I know the toothless women
Who crumple on the streets
The rain bleeds through their cardboard,
The cold drips through their feet

I know the dying children
With anaesthetic arms
The angels crowd around them
With time that burns their palms

I've hugged the brainwashed gangsters
With money drenched in blood
I've heard their broken weeping
While digging up the mud

I've seen the starving faces
Of the tired girls at home
The broken, hectic psyches
That eat them to the bone

I know the burning poets
With a desperate thirst for life
The need for finding soulmates
That pierces like a knife

There's weary public servants
Who risk their lives for good
And prove compassion every day
Yet stay misunderstood

Human love is buried
Beneath the plastic weight
Of angry allegations
And a world that feeds off hate

These people may be messy,
But they're beautiful and real
With hidden dreams and secrets
And ability to feel

We have a place to run to
With lights of peach and gold
Where all the weight is lifted
And all our tales are told

We live in total freedom
So safe beneath the moon
And though it seems ambitious
Our dreams will save us soon

we’ve been chasing the
forever setting sunlight
since it rose the once,

can we please rest now?
take a long seat in the moss..
get dissolved again

Whenever someone
compares you to poetry,
be sure
you'll never
let them go.

If poetry is a way
of survival,
then
they'll never be able
to spend
any other day
without you.

Exhausted of the pavement
that most of us want.

The pattern
that almost none of us don’t need.

Chasing something
that we shouldn’t be a part of.

Ignoring
the pavement that was made for us.

I am not the problem
You are not the problem

We are problem