Submerged heads in a country that's on house arrest-
One percent above the waters to tell us what's best-
But we can't hear you from down below-
We've adapted, grown gills to suit the downstream flow of ****.

The pressure is intense, but that's ok-
I'd rather be with ones like me who have no plans to stay-
Some of us are building a breathing apparatus-
To help us rise in social status-

Filtering out the noise and protecting from the raining acid Benjamins
That pollute your corrupted lungs-
Medieval, I know, but there is strength in numbers
Compiling low funds.

It adds up
We rise up
Flooded bells are ringing-
The things you can't hear are usually the loudest,
We're screaming
Like choirs underwater producing bubbles of promotion
That rise to the surface amidst the commotion.

Glasses;
so big!
With curves and crevices,
and area so majestic
like a continent never explored.

Glasses;
so revolutionary!
With voice and passion,
and struggles so deep
like a country in depression.

Glasses;
so new!
With a new page arriving,
and vision to again be clear
like a scope through the old horror.

Beginning at the dusk of yesterday.
There was never even a hint of when it happened
Or what it destroyed.
What countless minds had it shattered
Our feelings had it toyed.
We felt the earth rumble at half past twelve.
Every second that went by vaporized another city.
And when the final tree fell down
I felt the last of my hope drown.

A thunderstorm of warheads out past my window
Made me turn away from the flashes of white
When the sky turned red
“How many”, I thought, “were dead?”
The books on my shelves turned to gasoline
As the words on the pages
Ignited at the scene
This poem doesn’t have to be consistent
To deliver the problems that are ever so existent
When two boys cry from two different sections of the Earth
Which one is more sad about what they have or don’t?
What God is up there? What man is the director of this
Mad play that is reality? This insane musical
That nobody could ever dream of
For all I see are the fireballs cascading over the land
As the Big Brothers in charge stick
Their heads further in the sand
Let’s leave it all behind
Life has another plan in mind.

Chalk dust dries on the ground
Where children’s games have once made their sound
The child has grown.

I’ll open my mouth again
To make another disaster work
Worms spew forth to the screen
From my body where they lurk.
Why do I still write? It doesn’t make sense
Maybe it’s the venom from my body I must cleanse
As time ticks down from the clock to the floor
Still as a revolution outside continues to roar
The people kick down my door
See my own self at war
My lust wanting more
Your body that I adore
What do I have to pay for?
This service of which I swore
That I can pull whenever I want out my **** drawer
What’s the score?
It’s one to four
A pipe of dependence of which I’ll soar
So high up in the clouds that thunder and pour
These poems have become such a mental chore
It’s always such a grueling bore
To commit to oneself of what seeps out of every pore.

Do I deserve a spot in Heaven
Next to you?

Jim left home one sunny day
To take a trip to big L.A.
He got up to walk
But stood ‘round to talk
And he missed his flight from Norway.
Jim was rather mad
So he yelled at a lad
Who promptly did tell him off
So when Jim went to scoff
In his face did he cough
And Jim instead went to Riyadh.
Jim was so blue
He thought what to do
And looked in the handy travel guide
That told him to hide
And then Jim had died
In the ocean that the plane had fell to.
Let this be a lesson to Jim
Whose life was always grim
He beat up his wife
And stabbed her with a knife
Now look what has become of him.

When I cry softly out my left eye
I suddenly see faintly out my right
In the darkness of which I gently float
Inside the silent abyss of where I lie
A flash of illuminating light
Followed by a lovely music note.

She asked me one day if I was alright.
I told her that a poet has to have a disturbed mind.
She asked me why.
I told her that I was still trying to find out.
I told her I loved her.
She smiled and said she loved me too.
Too bad it was all a fantasy.

It’s all too much
Shout it loud
It’s all too much
To have done as such
As to have died five times
And still I am seen as living.

The dance begins.

Together on the linoleum dance floor
Do the dressed fancy humans move
From a species that sparked fire from flint
To new modern cowards with flavored mouths of mint
From the music that spells the ending of all
Inside this prophetic construction held within a ball

Inside the snowy tundra of the room
Where the snowy figures dance their doom
Does the ice freeze the plaster on the ceiling
Everyone dances; nobody feels a feeling
With their arms ‘round each other in a ballroom style
The people’s faces are straight, there is not even a smile
The fire in the hearth has extinguished long ago
Shed some light on the blizzard that you know

The summer in my brain always combats the winter in
My heart.

