Living is often like drowning, and sleeping like flying,
So bridges and tall buildings always tempt me.
When I talk about death I feel brave.
I've always hated how recognition can so easily turn into pride.
They say pride comes before the fall,
But I believe that various kinds of self-centeredness are the origin of all unholy descents.
I remind myself that I shouldn't take my life because I didn't give it,
And my heart continues to beat on its own.
Blood doesn't stain crimson red,
It darkens and crusts on the skin.
Everything that is dead becomes only a memory,
Then it disintegrates and washes away, eventually becoming nothing.
I can’t remember anything from before I had the ability to reason,
So when did I come alive?
I wonder if all people valued beauty,
Would there be peace?
Because I sometimes wonder whether Neil Armstrong meant to say what he did as took his first step on the moon.
I think trying is as valuable as doing,
But justification is a dangerous tool.
I am cautious of failure and success;
But count this as my eulogy
A list of things that I am going to say before my untimely death.
*I recognized the world for the canvas it was and I didn't waste my life.
My dreams were my motivation,
And they were fueled by those that underestimated me
I walked streets day and night and prayed that I would somehow run into the girl of my dreams,
and when I finally found my missing rib I looked at her like she was a piece of art that I just couldn't keep my eyes off of.
I suffered and I found its nectar bitter-sweet.
I didn't get the best of life, but then I made the best of life.
I never stopped caring,
my love for the unlovable made me daring.
I trusted too easily so I was always broken.
I always found things to love, but they never loved me,
But despite it, I still loved, hard, even though it hurt me.
I couldn't comfort because I had never been comforted.
After a lifetime of battling myself, I finally took off my crown of thorns.
I didn't let the past get the best of me,
I gave the future all of me.
I hated animosity,
War was despicable to me,
And I always preached peace.
I prayed constantly that my efforts would not be in vain.
I never actually could stop sinning,  but despite my ugly sins, I never stopped straining.
I was not perfect, but I did the best I could.
I never ceased to hear the music.
I still played, even when I felt like I was playing solo, I still played my part in this symphony of life.
My eyes were aimed at the director, and we played through the storm,
We played even when all hell was against us,
We played, and played, and played
Until eternity came through.....

Whisper, whisper but I can still hear you.
Your eyes tell it all.
You don't even know me and you don't even care. It's people like you who ****** onto me a two ton weight that kept me from walking tall all these years.
It's people like you that ignited a feeling of torment for the unrelenting realization that I will never escape people’s stares.
Days like these I wonder why, friends aren't friends and everything seems like a lie.
“I never asked to exist”, (words that echo through my head every time someone falls from exceptional to unbearable) .
You don't have the courtesy to talk behind my back, instead you boldly break me with your tacks; tacking your words onto my skin, until my pride and self-worth wears thin.
That’s why on weekends I would sometimes cage myself in my room because though I was not free, I was at least free from your gazes, and though I was not living, at least I was alive.
I stayed inside because outside there were wolves and I refused to be a meal. I've seen what they do to their prey, cornering, growling in order to strike fear, battling with their eyes, and then they consume them until all that is left, are bones.
This is what they do,
and many of us can attest to their brutality.

Millions of daughters, sons, fathers, mothers, lost in this pointless thing us humans call war.
We’re the only species capable to forcefully make itself extinct.
Child after child,
The blood of the innocent has flooded the land they ruthlessly fight for.
Soldier after soldier,
Risking their lives for a cause that led to years of horror they never planned for.
Jealously seeking power, and coveting each other.
When will they realize that strength is for service not status,
That the very first death was between a man and his brother,
That the deeds of the father always affect the son,
And that when two elephants fight...
It’s always the grass that suffers.

Sometimes I spread my hands to the sky certain that they can grasp the stars but they can't, yet I keep reaching anyways.

And there's something beautiful about spinning on a field when the only thing visible is the night sky, and the only thing insignificant is you.

When I was young the thought of the world revolving around the sun intrigued me, and those moments somehow made me feel at one with the world.

Spin, spin, spinning, but then I would stop and my feet could no longer keep up with pace of my head, so I’d go flying in all directions just like disillusioned men when they go stumbling down streets unfamiliar to them.

Sometimes I wonder if the world is the way it is because it is in chaos and no one even knows.

Like somehow everyone is at a disadvantage,

Like no mind is sober because of a natural disposition pinned against us by gravity.

What if that is why men do the things they do, because I always wonder under what spirit do they operate, what demons have they encountered, that cause them to be possessed with this hate that makes *** slaves of the unfortunate, orphans of the unprepared, single mothers of the lovers, victims of our children, and on and on and on and on again.

