A minority in the world of majorities, they tell me
The minorities don’t get heard, they say
But this minority has a mission
And this minority has a man
That man is God
And he knows
This minority was NEVER a minority
A minority in a world of majorities, they say
Minority my foot, I say

Scraping Nails
in the chasm of my brain
Tell me that I am wrong
to be better next time
clenched fists
raised up to the sky
praying to be better
not being able to fly
furrowed brows
dropped down
down to the ground
where the words belong
salted eyes
full of pain
but ready to smile
when some stranger walks by
Closed lips and attentive ears
Ready to listen
Hearing too many times
“You’re just a child, you don’t know
Learn from your elders
That’s the way to go”
Weak heart
Fully developed but broken
Stitches won’t work
On the holes those boys have spoken
“Go make me a sandwich”
They all seem to say
They don’t even ask
“Honey, how was your day”
The need to belong
To be free
To be perfect
The need to fit in
To be different
To be loved
The need to be strong
But the stereotype of weak
To show inferiority
To those who can’t see
The potential I have
And the light that I share
DO they really just want me
because I might look like a pear
I don’t want to be stuck
With anyone that thinks
That one person is better
No matter the kinks
So, I stand up and say
“Make the sandwich yourself”
My heart’s racing fast
But I play on a different beat
I don’t live in the past

Dandelions
They go where the wind takes them
I would resist
I would hold on
I would stand my ground
I would fly to places unknown
I would travel above the limit of the sky
I would use my wings to fly
Not were the wind takes me
Dandelions

Nondrug indicted
Sadness
No not ever gone away
Never in my wildest dreams
Smiles that turn to frowns
Within a blink of an eye
Like they were never there
Like they were fake
I don’t even try to make them anymore
I try to cry now
But the tears don’t come
It’s like they are stuck
Downing me from the inside
Damaging it all
First my feet
So, I cannot act
Then my stomach
So, I’m always sick
Sick of it all
Sick of the pain
Then my heart
It is not just broken but withered
Expired and molded
Last is my mind
My only source of strength
when everything else is weak
I can’t pray
I can’t hope
Can’t speak
I just sink
So low
So long
Happiness