Spoon-fed lies all your life

Manipulation is one hell of a bloodied knife

Blindly believing those who stepped on others’ backs  

Will protect you from invisible attacks

The thick veil you hide behind

Keeps you living inside your mind

Putting your trust in this money-hungry world

You sealed your fate with one word

The many poor and the few rich

A secret they'll hunt me down for like a witch

Just one more video, one more photo, one more post

They'll turn you into a ghost

Mere distractions from the destruction of democracy and dreams

The more you act like the perfect puppet, the better

With the red winning territory in the west no one’s safe

The rift between classes suddenly becomes a gorge

Terrifying and ever changing, the evil takes over

Under all these ashes who would find the lucky clover?

It turned into a race against time

It’s time to see the lies you were fed all life

Does a thick woman ever feel her patience wearing thin, while
her man wears a beard, ready to take her every mood by the chin?
He’s dating a girl named Erin, who hates it when he cuts his hair,
and runs errands. She made him ink a tattoo on his neck, declaring,
“property of Erin’s,” then she decided to shave her head, but she's
now wearing a wig— a real bold choice. While her man is plagued
by countless voices, but he himself, doesn’t have much of a voice.

She swiftly cleans up her act for the public eye – she's a minute maid,
with a juicy figure that could turn any man to pulp; and she’s also
self-made. And he’s like an empire of ants, bearing more than his
own weight. But he’s not much of a saint, his mischief thrives when
she’s far away, and it can never wait. He keeps a side piece as a
thought to chew on, always clearing off his plate.

They picture a relationship, but lack the means to truly relate –
just a ship; claiming they’re on the same boat; being each other’s
bait. “Plenty of fish in the sea,” but they leave hooks in one another,
after they hook up. Never pausing to Google for their worth; it’s right
there, just look up– to the writing on the wall. "We’re all crumbling
on each other"; if these walls could speak. As countless feet trample
on each other’s toes, in these crowded streets of Love, we seek.

Paved in toxicity – a toxic city, where toxic lovers inhale toxic fumes.
Easily fuming when being called out; the headlines of these daily
romances, all spell bad news.

Dreams are like icicles,
they melt to the flame,
summer-heat popsicles.

With our family names,
We aim to avoid blame
the heated glaring shame.

I burn the flower in my chest
before it can blossom. see:
I know what it’ll look like,
I know what I’ll be

like the roaming packs of
kids on the street
the ones that think
too much like me
their brains set aflame
the blossoms again killed
for the sake

of making them into what we think is ‘normal’?

I think, “I can't be like them.”
I won't. Not here, or there,
where the pyre is strongest,
our sins laid bare;

so when I see her in the mirror,
the flower’s how I breathe.
at once, reality fissures
for a glimpse of what I could be

I sometimes wonder if I could make a poem out of all the metaphors
that have been scrapped because of what surrounded them.
If I could make a clique,
where they’d join strong
and leave their pasts.
Create a new country of love,
for all the unique metaphors
that died because they didn’t know better.

“I want to scream but forgot how to talk”

“The fear I felt drained in my blood
and I now have it tattooed in my tears”

“Opportunities that slip off your fingers
like fish in the depths of a lake”

“my fears were dissolved
into tears”

…

Can you remember who you were,
Before the world told you who you are.

Before all the whispers turned to screams,
In your own mind.

Who were you?
Before everything changed you,
Before you “fixed yourself”

You’re mother will say
“Where did my darling go?
The one with the heart to big for her body,
The one whose purity was that of gold,
The one who’s justice was louder than doubt,
The one who had no doubt
The one who always loved,
The one who always forgave,
The one who bore like the sun.”

And you will be confused,
Because all you were,
Is what you are now.
Confused,
Broken,
Hurt,
And changed.

A hypocrite,
For you’ve always hated change.
For you’ve always hated hypocrites

hear the pleading prayers as the hubris of the leaves and branches fade when their body dives into the soil. Let the leaves condemn your cruel ignorance.
For the least you can do is bleed; sap it within your ears and hear them speak

Apart from science

it is not allowed by law --


to tell the whole truth.

It begins on a night swollen with rain,
where clouds smother truth like wet cloth.
The stars—mute witnesses—are veiled,
while the moon rises, gleaming
with light it did not earn.

It did not defy darkness—
it inherited glow,
passed down like titles
washed clean of blood.

Scars mark its face—
not from survival,
but from ambition.
It hides them beneath stolen shine,
pretending to be whole.

Justice hangs in the clouds,
soft now, drifting.
They cannot strip
what charm has already excused.

The stars still burn,
but no one looks.
Their light dims
beneath praise
for the clever thief.