I came here first, so stay back
The words of a tyrant
I can't let you sleep on my pillow
I don't care you made it
This land is mine, I don't share
I don't help no Muslims nor no Mexicans
How could you say we're the same race?
I'm white and you is black
I've set my streams to greatness
They'll flow with blood, I know
Even though,
My strength will shake the world
I'll wreck the ships they sailed
And anchor mine safely, with no fear

I’d like to know what a hero is;
Pretty simple, I believe.
Explain to me how a hero is
Supposed to act
And when the fool’s
Heinous crimes will be
Given a reprieve.

What is a hero?
Is a hero supposed to mock
What causes the danger
Or laugh in the faces of
Those who wish for change?
Where’s his cape?
Where’s his dimming lights And crowded stage?


What is a hero when he
Starts the problems he was
Deemed to end?
What is he but a hero when
The foe becomes his friend?
Is he still the powerful
And mighty
When the journey towards
Greatness has become too flighty?

Is a hero supposed to cower
Behind the power?
Is a hero meant to
Lead with hate instead of love?
Is this “hero” your definition
Of the “great” America we’re still
Yet to become?
What is a hero doing with
You?
How are we going to get this
Message through?
It’s not he who is the hero
But we the people
Who went within a second From a million to zero

It’s not them who are the
Heros, but the villains
Overruled by corporations
And common greed.
What is a villain wearing a
Hero’s mask
Doing imprisoning a country
That struggled so long
To be freed?

On the wall where shadows grew;
Light lightly refracted though windows.
With cups of long cold tea;
where appropriate storms swim.
By a wall where shadows put on a show.

Let slip words aglow,
in skins subsurface shimmer.
Skip, flip, fall and tumble.
To Cracked laminate floors.
Spilling those storms out into the world.
The Sun boils, flowers  and then bows out
to a Gray sickle of the night.

In this world where shadows know;
A little light is all that's needed to nurture
the shadow's show.

…and yet this leaves
me guilty, this creation,
lifting and stunning
as my fist has often stunned
the delicate fish that dies
and leaves me as a recompense
a heavy flesh, scale within scale.

How long will it take her to understand that your blood is laced with loneliness?
That the smoke staining her tongue cannot subdue the angry taste of your mouth?
That the hands that hold her neck want to strangle the air encased under skin
and no song
or word
or feeling
can dilute you.
why did I wish you cared enough to **** the life out of me?
Why I wasn't enough to ****.
You play with my insecurities like kittens,
laughing at how they can't jump high enough
teasing with what's just out of reach,
I was a mouse weaving through the holes
I thought
I had gnawed in you
but your hands stopped me in my place:
put me in my place.
I am nothing but a comfort when the weight of the world
lands on your chest,
I'm your oxygen mask
as the plane starts to crash
and you swore up and down you loved me
but years have made it clear you don't know what that means.
Your words are an empty void
I would gravitate towards them,
let myself get ****** in
you told me I'm different
that you didn't want to hurt me
though years of pain beg to differ.
I should have called you puppet master  
instead I called you dear
and I have realized I deserve better,
that I don't have any more years to give you,
but I still craved your attention
and your jealousy
as though I could teach you love and how to feel it right.
But at 16 I had you figured out;
you've only regressed since then.
and I should be used to people letting me down;
etching their names in my heart as a reminder
but you were supposed to be the cure.
The end to my self imposed suffering.
You bring no good to me,
trap me in the light of the child I used to be,
and your name haunted my lips like the last time you
kissed
me
but none of this would ease how I wanted you to hurt me.
Prove you cared with your actions.
Your words are white noise.
I need to focus on the swollen melody my heart is performing.
But how do I find closure,
To what will always feel

What price do we place on freedom
in a world of consumer slaves?
Do we measure it in the lives
of soldiers sent to their graves?

Do we measure it in the families
who lost dads, husbands, sons;
and trust the politicians
whose solution is always guns?

Do we measure it in the comfort
of never knowing first hand
the way that a child feels
growing up in a war-torn land?

What is the cost? What will it take
for us to wake and see:
if this were the path to freedom
wouldn't everyone be free?

If hate will only breed more hate
and if war only breeds more war,
it ultimately begs the question:
is "peace" worth fighting for?

There will be a time when you need me,
But I'll already be gone.

Flesh may be a measure of mortality,
However these words cut deep.

They carve themselves into infinity,
Scribing the rise, ****** and fall.

Each piece is a violent declaration,
Against the tides of hate.

While I could not wade in the water,
The storm of truth rains down.

Falling victim to fate and telling times,
All exits are crafted by these hands.