If i ruled the world id have hockey games settle evry dispute now that may not seem cute but if all that passion by politicians is displayed on the ice then we might not be in needless disputes
If you're rude to me if i was emperor you see id not be cruel and force you to eat nothing but bread and gruel id simply have you put out of your misery because you're clearly a loon
Now you may not like every whim and policy but i promise id try to come off as endearing I'll kiss babies and give to charity and explain my thoughts with the utmost clarity and maybe go on Larry King

But all punchlines aside if i ruled the world and everything in it id make it so we treated addicts like humans not vermin and remain sane to help the insane and truamatized because so many people suffer behind their eyes and
I'd decide to abolish money so greed wouldn't decide the fates of those out here in these streets
Id make it so we gave back to the earth so much that weve taken from it and actually do things that benefit the environment not **** wildlife

Ang saya matulog
Ang saya managinip
Walang problema
Hindi masama ang ihip

Ang saya matulog
Para lang akong nahuhulog
Nahuhulog sa ideyang tayo
Pero di masasabihing totoo

Pagtulog na mag-isa ka
Sa panaginip kasama ka
Naka-ngiti,
Magkahawak ng kamay,
Nakatawa.

Pagkagising mag-isa ka.
Nakahiga sa kama
Malungkot,
Walang kayakap,
Marahil na nagdurusa.

Nagdurusa sa ideyang dapat may tayo,
Kung hindi lang ako bumitaw sa kung ano ang totoo.
Naniwala at nagpaloko
Sa mga sinasabi nilang kuro-kuro

Minsan gusto ko nalang matulog
Kase nakakapagod na mahulog
Mahulog sa kalungkutan
Mahulog sa kasawian

May oras na ayoko nang gumising,
Sa tulog kong mahimbing.
Dahil alam kong kapag ako'y namulat,
Gugustuhin ko ulit sumulat.

Sumulat ng aking nararamdaman,
Sumulat ng bagay na ipinaparamdam,
Sumulat ng mga bagay na di mo nararamdaman
At sumulat ng bagay na di ko mararamdaman.

Pagkatapos sumulat muli akong mapapagod
Mapapagod sa nararamdaman
Mapapagod sa katangahan
Mapapagod sa kabiguan

Pagdating ng gabi ako'y hindi makakatulog
Dahil sa mga bagay na naglalaro sa aking isipan
Pagdating ng alas dos ako'y makakatulog
Dahil malinaw na ito'y isang katangahan

Sa susunod na pagtulog
Sana hindi na ikaw ang laman
Ng panaginip
At Laman ng puso't isip

Dahil masaya matulog
Ang saya managinip
Walang problema
Hindi masama ang ihip

When I was fifteen years old I came home from school one day and wrote a poem instead of cutting myself.
The next day I didn't write a poem.
Eighteen only wrote poetry in red.
Nineteen crawled under their desk with the lights turned off.
Twenty had panic attacks.
But thirteen still loved the world.
And ten only cared about going out to play.
And nine never thought growing up to be a gender would hurt so much.
But twenty-one can't breathe in this skin anymore.
And twenty-one doesn't want a twenty-two anymore.
And nineteen tried to pretend these feelings weren't real.
And fifteen tried to eradicate all the feelings altogether.
And seventeen just cried a lot.

My years have come together to unfold me into a disaster.
I am broken even in my most whole parts.
I am empty even on my most alive days.
If you send out a SOS into my chest the sound will ring off into its empty chambers and only answer itself.

The Wicked Witch from Woodhaven,
It's quite an obstacle being your offspring.
Never have I been so self hating more when I listen to your heart-knifing words and unsympathetic demeanor.

Undermining my warm and graciousness as if I am some ant just waiting to be burned by sunlight through your magnifying glass,
I pray that some day you will change.
But a person so mentally unstable cannot change,
As you have passed those genes down unto me.

You have me riding some emotional rollercoaster at a carnival that Goblins should attend,
And not the normal, lively human soul.  
Thankfully, I've decided to go elsewhere.
But the clowns that you call ailments won't allow me to leave.

I vow to change my ways, aiming to stand up to such an evil and love-deviating woman,
Yet your words freeze me up like your mouth is Antartica,
And your brain is scolding due to your visit to your throne in Hell.

I've suffered many tragedies inside my own mind,
Sad songs that are on repeat.
Carelessness and forgetfulness has brought me to decrease my envy of you.
You've devoured the confidence of your once favorite child for more times than he can count on both hands,
And both feet,
Twice.

I can appreciate the fact that you've raised me,
As it is nearly impossible to raise such a troublesome child.
Though wishing you had never even birthed me in the first,
I hold you responsible to why I am subdued.

Nurture has been long forgotten,
Since I had last treasured it so.
A mother's love is all that is good and holy,
But what is it worth to Satan?
You would know,
Since he is in fact, your creator.

Wicked Witch,
Stubborn *****.
How awful these words sound to me.
They come out in frustration as you lead me to temptation,
And insecure I shall always be.

