If I poured feelings into your arms
Heart into your soul
Would that be enough to fill you up?
Enough to finally make you whole?

It was only once i embraced the devil in me
that i realized he was never even there

I'd let myself
     Burn up in every last sunset
If it meant
     I'd become part of the sky.

So
here it goes again
the little boy whose life was never his
and the woman
whose life was always hers.

I might not know much.
But i know just this much about racism.
That it hurts.
that it scars and tears wounds apart.
that it kills and murders.
steals and slanders.
breaks and ruins.


Different people.
Different beds that they sleep on, is this how it is?
That some feel cold in a thick winter jacket.
That some feel starved even when they have enough.
putting labels on beautiful jars.
filled with the most beautiful of hearts and dreams untold.
words that burn.
burning them like paper.
are you one of no heart?
or perhaps a heart that simply has no sense of love.
that simply doesn't understand.
you say "its just a joke"
but it still burns them up with fire and smoke.
how those flowers die slowly i might know.
but i would need your help so that you don't have to know.
so that, you could put them back together and make them whole...

This broken teacup of mine,
Lays on the floor.
Pieces scattered and crushed into the carpet.
A mosaic of pain.
This broken teacup of mine,
Stabs and slices,
As I pick up the shattered porcelain.
White stained red.
This broken teacup of mine,
I can’t put back together.
I remember it fondly from when it was whole
And admire its new beauty
As I wait, patiently.