like me
        will hold his umbrella

We always feel entitled in life
That the world revolves around us
To have everything with no strife
The world bends to us, it must

Except that is not our right
We deserve is what we earn
After we work and we fight
This is what some don't learn

They think life is their's to bend
That they deserve strength and pride
But without work it will be their end
Fueled only by entitlement, they died

Our only God given privilege
Is the right to be happy
To pursue that ambiguous image
All else is earned ultimately

The good life is ours to pursue
No one allowed to stand in our way
Earning our keep is hard, it's true
But our right to life will never go away

Never being afraid to tell it how it is..

I said America is by no means perfect
You told me I was un American, then preceeded to shout Make American Great Again.

You said flag burners disrespect the soldiers
I said that they fight in vein, preceeding to tell you that that Flag doesnt represent us all the same

I said Black Lives Matter
You told me All Lives Matters, then preceeded to be silent when black lives lost were lost

You said get over slavery
I said it still effects today, preceeding to explain that it reinforced a system of inequality

I said that you have privilege
You screamed that you struggle, proceeding to ignore that it isn't a factor of race

I told you all the ways I've lived
You told me all the ways it isn't true
That the life I live cannot be
Because it hasn't happened to you.

She sprays her hair a lot
Doesn’t care about the climate
She says it keeps her looking hot
And she doesn’t even need to diet.
She drives to school driving
Her daddy’s fancy gift car.
She goes happily because
That’s where cute boys are.

She’s the Great American Co-ed
And intelligence is not important.
Someone saying ‘no’ to her are
Words she finds most discordant.
She only likes to hear ‘yes dear’
For her life to being going fine.
Everyone just has to understand
And then they must toe the line.

She’s a grade C student
Because she doesn’t like books.
But, she has no trouble
With boys because of her looks.
She is a willing target as well;
She likes any guy in pants.
Maybe even a rich guy who
Will buy her expensive implants.

She knows she will be
The most popular girl around
If she can just get her blog
Going strong and off the ground.
She has lots of cool photos
Of her in her bikini bathing suit.
She also has her phone number
And her measurements to boot.

She’s the Great American Co-ed
And daddy has paid for University.
She is afraid she might not get in
Due to the law about racial diversity
But she is sure her daddy will
Call in some markers owed by friends.
He’s done it before and she bets
He’ll gladly do it one more time again.

It was almost 10 oclock, their eyes heavy as rocks, Erik and Jamal headed home
The fork in the road that they've always known to mean they tread on all alone
They made their embrace and started their pace and Erik did not hasten much
Jamal however was quick to endeavor, because mama had told him to rush
They walked their separate ways, reflected on their days, and coveted what tomorrow would bring
At that very moment, their train of thought stolen, by the bellow of sirens they sing
A large police van rolled upon each young man, and flashed a light on each of their face
They told Erik hurry, his mom needn't worry, yet they questioned young Jamal's pace
They told him get down, he got on the ground and struggled in his discomfort
Erik heard a bang in the night, that had gave him a fright, and thought to himself where'd it come from?

Silence ebbs
Down the street
By my side.

By my pride.

Shattered not
By the patter on
My umbrella,

Down Avenue Isabella.

And silence flows.

The crooked sidewalk
Grabs at my feet
And my pride snickers.

Silence breaks not
For your ambient
Bickers.

A door of wickers'
Make
On Avenue Isabella
Swings to regression

And silence flickers.

For whom
The bell tolls
My pride reprimands.

The dead need no
Gentle hands.

And on
Avenue Isabella
Porous souls are steeped
So deeply in
Their own pretension
To fill the lonely holes
That the bell tolls
To a harmonious roar
Of crowded silence.



Dead



Silence.

I yearn for that ability,
to feel human without ease.
No binder grasping at your ribs as your breathe,
no **** being stuffed into your pants.
No having to see if your hips stick out in those jeans
or if your chest looks weird in that shirt,
just being human.
Sometimes I think I never will,
because feeling human is a privilege
and the different don't get them.