Why is it a challenge now to stay alive
Than it's easier going on FB Live?
Why do millions go to bed very hungry
and millions wake up every day angry?

What kinda world have we invented?
I'm sure this isn't the one God created,
Weren't we to inherit it, multiply and prosper?
Yet the poor cry themselves to bed in a whisper!

Where is the love, where is humanity,
Why can't we live in peace and harmony?
I'm pretty sure it isn't what Dr. King died for,
Why is there still a gap between the rich and poor?

So who is the noble amongst thee, is it the poor farmer,
Or is it the politician and filthy rich banker?
When will we admit that it's all about profits and gains,
That the poor will live, dwindle and die in misery and pains?

So why is the pastor alone benefiting from prosperity Gospel,
Why can't the congregation cease taking their money to the pulpit?
Why are these people living like kings and fly private jets
and the congregation crawling behind them like pets?

Why are there so many evil things happening in this world,
When will you finally come to save us, Lord?
When will thy kingdom finally come,
Like a king in the clouds to finally take us home?

IB-Poetry
2/15/2018

Life is a mysterious thing.
We come and we go,
People live and die,
But where do we go?
What will happen?
Nobody really knows
We go to school
Get our books out
And learn about the past, English, and math.
But what matters in the future,
When we are on our death bed?
Nothing really matters when it comes to school.
The thing that matters is who stuck with you through it.
Who will sit next to you caring for you when you’re on your Deathbed?
Will anyone sit next to you?
But really how are we supposed to believe in something that you can’t see
But everyone listens to the lessons teachers teach.
Everyone listens to the sermon pastors preach.
But what if they’re wrong?
What if nothing in history actually happened?
What if life means nothing.
What if pain wasn’t a thing.
Then nobody would go to the store alone,
Buy a box of razor blades,
Go home and mutilate their skin,
With crimson red liquid flowing from their wrists and onto the floor.
Everybody would be happy all the time!
There will be no such thing is cancer or even the flu
Because that results in pain.
What would your deathbed be like?
Will we lie in pain and guilt.
Or will we be happy that we lived a great life.
Or maybe we will think of the past,
Everyone that came and left,
People that died,
People that are still living.
Maybe even death won’t be a thing.
Maybe even heaven and hell won’t be a thing,
That we were just believing in nothing.
What if the judgement is tomorrow?
Or even in a few minutes, hours, or even seconds.
What if life is just a dream.
What if we are in our comas on our death beds,
Going through everything that happened.
Thinking of our first kiss,
First date,
First crush,
First heartbreak,
The first person you loved that died.
The first grade,
The first hug,
The first time you opened your eyes.
Maybe when we die in this life,
We wake up in another,
Is that what people are talking about?
That maybe this life is just nothing.
But life,
I wanna live it,
I wanna see everything that I can become.
Because I’m happy that life is a thing.

What's a house without few of its doors
and a community without neighbors?
How can  faith work without belief,
and how will we discover comfort without grief?
How can one Succeed without setbacks,
And what's a perfect body without six packs?
What is a heart without a beat,
How could it accomplish such feat?
What's the sky without stars
or the drunker without the bars?
What's the moon without the night,
or the sun without the light?
What's a woman's dressing room without a mirror,
Wouldn't that be a big design error?
What's a top model without a catwalk,
Where will she go to exhibit clothes and walk?
How can a child be born without a mother
and how can it be called a sister without a brother?
How can cars go without their engines,
how could they even be built without machines?
How can there be so many pastors
If there weren't as many sinners?
How can a politician help his people
He can never if he's not from the struggle.
How can he be popular in the hood,
if the people can not even afford their food?
How can there be a studio without a technician,
And how can you even record without a musician?
How can you be a poet if you don't write poetry
or be responsible for writing a single story?
What kinda poem have I written today,
What kinda questions are these by the way?


IB-Poetry©️
2/15/2018

pick me apart,
tear me down,
strip me up,
skin and bones,
nothing else left-
you're a phantom
to me now,
and i'm haunted,
for-ever-more;
i have questions
did it mean
anything to you?
am i different?
just like others?
do i sweep
breath out from
your nicotine lungs?
do i make
you shake, quiver,
tremble before me?
am i forgettable-
a mistake or,
just another mark
on the scoreboard?
are we a
mere whimper in
the never-ending darkness,
or a sparkling
fizzle of a
firework, raining blue,
red and white?
all i want to
ask you is
was i like
the other girls
or am i
more to you?