This life didn't come with a manual
We're forced to manually go through its ups and downs
Getting spun around on society's notion of how to live
You see, society works like a model T factory
Trying to put us down a conveyor belt
Place us in a mold and push us out like that's really how we're supposed to be
They told me I need to graduate high school at 18 Finish college at 22
Then go to work wearing a tie in a cubicle
They told me I need to provide for a wife and two kids
Bring home the bread in the form of 5-6 figures
But here's what they didn't tell me
They didn't tell me what to do when college tuition was raised again
I mean I'm already eating three square meals of ramen noodles just to make the payments
They didn't tell me that the one class I need to graduate is no longer offered
So I came all this way just pick another major
They also didn't tell me that they only hire people with experience
Now I'm stuck with a piece of paper and mountain of debt
And it's one of the best kept secrets that society tried to hide the horror
That I paid 100 grand to say can I take your order
They also didn't tell me that it's hard to find my queen
In the sea of self-entitled princesses that only want my money
They want relations, they don't want relationships
They crave the attention but none of the commitment that comes with it
Society is so focused on creating a perfect standard of living
That they forgot to tell me what to do when it perfectly unravels in front of me
And they continue to push people out of the factory
While I'm swimming in the byproduct they conveniently left me
This life didn't come with a manual
So society can't fool me by creating rules on how to live
Because racial divides say we stereotypically live differently
Yet they continually expect us to live equally
I dared to be different and chose to live for me
I was sick of living vicariously through the rules of society
And decided I am the pilot to my own destination
Flying to my own creation of life
After all, this life didn't come with a manual

I say I'm
not looking
for love but
I'm looking
I'm catching
cold glances
from eyes filled
with the weight of
sorrow been cast in gold
My purposeful fingers
reach up for money from
the gutters, this,
is just what I'm told.
Enter my ears,
enter my eyes,
enter my skin,
into my lungs.
I'm not breathing
oxygen if I exhale
byproduct. I'm out
of luck, won't press it.
I'm out of reason in
speech. Beyond
preventable death.
Regret, turned to
malice. Chest
compression. I
could have been
a good person.
What value in gold,
if I have you?

“Are you Proud?”

Are you proud, proud of the thing you created?
Are you happy, knowing your little girl, your middle daughter is breaking?
Are you excited, when I can hear you in what is supposed to the safety of my home, yelling?
Are you glad, when I cower in fear beneath my blankets, because I can’t stand the screams?
Are you euphoric, when I blend into the silence in between your conversations because that is where I feel safest?
Are you okay, when I say “I’m fine,” with a smile so wide it hurts and my eyes go dull?
Are you alright, as unknown to you I have monsters in my closet that comfort me more than you ever will, when you scream and shout at one another?

Are you Proud?

Do you sleep well at night, knowing that the sister I have grown up with hates me?
Do you go about your day, knowing that I don’t want to suffer any longer but for some reason I still do?
Do you relax well in the comfort of the couch, knowing that what little life I have left in me is feeble and fading?
Do you wake up in the morning believing the lies I tell you to keep you happy?
Do you know that reason I smile and make jokes is so I can keep the attention off of myself and not crumble beneath your expectations?
Do you realize that everything I do is to make life easier for you?
Don’t you see how I try to be mature because my father is an alcoholic child, my mother acts like violence is the answer to disobedience, my little sister hates every fiber of my being because I’m “not suffering like she is”, my big sister acts like she knows what she’s doing like she is perfect and that anything and everything we will ever to is against her.

Are you Proud?

Father, know that I don’t blame you for the things you have done to us.
Know that I don’t blame you for the cigarettes smoked on the couch nor  the boxes of beer your drink.
Father, I want to love you but I need to know you love me too, before you break what little of me is left.
Know that I wouldn’t blame you if you chose to do so.
Father, I know life is hard, especially for you but I am begging you, don’t make life impossible for me.
Know that every shout that escaped your lips is another cut that scars my skin.
Father, I love you, but I don’t know how long such words will last before they become the lies that I tell myself as I cry silently and alone in the dead of night.

Mother, know that I don’t blame you for the things you did to us.
Know that I don’t blame you for the slaps, the punches or the ignorance as to how and what we feel.
Mother, I want to love you but I need to know that you love all of us.
Know that I can’t blame you if one day you decided not to love me anymore because of something I did.
Mother, I know life is hard, we’ve heard your stories time and time again.
Know that every tear that escapes your eyes because of something I did, is another night I spend hating myself for being pain upon you.
Mother, I love you, but I love Father as well, and I need to know you won’t make me choose between the two of you.

Big sister, know that I don’t blame you for running away.
Know that I don’t blame you for all the times a fight has started because you were mentioned.
Big sister, I want to love you but I need to know that you still think of us as family.
Know that I just want all of us to be happy, together.
Big sister, I want to love you but I need to know that you won’t blame or hate us at every turn.

Little sister, know that I don’t blame you for hating me, truly I hate myself as well.
Know that I don’t blame you for all the things you’ve said to and about me, all the things you’ve done to me.
Little sister, I want to love you but I need to know that you won’t scream or shout every time I try to comfort you.
Know that I wouldn’t blame you if one day you decided to kick me out of your life and ignore my existence entirely.
Little sister, I know life is hard, especially in the world that we live in today but I am begging you, do not push me so close to the edge only to laugh as I jump off the edge and hope for release from your torment.
Know that every insult, every joke about me being the favorite child, every glare cuts deeper and deeper, and I fear my only choice is to lay down my life and bleed out from the wounds that you have inflicted upon me.
Little sister, I love you, but I don’t know how long I can keep telling myself that when you do nothing but prove my words to be untrue.

