You see my brown skin
And assume I'm a ****.

You see my hijab
And assume I'm a terrorist.

You see the smile on my face
And assume I'm happy.

You hear my words
And assume I'm okay.

But I am not.

Instead I am broken.
Yet I am also strong.

I am dark and rule-following.
I am peaceful and Muslim.

You assume based on
Society's POV.

If you smile
You must be happy.

Fox, CNN, any media
Tells you I am a terrorist.
So the names I get called
And the extra security checks
Are extremely upsetting.

The murders of black folk
Is either considered appropriate
Or it's "black on black crime"
So it's not taken seriously.

Who are you gonna believe
Me or those who don't know me?

Perfect painted pastries
Two feet crowded streets
And I can acknowledge
21st century happiness.

Red traffic lights
Bringing humans together
Perfectly unknown pairs of people
Mirroring perfectly the dream, like
Fairytale cities, like dvd copies.

And you can buy more happiness
With your happiness coins
Because everything is possible
As long as you can double the price
Your smile will be on top.

Higher views
Better tables
The biggest investment
And all you can decide.
With your landlord wishes

Don't worry about the pitiful
That live in the suburbs
And "happy" with their jobs.
We can buy champagne
And live like Charlesmagne.

And what about animal justice
That are served in such nice cans
And look so perfect in our golden painted shelves.

And if we are bored
Another city is growing for us to buy
Another country
Another p...
Ah!

There will be no more of us
In a few years,
Shall we spend all that we can
Living like kings and queens?
Seems such a good plan
Not caring about the rest

And when the **** will hit the fan
We will have our fast planes to
Fly away.
And maybe be in a paradise island
Where everything is perfect!

Just as we like!

That's me what I'm now, my life is certain.
You'll call me, and I'll say: 'Hello, I'll call later.’
You'll answer: 'OK. I got it. No problem.'
And I'll left with a guilt that you're a waiter.

The time will trip forth, to feelings athwart.
And you'll await for my call all the same.
My answer to you is my heavy load now,
My refusal words and short tones after them...

And you'll await for my call until last,
Until your last profound sigh.
If I could turn all things around,
I'll call you back after a while...
Forgive me...

What if the question
is older than the answer?
What if time forgets
why it moves,
and the stars
no longer know their names?
What if we speak,
but it is the silence between words
that holds the weight.
The road bends
not to mislead,
but to remind us:
truth is never linear.
A seed does not know
it is a tree.
The stone does not dream
of flight
yet both contain the sky.
I do not search
for meaning,
only the place
where meaning once slept.

Concrete shell, trauma had tremendously taken its toll.

Conciousness severely severed, stirring, wishing for serenity.

Contortionist women, weaving already woven wires of self doubt.

Constantly humiliating himself for harmful handfuls of unreciprocated love.

Conditioned by past partners propaganda that he'll never be a perfect person.

Concealing every tear torn, from his overused tear ducts.

Conceding to the fact that he'd rather be hurt repeatedly, than risk roaming remote roads alone, too afraid to stand in his own reflection.

Have you felt as I have,
one voice crying loud
in the crackling static?
Unheard as one
closer to the voice of none.
Let’s not forget
it’s not just I,
it’s us here, together,
and anyone else who
is willing to be bad
to do some good,
to say you do have a voice,
you will be heard,
beyond the lies
that tell us
not to scream our battle cries.
If you’re new,
or if you’re old,
a kid with a pen
barely four years old,
face it all with spirit and might—
you are not alone in your fight,
you are not alone in your fight!