True truth is broth to the strew,
Simple for dimpled and the crippled,
Its a break from Governments that create,
a hell hole for those with shoe worn soles.

The misery doesn't remind them of Disney,
Not a taxpayer leaves you a silent choir
a life sinking as others are castle building
Ridiculed phone calls won't leave you alone.

They twist arms and your happiness disarms
Yes, find a job as you sleep and then sob.
They destroy as their bosses declare glory
Leave you homeless and left for blood seeping.

Upstairs as I'm in the gutter,
enjoying your wine & the chatter.
Boasting about your daily deeds
Firing one hundred like cutting weeds.

Reducing people to a nervous wreck,
Then at night, sip scotch on the deck.
No conscious of the families destroyed
Bitter there was no day for golfing

Broken, Flawed, Imperfect.
People live among us.

Perfect,flawless, immaculate.
People live half alive.

As they try anything and everything.
To sell you a dream.
To gleam and shine.

To light up the screens.
Of teens who see.
No harm in the dream.

That being anything less.
Than them is wrong.

You have to shine.
Like they do.
Sell fake news.

Start a trend.
Make an impression.

Just don't be flawed.
In the way you speak.

Don't look broken.
Hide those eye bags underneath.

Your hair can't be imperfect.
Not a strand out of place.

Smile,gleam and shine.
The way you were always.
Influenced to.

Not a foot out of place.
Otherwise we won't allow you.
In this space.

Now fake a smile.
Won't you?

Of all the flags
that I have seen
red, green, purple, blue
and God knows what
none did I collect
for I think
the color
I desire
is being
created

Tears are just fragile pieces
Of dreams broken and souls as well
You can pick them up and try to glue them
But will that ever be enough?

Nobody can turn back time
Chances lost, no heaven nor hell
We all look down, grasping pieces
Some get cut, my surface rough

Inside we go like there’s no tomorrow
Apart from another, locked in a shell
And so it runs, our precious time
Shortening lifespan with every cough

They emerge like we’re attached to them
But is there a chance to always tell?
There’s time for that, yet always tomorrow
It seems like nobody gets to laugh

And in the end the pieces will bring us
Back in time, for then tomorrow
We can bring them all we have, but
At night all curtains will be shut.

Fulfillment - subconscious commitment
In what is a true - and inner peace -
For acceptance - for embroidery of oneself
In dark, almost frigidless - capability
And salvation - is no where to be found
Spit out the tongue - you almost ate it
Spit out the blood and bits - you chewed
Among the celestial thoughts of being
A timid and behaviourical brightness
In false full of 'less'-es and 'non'-s and 'in'-s
Words - neglect to be said - their weight
Is gone - with a passion - to thrive
But a lesser - is chosen - though - not you
Being the chosen one - but the vivid
Fragile and agonizing - white man's
Deals - quotes and problems - all from his head
Born from air and as chaotic

“What’s the harm?” they whisper,
“What’s the problem
in being everyone’s fantasy?”
“In having all of your friends
find your flesh attractive?”
“Having the pretty privilege
morph into the entitlement of others?”

As they claim my skin
and caress my bones.
Peeling pieces of my body
and making themselves at home.

Consent is implied
within the lines
of whatever bond we hold.
Friends, family, lovers.
What’s the harm in giving them
what they want,
what they demand they need.
In watching them eat you up
With a never ending greed.

“But you’re my fantasy”
as if I’m obligated
to the impressions of me
you’ve shoved down my throat.
Until I’m choking and sobbing
pleading you to relinquish your hold.

Your eyes leave imprints and bruises
as you salivate over a body
I don’t even see.
It was only 3rd grade.
Again, when merely rending
the damaged goods of a teen.
By the time I was an adult
it was the only way I was seen.

But age matters not,
when you were never perceived
as a human being,
simply a desire
for others to devour.

“What’s the harm in being a *** dream?”
They scream “we’re all friends here”
as they render my sobriety to shreds
Only to tell me that it’s all in my head.

Society taught me to turn a blind eye,
“what’s the harm?” It said with a sigh.
They drugged me with ignorance,
refuting my plea.

A passing inconvenience for you
Born of my own naïveté,
is a trauma memory
that I can never undo.

There isn’t a piece of me
you’ve not seen,
nothing left of myself
to discover.
You’ve rendered my own exploration
into nothing more than a detour.

You’ve taken every first
I could have claimed
and thought to beat a dog
was the equivalent of making it tame. 
So now I’m sobbing into a void
wondering why I was ever
a thing that you could destroy?

They say…  
it wasn’t messy  
until the cat.  

The cat just wanted to play,  
but somewhere along the way,  
she ran into a human like us.  

Together, they began  
to play with the red string.  

They say…
before the human,  
there was no method to the string—  
just thrown about,  
knotted inexplicably.  

But then man came  
and saved the day.  
The string and cat said, “Hooray!”  

They say…
man showed up  
with rules:  
“The string isn’t a toy,  
it’s a tool.  
Throwing it about  
would be cruel.  
People could trip,  
and one day,  
the string could rip.”  

They say…
they all agreed  
to move the string  
to a different corridor,  
behind a big door.  

“Any questions?”  
A little hand rose up.  
She was lost in the crowd,  
a girl I hadn’t noticed before.  

Her question sent ice to my core:  
“Then why is there red string  
all over the floor?”  

I snapped,
“There is no red string  
on the floor!”  
If they hear her question
Will it be safe for us anymore
The air grows heavier
Much too heavy to breathe
The sounds of heavy footsteps
Now growing louder than a horn
I’ve never heard knocks like this before
Why does it sound like a war
on the other side of the door?
All for a little girl?
Is that what all of this is for?

But then I looked down  
and barely began to see—  
the red string  
had tangled me.  
And by scolding the girl
Instead of letting it be
Have I sentenced her to a fate
just like me?

Too stunned,  
to speak,  
too stuck,  
to move—  

Her soft knowing eyes met mine
With the truth that mine were too calloused to realize
What They say…
might be too good  
to be true.


They say…
they lived happily ever after
They say…. “They will never all question us anyway.”
They say…