Are you Proud?

Father, Are you Proud of the way we cower in fear when you begin to yell?
But I don’t blame you for doing so.

Mother, Are you Proud of the way you stress us with your expectations?
But know I don’t blame you for wanting the best for us.

Big sister, Are you Proud of the way that you left us without you?
But know I don’t blame you for wanting to escape.

Little sister, Are you Proud of the way that your words hurt me so?
But know I don’t blame you for hating me.

Are you Proud?

Dear future me, know that I won’t blame you if you don’t make it to  18 years of age because you couldn’t handle life anymore and you chose to take refuge in the comforting embrace of death.
Know that I won’t blame you for all the bad choices that you are bound to make because of what I do now that makes your life miserable.
Dear future me, I want to love you, but I’m not sure I can. I have no idea, none that I could even fathom as to what kind of person you will be, I want to be proud of you but knowing me, I’ll never be proud of you.
Know that I don’t blame you if you resent me, I don’t resent the younger person I used to be, rather it’s pity that a child so small grew up to be such a disappointment.
Dear future me, I know that life is hard, believe me I know, I can only imagine how much worse it’s going to get for you,  so future me, no matter how close you are to today, thank you for waking up in the morning.
Know that every up has a down, but not every down has an up. Not all even plots of earth stays flat and earthquakes are bound to happen.
Dear future me, I love you, you might not believe it but I do. Know that no matter how much you hate yourself, I love you. I love you for waking up in the morning, for getting through each and every day even when it feels like there is a weight on your entire body that you never get used to. Still, know that as of today, the younger version of you truly loves you no matter how much you grow to despise your every fiber of your existence.

Dear dead me, death is not something that one can escape, so thank you for holding out for  however long you did. I have only two things to ask you.

1) Did I die on my own terms? Because I refuse to be a byproduct of something out of my control. And secondly...

Are you Proud?

I exist
on the border
between Reality,
and the Imaginary.

I breathe in belligerent Black,
and Withering whites.
I am incapable of grays,
a gradient of gruesome Grief.

I dance on the Border,
exhaling exuberant fragility,
my border is made of glass.

And I rise from the ashes,
a Byproduct of the
bridges I've burned.
Craving soothing touch,
Yet silently seeking
Incriminating Isolation,
Addicted to my own destruction.

A shattered soul dutifully
Dances on the Border,
Held captive by her sins.
Trapped between Good
and Bad. Happiness
and Heartbreak. Lost
and Found. Death
and Resurrection.

Born on the Border, a
Simple Figment of
Immoral Imagination.

Though use of line breaks is art,
it needn't use them at all to be so.

Punctuation isn't necessary, per se,
yet some tend to opt for it anyway.

Sometimes rhyme serves only to detract,
but it can also catalyze familiarization of the abstract.

Meter is a byproduct, but it can be deliberate;
some people like pop, but others jazz or prog;
rhythm means more to some than others,
and some recognize in places where others do not.

Some find it unnecessary to consider; a waste of time.
Some find it to be balancing and are compelled towards it,
and would have it no other way.

Whatever it means to you
is what's truly important;
you have to feel something
so you might as well express it.

Those who will understand
will truly understand-
though that is a different group
than those who may well say so.
Be not jaded: they overlap!

The Traveler does not so much choose the Way
as the Way seems to Shepard certain Travelers;
how is it that can be?

Call it:
God, Tao, Zen, Consciousness, or the Universe itself;
it is all and nothing; inside and out,
it's neither a thing, nor nothing,
so tread lightly and embrace the paradox
because it really is irrelevant
how One chooses to effigize it-
it's what One has within already
that will serve as One's salvation,
and that's really all that matters.

Should we seek to harbor that of others, as well,
we could become as we've seldom been known to be.

In any case, we'll meet in the light;
whence we've all come, to begin with-
whence we've been ever since-
whence we've been blinded
seemingly of our own volition.

Be conscious of what makes you Live
and then help it to actualize,
all the while seeking that others
may do the very same.

Blessings upon thy Path-

I’m the thing in the middle of the street at night.
I’m an alcohol prone cigarette drone.
Roll me up some suicide, I puff it with pride.
I’m what’s feared at night.
I even give myself a fright.
The world takes pictures of me.
A spectacle.
I’m the perfection of failure.
I’m the shadows.
The dismal abyss the world needs.
I’m colder than a robot.
Quieter than a rat.
I’m what you can but can’t see.
I’m cheaper than air and just as useful.
Use me up, ******* away.
I seek love and connection.
A warm place to be.
My disposition cuts connection clean.
I’m the H spoon.
Never washed, always abused.
I’m spread like a disease.
Unwanted, and to be killed.
Eradicate me please.
I’m a ***** injected, loose connected, nicotine aspirated, four cylinder waste machine.
No one cranks me with the hand of desire.
Just in lust of deceit and fire.
I’m thrown away when you’re done with me.
I’m the byproduct of society.
The degradation of sobriety.
I’m the Night Rider.