Crotchety old ghoul,
You've treated me like a fool,
For far too long I've counted.
Everlasting therapy is in order,
And forever you and I will be separated,
Separated by a border, That I have built,
In order to salvage some sort of a stable mind.

Kindly accept my creed to await,
The finalizing version of myself.
I've longed for such mortality,
Due to your immorality,
As guardian of my unnatural life.

I am standing in the spot where my family almost died
Here, in this land
All of life turned gray
Not the temporary gray of a rainy day
Not the gray of a fading photograph
No
The gray like ash
Or the ashes of the fallen
Gray like the plumes of smoke
Billowing out from the gas chambers
Standing in this spot
I feel connected
A pull
A throwback to my roots

I feel so… somber
Like I can see that day
January 27th 1945
My family members
Or what was left
Some of the 6,000 that were left
Staring and wondering
Is this real?
Or
Is this just another delusion brought on by hunger
Or are we free?
They told us we were free back in the day
But no
We walked for 40 years into the hands of a new oppression
Into a stereotype
Into the **** of a joke
Into the law offices and bank teller of the world

Go back a little further
Back into Poland
Before 1945
Think 1944
I know what a needle and ink on skin feels like
But I cannot imagine it by force
Forced away from the laws of my religion
A name, reduced to a number
24601
No
More like A-98288 on a forearm
No
I can feel the burn
In my eyes and in my lungs
Not from the gas and the filth
But from the pain of generations of jews and others labeled as different
As not pure

I feel the pull
The connection
Severed
My grandmothers 14 siblings reduced to 3
Back to 1945
I feel…
Empty
My existence no longer focused on minute by minute survival
I feel…
A flutter
Of anxiety, of pain, of…
Hope…
Brought on by these men in uniform not seated in hate
Hope that we might live
Hope that the end is here!
But not the end that we have prayed for

Fade into color
I am standing in the spot where history almost erased me
And I remember all the years of oppression
And I can see how it continues
And I can see how it needs to change

I am standing in front of my peers
Asking
No
Begging you to see what I see
I am begging for change
I am begging for peace

Be loud and be proud
be quiet and keep to yourself
be upfront and demanding
be reserved and stay together
be beautiful and pretty
be hot and ****
be dainty and quaint
and rock the **** world.

Be you.
Be whoever you are comfortable being.

Don't let them tell you to shut up
don't let them tell you to talk more
don't let them tell you you're a *****
or that you're too nice.
Don't let them tell you you can't be beautiful, pretty, hot and **** **** all at once
because you know what?
You are.
Don't let them tell you to be rougher
don't let them tell you to be ladylike.

You are mother-effing lady
and you get to decide what that means.

My alarm clock goes off almost every morning
but this morning seems different
I wake up and there are already tears in my eyes
This alarm clock is a reminder that the heaviness in my chest will only grow
I hit snooze and start to wonder if I should even get up if I'll only end up sinking
What do you do on the days when you wake up and feel like the world is against you
When you feel like there's a snow covered mountain behind you waiting for your lowest moment to send the rapid downward rush of new problems and things you have to deal with?
My avalanche always hits me when I think nothing else could go wrong
Maybe it's because I like to stack up my problems behind me instead of dealing with them; they were bound to fall eventually.
I like to pretend that I'm strong, but this feeble body can't hold the facade for much longer
The anxiety is starting to lurk around inside of me, looking for reasons to shatter my ribcage
It's tag teaming with depression which is already tugging at my aorta,
On most days I'm surviving
But on days like this I hope the downpour crushes me
My chest cavity seems to have already collapsed anyways, the tears became so heavy that my lungs stopped fighting for air
In the back of my mind I hear a faint beeping, my dreams interpret this as a time bomb, a swift count down to my inevitable demise, but I am not running out of time. I keep thinking I'm battling this clock but I'm only battling myself.
My eyes swiftly open, I hit snooze. I sit up and exhale the thoughts of myself, inhaling  the responsibilities of my day. Today, I'm going to survive.

His eyes were not the reminder of a once well known friend they were the reminder that I only got three hours of sleep last night and there's a test on something I couldn't wrap my brain around because I was too busy searching how to tie a noose on a screen to bright for my tired eyes. I never knew he'd show up unexpectedly at dinner and I could almost see my mothers nose crinkle in disgust either from the stench of my lack of motivation or simply the smell of death. He had this way of holding himself. Hands shaking like a ticking time bomb or way to ready to jump to the next thing to ease the situation.
To ease the situation.
Ease the situation.
The smile carved as big as the jokers planted on a pale face and sunken eyes.
he had bags under his eyes.
bags under his eyes
Under his eyes.
Grimacing under growing bruises and bones that creaked with every movement because he is like an old house. Fun to look at and imagine what it was like in its glory days but spiderwebs and dust seem to be a better turn off than the word no.
No one told them that depression is a battle ground that theyd have to pick up their long lost child from.

They tried to
               erase us
                   with
               correction pen

Running over us
              with white

As if there's
              something wrong
         with the melanin
                       in our skins

Forgetting
             That we all
                    are
              pink and red
                           inside