Life just keeps moving and we just keep making the same mistakes. generations pass, people die but no one understands that we are just animals, caught in a war against ourselves.

Against our greed, our pride, our lust, our security, our beliefs.

We are so full of ourselves that we don't notice what is happening around us, we don't know that the world is spinning at 1000 mph; we have lost touch with the things that matter, lost all connections with the truth in the sky that enlightens anyone who dares to approach it.

always forgetting that it is the beauty of the moon, and the millions of stars that remind us that We Are Insignificant

But instead we are grounded and we have stopped so our feet cannot keep up with the pace of our heads so we have lost our balance.

You know I'm afraid, I'm afraid for my life.

On morbid days I envision myself in my coffin, I see my lifeless body and the pastor walking up to the podium, he says,
"Jal, he was an average man, maybe a bit eccentric, tragedy struck and this young man was taken away from us way too early by the devastating actions of an unidentified person.”

I watch the whole funeral and in curiosity I wonder which belief was it that killed me, or was it something outside my control like the color of my skin.

You see most people pray to be put down while they are sleeping by the famous killer, old age, but I don't know if I'll make it that long.
I've always said I want to be fully aware of the moment I die.

That's why when I was young on family road trips, when the only thing I could see was the 350 ft. ahead of the car illuminated by the headlights, and the determined face of my father, I would fight to stay awake because I couldn't let death take me by surprise.

But now I'm eighteen I occasionally have nightmares of my loved ones dying, but then again I don't really sleep anymore because death threatens to come at any moment.

A terrorist attack could shatter the windows of this house I consider impenetrable, or even a hungry thief thinking irrationally about his rationality.

This is the world we live in.

The world is spinning off its axis and things that used to seem so far have slid closer and closer, until I’m looking right into the eyes of death.

From 9-11, to Westgate, to genocide, things are closing in on me, and the “what ifs” are no longer so improbable and I am afraid.

I'm afraid that the world will never change, that people will stay the same, that I will go insane.

I’m going insane.

Could people just understand, could we just stop for a moment, grab each other’s hands and walk to open fields together at twilight after all traces of the sun have gone, could we whirl around with our heads to the skies, our nature abandoned, and our bodies in sync with the world,

Could we just spin and spin and spin until we once again become what we were made to be.

Could we just be more than animals?

Your perception of me pre-existed, you saw black and you felt danger, you saw my skin and with it painted a personality from the prejudice of your mind.

You don’t know me, yet you assume that I am just like every other dark skinned man out there.

So that is why I feel angry when you cram yourself in the corner of elevators, if you could only realize I am the one who is truly backed into a corner, provoked by your ignorance, until I become what you painted me.

With your judging eyes, cautious smiles, and nervous actions you made me this way when in the beginning I was just me. Now after all you have done, and all I have done, I’m just trying to be me again.
I just want to be me.

As we walk,
The grass bends beneath our feet,
The stars whisper secrets we do not understand,
And the wind beckons us towards something.

What is it? We don't know, but keep walking south.

South toward good days with plenty, in a pursuit of peaceful nights, with good men, and fulfilled dreams.

We walk this desert in hope of escaping this conflict we were born into,
in order to find rebirth through those coming after us and from us.

So we walk.

Walking against the grains of sand, looking for better days, with better way.

Such is the nature of our journey.

We swim in a sea of uncertainty, praying not to drown.

Capturing every moment so that it will not be forgotten, so our story can one day be told.

We appreciate cuts and bruises along our way so that even when we grow old they will tell of our journey.

I turn towards my wife who carries our unborn child, and I tell her, "We will name her 'our hope'."

And she will know how we gave up our discomfort for her sake, how her presence brought us a state of determination and stubbornness.

How she gave us hope.

When she is young she will see our well worn feet disfigured by distance and hellish conditions.

She will ask in astonishment, "What, happened?"

And we will tell her of our journey.

But she will see but not understand that we carry the weight of the past in our feet.

That our walk is still heavy and are days are always long.

Yet eventually she will see Him through our suffering, because even though our trials are not as great, our feet are like his hands and feet, they are an image of sacrifice.

Brother I need you to promise me this,

Promise me that whatever the voices say, you will not take your life,

Promise me that though they tell you to leave home, you will not listen

Promise me that you won't abandon me, because I won't be able to bear it.

Do you remember when we were young?

As you would make your way around the house, pacing like your life depended on it, I don't know if you ever realized that I was your shadow, but I followed you around faithfully.

