what does the preacher get by lying?
doesn’t he know that people still wouldn’t believe?
does he really think a purple light would make them flock like flies?
hasn’t he met skeptics who find it hard to dream?
is it really that hard to admit you’re not perfect
to imperfect people who are trying to be set free?
do you not trust the flock you shepherd to care for you?
did you forget that you are still a sheep?
although my lips wish to sing your curses
for leading many others to a place where they can’t see,
my heart empathizes with pride blocking your straight path,
and I pray your scars, your shame, and what holds you find release.

the skies are checkered with black and red,
an eye lingering on subtly and sunsets,
a mind pondering life and death,
something doesn't feel right-
somethings can't be righted.
some people can't be changed,
an eye lingering on the twilight,
a mind feeling all disdain.
the night sways between black and blue,
shades of incandescent light powering through,
this world could use more color,
a mind pondering a bland view.
something doesn't like white-
somethings can't be unwhited.
the ceiling skies are overflowing with dripping whiteness,
patterns catch my eyes in every collection,
a mind lingering on false eyelid brightness,
no sleep while pondering multiple perceptions-
something feels so wrong
something feels so wrong
i can't sleep
when i know there is something so wrong
when i know i can't change
when i know i can't
i know i can't

let my thoughts not dwell on this present age,
or the words on my people, or the thoughts of complaint,
but may my mind find rest in fountains of peace
and with heavy contentment, may my eyes find sleep-

unrest settles around me
and fear begins compounding
but my head lies
beneath your loving eyes
and gives into being loved graciously

fear the plague of nostalgic apathy
groaning for things no longer seen
things left behind in forgotten seas
that creep there way to be present feelings-
bitter tasting bread, bitter place instead
digesting mold, sickness, and dread-
thankfulness, no more regret,
a pure sedative to pains of ingesting death.

a letter unread is left outside the door
like a snare of anxiety
left to uproot all security in bone.
hanging heads-
hung themself;
what difference does it make
when choosing different hells.

what can i do?
a poem lamenting their anguish
so i can feel proud
to have whispered a word:
justice to the oppressed and undeserved.
what power lies in my hands
to give to those with none-
a transfusion of privilege;
one couldn't even dream it to be possible-

once diversity is blanketed in white
like harsh winter,
we will starve of life itself
and weep for days void of color.

this flower's sour-
i don't taste it's beauty
and this sunset
is still blinding;
can one find the thing
all good and all lovely
can man find the thing
of no painful tracing;
toxic breath
acid rainbow death
happiness cigarette
radiation monument
tumorous candidate-

Jesus
Holy Spirit
God my Father,
for nothing but grace
I have been able to drink
the crystal water
and taste something sweet enough
to enjoy the pain of all suffering.
I am glad to suffer in the warm pool of your joy.

sell me
sell me
sell me something sweet
sell me something x
and i'll lap it up
like i've never tasted something
sweeter than-
and i'll get drunk
on it
vomiting something deep
wishing to be in
never to be parted with
and i'll get drunk
and ***** it-

sell me something x
sell me something ***
sell me something less
sell me something next
and i'll lap it up
like i've never tasted
like i've never dreamt-
and i'll get drunk
on it
watching what little i have in me
swimming away
in a pool of me
swimming away
in a pool of me
swimming away
in a pool of me.

it’s not that i don’t like my body,
im secure in myself,
but i can feel my weight
like being shackled to a mountain,
and i can’t move without feeling
like im not myself.
i see myself
i know it’s me,
but daily slugging
fills me uncomfortably-

i’m so aware that this is killing me slowly
but my apathy leads me to eat my self to passion;
good thing i can move past appearances,
or else i might be crushed under the fashions-

i know that i need to make a change
if i long to live a life without this feeling
but is there any room left to fill this void
or will i be crushed under all of my weight.