It’s so easy to think you’re in love
How long until you meet the souls up above?
How long until you go stir-fry mad?
How long until you don’t know why you’re sad?
How long until this dance of ours
Finally reaches its final hours?

I never want it to end.

Pause the war.
Take me back to before
When the world was pure.
When the meadows of the countryside
Were available for all to run through
When humans lived together, and died together
Not in times of bloodshed, or carnage
But when people lived their whole life
As what they wanted to be.
When you and I could love each other
And not be disturbed by society
Is it a fantasy world?
Did it ever exist?
Or am I being an optimist?
Human; the only species to ****
Itself.

Un-pause the war.
See the harsh infinite gore
That stains every door.
Where the swamps of the marshlands
Have bodies swimming through it
Where humans gag on tar and hope
Where they know they’re at the end of their rope.
Not where people sing songs and dance
Not where there’s music and love and romance
But where people lived their whole life
As what they were forced to be.
Where you and I were separated
And be imprisoned by society.
Is it real life?
Or is it possible to dodge the knife?
Questions forever locked
In the chasms of a city.

And yet, peace and war are synonymous.

I was the child. He laughed and smiled not knowing of the world.
I was the robot. It never felt a thing.
I was the story teller. He failed at recreating his own sin and misery.
I was the runner. He never won his own race.
I was the lover. He did not succeed.
I was the lust-er. He nearly drowned in it.
I was the Marxist. He was fooled too easily.
I was the Creature. He still has the demons.
I was the hippie. He couldn’t make peace with himself.
I was the poet.
I now just am.

Oh, the yellow bricked road.

(Countdown. Ten.)

Dorothy saw the scarecrow
And tried to help him out

(Nine.)

She saw him bend down low
He was alive, no doubt.

(Eight.)

He stumbled here and there
To gather about his wits

(Seven.)

She laughed and flipped her hair
And helped him with his fits.

(Six.)

They got along real well
And became the best of friends

(Five.)

At the city where Oz does dwell
They hope to greet fine ends.

(Four.)

And at the city it seems
They met their wildest dreams

(Three.)

But in a sudden flash
Emerald City fell with a crash

(Two.)

So together they danced with his hands on her hips
In the mushroom cloud of the blazing apocalypse.

(One. We have liftoff.)

where wildness grows
between my rib cages
close to my heart and
all over my brain
where revolutions begins to take place
for me and for her and for all of you
i change my perceptions, become something new
and you can't deny you heard me, when I ripped my throat so I could heal
blossoming feelings deep inside my bones
i'm a warrior at heart with hope set on steel

when I was ten, I scraped the surface of my skin
soothing the nerves that might be achin’
and I dreamed of being a shape-shifter
instead of wearing my own skin, wanted to be a transformer
like Mystique covered her scales with brown-leather jacket
as if she was hiding in her friend’s pocket

I wanted to be a shape-shifter so bad
that I carry different names in different events
introducing another personality into another styles and bents,
desperate in escaping reality
that my first name is Nobody
with a last name of loser in a morena body

when I was thirteen, I wanted to be a telepathic
because middle school was boring and pathetic,
your freckles and scars was not considered as aesthetic
because they are distractive, not attractive
then most people was stereotypic
and put so much weight of stigma
that was heavier in my own persona

I hope I could read someone’s mind
to attend their standards and be acceptable, not behind
I hope I could seep in the openings of their cracks
to see if I could join in their popular groups and ranks
I wanted so bad to be telephatic
that my sanity was almost equal to chaotic and psychotic

when I was sixteen, I wished I had x-men gene of invisibility
because school was tiresome and heavy
and bullies was way powerful than your mental ability
that you would rather disappear and stay in eternal tranquility
then suffer from discrimination
because your skin was not society’s accepted complexion
they said, I didn’t belong anywhere
because I am nobody from nowhere

mom even said I’ll be fine and should work for it
I said that I am over it and I am so done with it
but mom didn’t understand that suiting yourself in was like
walking in fired coal with trigger in my feet of armalite the wall

now, I just turned 19, I finally understand
how world kept condemning, exploiting and oppressing people who are weak
who are in minority, not hearing their silent screech
I finally understand that if you have no power
people will trample and trample you to lower

I finally understand that I don’t need an approval stamp
from anybody that crushes my soul in *****
and you, yes you
you don’t need anybody to be whole
because, certainly, surely, you can fill your own hole
I finally understand that I am enough
that life is rough so you have to be tough
And I finally understand what made me stay,
you foolish prodigy, do not be easily swayed
I have the right to be here, you have to.