In my eyes we were the tag team duo, the nonidentical twins, the inseparable combination that was going to tackle the world together.

But now you're distant.

When I am on the ground, pinned down by the weight of reality, you don't jump in.

You asked me once, "Do you think souls can talk?"

I couldn't answer you then, but now I know.

They do talk.

You just couldn't here mine as you were walking away into the night without a single glance towards me.

The demons in the crowd are cheering, the referee is counting down, and I am losing.

The world is not bearable, not without you.

I am so afraid....

I cannot express how it feels to watch as my other half becomes more unreachable. As his reason fades, and his ability to be reasoned with following after. I can't stand to look in the mirror just to see you walking away.

But I pray that before you disappear, you might turn back and see me. You won't say anything and neither will I. But in the roar of the crowd, through the fog clouding your mind, before you leave, you will hear my soul speak.

The day is done,
The night has won,
The wind howls,
And the cold growls,
Loneliness creeps on and I have no one to lean on.
The past comes back to mind,
And I’m convinced I will never break its bind.

The Butterfly flew
And left a storm in its wake,
If only it knew.

They asked me, "Why are you crying?"
I told them, "My eyes are sensitive."
They asked, "To what?"
I said, "To the wind."
They walked away and I knew they would never understand.
They've seen clear, sunny skies,
They've been living in paradise.
I've been in a storm,
just trying to find a place to protect my eyes.

Rainbow trees all the while bruised and broken me.
I’m so preoccupied with my mind that I don’t feel the autumn winds,
I don’t hear the crunch of leaves.
St. Cloud is draining.
These friends are character staining.
I’m steady screaming,
“How could I let this happen!”
Drunken stupors have left me stupid broke.
“Look at this fool who trusts too easily in the wrong things!
He gave his last dollar but then his friends left him to rot.”
Sometimes I feel I am akin to fallen leaves, trampled and left for dead,
just waiting for that cold and certain burial.
I wonder if leaves dread the snow, because I fear the winter.
I always get the blues.
I wonder where these feelings will take me this time.
Often I feel like my intellect wants to move,
but my will cowers in the face of my feelings.
For example: I saw this video a while ago,
I can’t get it out of my mind,
in fact I see it all the time.
It was a Syrian boy pounding on his brother's distorted and bloodied body.
He called out to him, but no one was in.
He called out to God, but I don’t know when he’ll get back to him.
I just know that I have to do something.
If you want to know one way salt can be made salty again it’s through tears.
They fell out of the phone I held above my head as I was laying in bed,
they were dead sea salty.
I saw his pain and tasted a fraction of his despair.
Despite all this I’m still afraid, because I don’t know if I can do anything.
I used to fight a lot when I was young.
My slap was a comeback. I was explosive and irrational.
Nowadays I can’t talk much when I’m angry, sad, or anxious.
Some parts of me have shut down, now words get stuck in my chest
– car crash, pile up, highway traffic – like a blocked artery.
I need to find my voice again because I’m sick like heart disease.
Meanwhile the world keeps feeding me all this sodium,
and I can’t get my words out so I’m clutching my chest like a heart attack.

