See those you created, how wicked we are. Ever in boast to stand tallest amidst our fellas, forgetting its you who gives it all. We have failed to work for Glory but our benefits to see others fail. What hearts we bare. Ignorance covers us as dreamers surpass our  humanity forgetting we have a corner to negotiate, those we frastrate could be ourb tomorrow Heroes. Teach us not to believe so much in out abilities and push aside humility, give us courage to be sincere rather than brave hypocrites, stand in our midst and look with pity upon our hidden rotten hearts of greed. You who owns the world with no jelous, show us how victory can be raised without slaughter of the brotherhood we share.
#Godfirst #hardwork #thefutureissafe

I get so tired of you,
who use your voice
without first understanding that it is a choice.
When you speak,
you're obliged to handle with care
the words and the feelings
thrown out to the air.

Do you even know the language at all?
I do not think you do.
If so, how can such a waste of words occur
among the literate lucky few?

Words can weave the truth of the past
upon the present's very soul.
Yet, here you stand
with pen in hand,
unaware of your part in the whole.

No, I do not believe
you even know
where words come from at all.
They are not yours.
You did not make them.
You merely use them as you scrawl.

They are ancient spirits;
unchanged and unspoken,
breathed by men
more witted and wiser then you.
Please cease your distraction
before they are broken.
Their meaning too meaningful
to be fooled with by you.

And here I do tell you,
please hear what I mean;
If the words they elude you, as if too Byzantine,
then just give up from the start,
for only the wisest of hearts
can ever know love
and how it came to mean.

This notion absurd
goes beyond written word,
and it is here that you must understand me.
For only by meaning alone
can words ever atone
for the confusion in heart's understanding.

Where did it begin
and who is its author?
These things,
please let me explain.
For I have been at study;
My heart battered and ******
and my pen
now broken in twain.

Are you misunderstood?
Ignored?

Not liked
By your own family?

Are you poor?

If you care,
This is just to say
I can relate

I am told
I have to choose
A "career"

In a dying economy

And I laugh
I laugh

Does he not know
There is only poverty

For people my age

Does he not know
The middle class
Has been decimated
In this country?

I will not work my forty
Hour work week

I do not buy into
A dying system

I have not had anything to eat
Since this afternoon

Do you know
What it's like
To be very hungry?

I don't
But I think
One day I will

I dream of another place

I dream that my wife
Is a Kurdish woman

That I fight alongside
The YPG against ISIS

I have a community
I am not isolated

Like in America

I fell asleep to you after binges of Chinese food. And movies playing too loud, warping my mind to include translucent holographic dreams and 90's cartoons.
I am used to quick moving waters, cutting the banks of the rivers that flow through my bones. I am versed in their tongue but not quite you- stopped and steady after nights of solitude.
How can I sleep with insomnia that tastes like the sweetest dessert that has ever graced my lips, my tongue, my skin. I am too messy to be compartmentalized. I am too messy for you. I am too messy. I am.

This is a project that I had to do at school, it's not a poem but I just wanted people to read it...


          A wise oak lazily wrestles with the wind disregarding its breathy efforts. The tree sits atop a hill looking over a dark golden field, overhead the oak lay the endless universe, while an aurora borealis streaks the earth with an endless luminescent light. The wise oak shimmers with streaks of purple, green, yellow, and red hues as they dance on its leaves. I walk toward the oak blanketed in darkness except for the colours that flow across me. As I walk through the field slowly awed by the living light that has bathed the dull world, I can’t help but touch the soft ripe wheat as it tickles my palm. When I reach the tree it sways softly in the wind, the leaves rustle trying to softly speak silent words of wisdom. I lie down in the cool soft grass and look up at the sky through the leafless patches of the tree, I can see the stars that paint the blackness of the universe and the aurora borealis as it brings the sky to life. I stare for a while and I feel as if I stay long enough the tree will speak to me with great words of wisdom.

I swear these birds do not fly on wing
The sky is heavy
Undiluted gravity
Unbecoming gravitas
A party in the sky
Persona non grata
And what becomes?
Theatre where the stars won't act
The comedy of tragedy
Lives uncompelling melodrama
A panorama
Forgetting the hope
Of kaleidoscopes
I know these birds will not sing
Spring has come and gone
Now the underbelly dreamers
Are left to whither with fault
Sweltering festering heat
Summer suns to burn our skin
And leave us only wishing that we could be cold again
That the leaves should shrink and fade
And all the trees are dead
These songbirds of a winter ending
I held such hope aloft
And saw a symbol in their flight
I saw love inside a light
A beauteous sight
But even glorious wings
Fade from my eyes
In solemn nights

Systems of Control
Keeping the man
A slave
To the system
Until he grows old

Not fully conforming
To this system
Means you
Must be bold

The world hated Jesus
And hates me too

I do the minimum
That's just what I do

One day
I hope to travel
To Kathmandu