I have pressed you so hard upon my head
That I don't think I could ever forget
Those pictures floating around like a group of haunting ghosts,
And when I shut my eyes tight I still hear them boast!

I died at the age of thirteen
When someone on MySpace sent me a link
To some page labeled "nudes here: all free",
And my heart, heavy weighted, proceeded to take a peek!
Oh I wish my eyes never got to see!
I wish I never had to know what is out in front of me!
I had gotten all that I'd wanted!
Little did I know that five years down the road I'd give anything to go back.

Sleep sweet!
That's what they tell me!
As if I never was guilty
Of looking at something so filthy!
Oh my eyes knew!
Oh my mind knew too!
The only thing pulling me closer was the desire
To feel that high and the get higher!
I never needed any spark to start my fire!
All I needed was a thought to get me inspired.

I just want to go back to when I still had any kind of innocence!
Before I knew exactly what ******* is!
I'm still trying my best to find some way to live.

My world!
My beautiful world!
Your mouths are endless fountains of profound shouts and
I have seen the things you breathe in man's hearts and
I've tried to tell my brothers that they're lies,
But we keep letting your voices in every time.

My world told me that poetry was supposed to be my only thing
And my only way of expressing my inner me.
It told me lies about who I was and how I should think.
It told me that I need to write like I bleed this ink.

My God!
I don't want anyone else to think that I'm still in love with me!
You are the only thing I want to see
And your hope has grounded me by your streams!
I'm in love with you and how you fill up my dreams!

I'm not an aching, brooding, bleeding, receding, deceiving
Deceasing, cheating, repeating voice with a black heart beating.
I am your son!
I don't know how you allow the dust of the earth
To be rebirth into your arms and claim you as a father!
My voice was always meant to be singing love songs to you.
Recently I've been dying to sing again.

I want you to know that
When I go that
I just wanted to hold my God's hand
And dance with him forever.

I want you to know that
When I go that
I honored my father with my lips
And used my fiery tongue to bless and encourage.

Silence-
Silence-
Whisper if you cannot hold it back-
Silence-
Trifling lies, rustle when that gate opens wide-
Winds blow as the windows stand agape-

My eyes drifting, floating-
Away-

Silence-
Peace to you who find it.
Don't let those voices hide it.
Don't let them drown inside it-
Don't let- those poems - awake-
Sleep-
Let it be-

Dear God...
It's been a long road of depression and weeping,
And I don't know how many tears I can keep seeing
Until those last pieces of my shattered heart
Crumble to my creeping floors!

These floors are mopped with salt!
I have shined these floors with the blood seeping from my eyes!
I can't take another person telling me that they've thought of suicide!
I've tried to sound like I've enjoyed all my pain!
But God you and I both know that I hate it!
I hate it so much God!
And I've been grieving for so long God!

My pen can only take so much black ink
Before it explodes in my pocket and ruins everything.
My mind can only take so many words
Before I've wept until my head hurts!
God I can only take so many stories
Before I myself have become their mourning!

My dear friends...
My heart breaks to know that you have thought about the end.
We were never created to hate ourselves so much that we shatter glass
And open up yellow bottles  to try and push our life back.

If you can't find another reason to live for, just live for me.
Because I still do nothing but scream
Until God hears everything!
I will not stop praying until I see you free!
Because you are still my family!
And I will fight
Until you see the light,
Because I know that you can still be alive!

Well I'm honestly not much different from you.
What makes my words more intellectual or imaginative than yours?
I guess I'm too selfish to admit
That I still don't know exactly what poetry is
Or how God intended it.
I like to think he created poems to show us his beauty
In all things, even the dark.
I guess I've done a bad job as a poet
If I am still in love with God, and no one knows it.

Correct me if you care,
But honestly who are you, and tell me, is it fair
For you to tell me
That you know the meaning of poetry?

I sit here and stare hard at the words that I've scribbled so forcefully
And the smears of the ink all over my hands.
What is the meaning of these meaningless struggles
To empty my mind of all these hateful words?
Maybe I just needed someone to blame
For all these years of anguish and frustration.

The grass is still growing,
It's cold in southern Florida,
Yet I'm still bitter.
The flowers are blooming again
And the whistle of the breeze
Is resounding throughout the hallways of my ear canals,
And the sweetest tune you could ever imagine
Is caressing all my aching muscles.
Yet still, I write things about how my life is in shambles.

If this could be the last poem I'd ever write,
I would praise God for allowing my last words to those reading
Be about how the figment of hatred that we've masked around our faces
Is nothing but wrapping paper with black paint
Covering that sweet gift of peace.
My last words to you are that I'm not wise,
I'm not as great as I think I am,
And I honestly am in love with this wonderful life God gave me,
And the peace he brings me everyday.

We are the stories of the dark and obscene!
"Hello I'm a poet, and I'm here with a dream!"
Well aren't we all just some conjured up mess of contortions!
We all want to be the super hero's for the lost and the orphans,
But we draw our endorphins from our pain, it's our portion,
And we'll publicly portray all our poorly painted portraits.

Dear writers,
I hear a lot about your cravings for emotion,
But not a lot of wisdom.
In fact, I hear a lot that that's all that you want back,
Because apparently it seems to me that you think emotion is what you don't have.

We all think we're great philosophers with great philosophical functions!
We all think that our words are more than our biased made assumptions!
Well let me be the first to say that poetry is for nothing.

You're not a poet until you go to bed at night dreaming you never wrote it!
Poetry! I wish I never got to know it!
It's the only thing still dragging me down to hell!
It's the only thing that keeps me locked in a rusty cell!
Dementia has become euphoric to me, and I still don't know why!
All I know is I've tried to **** my poetry, but it still will never die!