I look around at the world, it’s countries filled with greed.
Dead bodies piling up and up and up.
It doesn’t care how this bleeding heart bleeds.
I try to keep up with the news,
but the media knows all too well how to condemn a person,
how to paint persons in a good light,
but they’ll never tell you to love people for their own sake;
to love them because they are human.
I couldn’t love myself because I am just so human.
I’m in treatment now.
Hoping desperately to recover the lost parts of me on these tracks of recovery.
I am a slow moving train with a lot of baggage.
I have no final destination, I’m destined to keep on these tracks until I die.
Slowly recovering, yet thoughts of suicide still dance in my head like popcorn.
I try not to indulge them praying the seconds between each pop lengthen,
until the kernels burn to a crisp.
I have to keep moving.
I got to believe that this burden will lighten as my wheels propel forward,
but it’s hard because I’ve been anxious and depressed for so long,
I don’t really know how else to feel.
I’m accustomed to lying so when you ask me how I am
- my first instinct is to say I’m fine.
Then again most people don’t want the genuine answer to that question.
So why answer insincerity with the truth.
I didn’t want to drag anyone down to places they’d rather not be,
so I severed my bonds.
Social anxiety is always present and always alienating.
I’m visible only past a window of smudged and ***** glass.
Nobody seems to see me as I shiver out in the cold,
always on the outside looking in.
It’s strange how much access I have to old acquaintances on the internet,
it’s sad we’re all estranged.
Everyone I know is a world away, and I’m a ghost in every world I once knew.
Depression came on like a tumor on my back.
It grew in size becoming a heavy weight that slowed me down.
Eventually I fell into a pit not eating for weeks at a time.
I neglected my physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health.
I wanted to die so I dug further into dirt and darkness,
where I hid from the Light.
Depression started a game of musical chairs in my mind.
I outlasted everyone and sat in the seat of importance,
but I didn’t realize that once you win you always end up alone.
Please forgive my victim mentality, I’m an adult, I know it’s ugly.
It’ll take me time to renew my mind,
because I knew abuse long before I knew the Truth.
I used to be grounded and down to Earth,
but at some point I found I was laying face down,
while everyone around me stood.
So I started chasing a high, because the lows were too low,
and the highs felt so good.
Substances stole my substance,
and now I’m a shadow of who I once was.
I lost self-worth somewhere along my journey.
I try to retrace my steps, but I can’t find it.
This poem is a missing persons report.
Can anyone help me find myself?
God can you help me do what you want me to do?
The devil is rising- he wants me to remain stuck.
The old demons take the front line saying,
“Long time no see, ya drunk.
You’ve been smoking so much **** you forgot about us.
You forgot about lonely lights on the corner of empty streets,
soulful sorrow, passionate poetry.
Come with us we’ll remind you who you are.
Insomnia is kind, it just wants you to come alive.
Wake up! Why do you waste your time?
Stop doing what you’re doing, you know you can’t change!
You’re dumb, socially challenged, you can’t change!
You’ve already done too much damage,
there’s no reconciling of your past.
You’ve already had a second, third, hundredth chance.
Do you really think God will give you another?
You’re a betrayer, a liar, a cheater,
a thief, a bully, a hypocrite, a murderer,
a slave to your own wickedness, you wretched sinner!
Why do you pull at those chains?
You can’t change, and you’ll never be free!
Do you remember who you are now?
There is nothing more for you.
Joy is a myth, sanity is artificial, hope is vanity,
but broken promises, pain, despair, and death is your reality.
Run, run, but you can’t outrun us.
Drink, drink, but you can’t drown us.
**** yourself you waste of space.
You tried suicide before but failed so we’re here to help you finish the job.
You nuisance tie up that noose, because no one likes loose ends.”
Some Days I don’t believe them, some days I want to believe them,
some days I fight not to believe them, and on other days I believe them.
Then another voice calls out in the maze of my mind.
It says follow me and I will show you the way out.
It doesn’t shout and taunt like the others.
It is calm, by its very nature it calls for reverence.
It leads me past rooms where before I had wept,
and wailed in a prison of my own making.
It leads me out of the painful past, away from future anxieties,
through the present troubles, and onto a clearing,
that leads to a hill, in Calvary,
where my Savior bled and died for me.
Jesus paid for the sins of the world from the beginning until eternity,
and when I remember this I am free.
Surely the truth is a sword that cuts to the point.
I was a world of lies chasing after the lies of the world.
When God came and put me on trial I had no defense.
My lies and excuses were wrapped around me like lifeguards,
but they were insufficient floating devices,
unable to help me in my ocean of conviction, guilt, and shame.
I fought for years running from his voice.
I hid in the darkness but he found me in all my hiding spots.
He shined the floodlights and told me,
“The only way to stay above the water is to first die.
You must drown the old self, because I am the God who resurrects.
You’ve been baptized into my family.
You’re a child of God.
Stop condemning what I have made clean.
Stop trying to earn my love. I give it for free.
I know it doesn’t make sense to you,
but I’m God I’m not ruled by your two cents.
I created you and the box you try to put me in.
I am not bound by time and space,
I create galaxies in scarce time.
I raise trees out of dead seeds.
I speak volumes through a whisper.
I revive countries through war and despair.
I return hate with love, and if you ask me I forget wickedness.
I cherish the weak.
As you heard the first shall be last and the last shall be first.
I pour out my spirit for the poor,
while the rich who cling to their greed will never feel me-
they continue to gather riches for themselves but are never fulfilled.
I govern through the rule of opposites so forget everything the world tells you.
If you look for fame wanting to be known, you will forget who you are.
If you gain the world, you will lose your soul.
If you lose your life for my sake, you will find it.
You will find me.”
Well I’ve found you God, and you have brought me to where I am.
Now, lead me to the bunker rooms of your heart, hidden from sin and self.
Where spirit communes with spirit, as deep calling unto deep.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if these feelings will subside.
What I do know is that I surrendered myself and found victory in my defeat.
Now and forevermore I will praise the one wielding the sword that gives life.

The waves subside,
And my reflection stares down on me.
He bids me come,
To come and find rest.
I lean in until my nose just breaks through the surface of the air,
Looking into his eyes.
I whisper words I partially believe,
"I'd come join you, but my suffering isn't done"
Then the waves gather,
And I enter the next storm,
All the while contemplating his words,
All the while breathing in these salty ocean waters.

From the moment the words splash onto the page I feel excitement like the night before Christmas. I sit collecting the thoughts and lines I conjured throughout the day, then eagerly place each piece until the puzzle is whole.
I like to imagine I have a way with words, but that's not true. I have a way of rebelling to what's been told. Unscripted lies placed in our heads by society. Schemes to make us believe we are supposed to put everything second because being “cool” is priority. Or blend in with the crowd or else you'll get pushed, shoved, and then stomped on. Until creativity is a negative connotation, they **** individualism which then gives birth to stereotypes.
I like to think I have a way of words, but that's not true. Every word has power. Though they can often be used to pierce and bruise. Tattered and misused. Each time they come out your mouth or bleed ink, paint or graphite. That's your mark and the impression you leave for the entire world to see.
I like to think I have a way with words, but that's not true. I just love a canvas to portray the good parts of me, the bad parts of me. The parts filled with animosity, fear, and definitely aren't god breathed. Just to show that sometimes I falter, so don't ever follow me.
I like to think I have a way with words, but that's not true. I'm just grabbing the torch and running with it. It's a calling not a choice. It chooses you as a vessel. The words came to me when I had nothing else, they took me under their wings and showed me destiny. The words mold me, shape me, and build me up. Give me courage to speak up.
I like to think I have a way with words, but that’s not true. The giddy feeling I get when I hear them calling to me at night, keeping me from sleep, or waking me abruptly in the morning like a cold refreshing shower just waiting to energize and excite me always reminds me that though I like to think I have a way with words, it’s not true... Words have a way with me.

I haven't slept for two days now. The nights pass by slowly as I am in deep thought, my grandmother’s radio plays at full volume in the other room, and my parents and uncle talk loudly into the ears of their loved ones an ocean away.
I hear my father tell his brother to search for his son among the bodies of the dead, I hear my mother asking for the latest news and picture her standing there holding her breathe as she listens to the tired frantic voice of the person on the other end of the line, and I play the scene over and over again where my grandmother walks slowly into my room, with a back, hunched because of years of hard labor. She stares at me with a wrinkled face and a look in her eyes that I recall seeing only a few times but only when she speaks of her past, during the rough times.
She asks me if I know what's going on, and I tell her yes. Then she begins to summarize anyways, speaking in a lowered voice so that is just above a whisper enunciating each word clearly and I understand despite the usual misunderstandings between me and her, I nod my head, and release noises known worldwide to reassure someone who is speaking that the audience is listening.
And as her words become separated by seconds that tell stories in themselves, and that look in her eyes, she says in a grave voice and in a language that seems so familiar yet foreign, “chi we dak, chi we dak” then she turns around and walks out of the room in the same fashion in which she came in.
I ponder her words as I sit there.
“The world has broken, the world has broken.”

And what of the dead.
they disappear suddenly,
but they are only gone after months and years have passed, once the living have forgotten.
They live in the darkest furthest parts of our minds, and it's on the coldest nights that we remember them,
in tears we resurrect the dead from their sleep.
Bringing them alive once again in our minds until old scents once taken for granted fill our nostrils, and blurry faces flash before our eyes,
and we mistake distant noises for the calls of our dead loved ones... Whispering our names as twilight approaches.
And it is in this twilight that we fret, when there is neither daylight nor darkness, when all things are suspended in a moment that calls for reminiscing.
Remembering, remembering, because we hate to forget. Hate to let their memories slip away so that we cannot recollect them when loneliness is descending upon us.
But they fade through generations and slowly they are forgotten, because the unforgettable are no longer remembered by the ones who can’t forget, because the ones who can’t forget pass away, and the ones who can't forget are forgotten by those who are forgetful.
So soon and sooner than we think they are gone forever, like a breeze in summer they will be forgotten in winter,
like falling stars that hold so much hope, disappearing off the horizon leaving you,
like birds soaring in the sky, a sight to see until they fly further and further away until your eyes lose them in the altitude and they are gone forever.
Only then do the dead truly disappear.