I've faced my most terrifying fears
and let go of people I held dear
escaped in the brink of death
conquered sleep paralysis
rejected every stupid existing fad
left my ghosts from the past
passed my worst subjects and
passed everything
But I couldn't seem to handle
A SLOW INTERNET CONNECTION

I tell my problem
the operators just roll their eyes
more than a thousand peso every month
and freaking 1mbp/s everytime
I've never tasted the quick internet connection
but you can't say that this is okay
until you watch live stream online

Slow internet...
The lan is tough ahead
the rules of survival lags
the PC hangs
Can't you give us the quality we deserve
also no, to the Telepad
they're being greedy and they know it

Everyone thinks i'm just impatient
Just cause it's true
doesn't mean that it's right
so sit down on the desk
and open that PC
let me show you what it's like
to use a computer with
A SLOW INTERNET CONNECTION

the Youtube has never gave me a video with 720p
downloading movies takes forever to take
and the facebooks works like ****
but it goes fats when I restart
ain't nobody got time for that

where have conversations gone
long time passing
where have all our love words gone
long time ago
where have all our love words gone
mobiles took them, every one
when will we ever learn
I hope they will return

where have all the mobiles gone
long time passing
where have all the notebooks gone
long time ago
where have all the kindles gone
turned to tablets, every one
when will we ever learn
there will be no return

where have all the tablets gone
long time passing
where have all the smart phones gone
long time ago
where have all these gadgets gone
been recycled every one
never they will return
never they will return

where have all the users gone
long time passing
where have all the texters gone
long time ago
there lie all the facebooks slain
people try to speak again
when will we ever learn
hope they again can learn

I don’t tell them I’m going to a protest,
as I know they will not say no, it really
is far safer.
The police have been pretty fair, only a couple
of ******* arrests and cause white privilege
I probably won’t get arrested.
In a black and white democracy color is prohibited.
I never have been close in a protest yet, the police always tolerant
maybe the commissioner doesn’t ****.
I don’t boast to them about starting a chapter in my
school.
I don’t them that the chapter I started with them was finished hundreds
of pages ago.

I don’t tell them I cut class to protest the B.S minimum wage
how I ****** the very thing I’m trying to start cause 
I was in a pissy mood.

I don’t them about how my friend and I were okay
with paying a guy trying to sell us **** to buy
us alcohol, later losing 20$
and not okay with going into a tattoo shop for the same purpose.
I don’t tell them about wandering around Chinatown
feeling like we should be drunk.

About the girl who in eighth grade asked me to touch
her *****, and I don’t tell them how
two years later we start hanging out— over facebook.
She moved to London.
About how she will be in the city the day my family goes away,
about trading facebooks for fifteen minutes
and having weird *** crap on my Facebook
and talk of how Jesus is an improper child on hers.

Nor do I my parents about meeting up with a
girl who I meet a month ago at a pillow fight,
and how right they were when they said ******
tables manners will catch up to you,
about how leaving a protest cause "my parents
are ******" and later seeing those people at the burger place.
I tell my parents I’m chilling with my buddies.
I tell them that I got pizza instead of burgers.
Because friends are safer to parents than a nineteen year
old girl you met at a pillow fight and how the entire time you
could not tell if it was friends meeting up or
people who wanted more.

I don’t tell them the reason why I’m so ******* fragile
is that I can’t tell if I’m manipulating myself or being real,
or how I’m the only one who is hurting me,
for fear of saying what I just told you.

Now all of this ******* **** lives in me and I have
nobody to proofread this.
Lovely.

You see... My momma had these two lamps and when ever someone came over they always had a story to tell ... Whenever  you'd sit on our couch and find that perfect spot the one where you slightly nestled down shoulders up and feet tucked that's when you'd see . Now I heard my mother tell this story **** near a billion times but I think my parents forget I was there too... And even tho I don't remember much I remember ... So there's not always two sides to every story more like 4 in my case... My father had motioned his finger for me to come here and it was a bit odd Cuz just seconds ago he was packing his things and stacking **** at the door. He didn't say a word but I knew something was wrong by his blood shot eyes and the tears streaming down his face I had never seen my daddy cry so I couldn't help but be confused and do what I knew best, Cry.
My Daddy came home slightly drunk full of life and my momma stood in the kitchen cooking dinner this was nothing new I remember we use to watch married with children and to this day I can't find the courage to watch an episode. My mother **** near whispered as she asked my father Tim where have you been? My father made not a sound but before he could all I heard was "******* that white *****" still... not a sound and for the sake of our neighbors on 3684 sunswept park dr florrisant Missouri 63033 I prayed he'd answer... Not a sound... He sat there as if no one was in the house just him and his thoughts thinking over his day he slowly closed his eyes almost like he began to pray... Before I knew it there where these black beads fly across our living room and I could have sworn I heard opera singers singing as those graceful black beads danced there way to our couch on our lamps and on the right side of my daddy **** near giving him 3rd degree burns...
Now I don't remember nothing after that and I don't know if that was before or after he broke her jaw but I know the next day my daddy had motioned his finger for me to come here and it was a bit odd Cuz just seconds ago he was packing his things and stacking **** at the door. I never understood why my mother never cleaned those lamps I guess she kept them as a reminder. To never be weak, to understand and know your worth, to never be foolish, never to be blind sided, never to be caught off guard,girl you have to know your strength it's not to much a ***** ****** is gonna get past me... Yes I check phones emails twitters facebooks and instagrams so the next time you wanna call me a crazy ***** cheat on me call me sad and simple Plz remember I come from a long line of strong  black woman with good aim who can make a mean *** *** of black eye peas that will gracefully dance there way to our couch on our lamps and on the right side of your body potentially giving you 3rd degree burns

The Internet, for a good helping
of the American demographic,
is the highest-rated of sanctuaries.

I use "sanctuary"
in a filthy and blatantly pornographic manner,

for every time
we post on our nicotine-scented Facebooks
that we're "so ******* bored" we "could die,"
there's at least one other
hand snaking you along
those fetishes you stash beneath your sleeve
like black silk underwear;

and no matter what you do,
nothing will explain away
those two consecutive Youtube videos:
"Black muscle man in blue thong"
followed spontaneously by
"12 year old boy sings Judy Garland!",
each, to the innocent bystander,
juxtaposed like two opposing ******
in one ****** up candy shop.

The grotesque meat show,
always the same introduction,
always right on time with the
churn churn churning of his
loneliness his rage his silence
onto those sheets
with no regard for the family
and friends of fibers.

It used to be hilarious,
perfect lunch table standup,
but once you learn
that with ***, there might be
signs of love in the decipherable thrusting,
that a plot is swimming helplessly
in the oceanic camouflage of loveless living,
sticky hands can really start to sting.

I'll write and say same words I've said
     ten thousand times before
Until I don't believe
     that I believe them anymore
Because riding on this carousel
means spinning one's wheels
into moist ground
     thought I had some traction
     but it seems I thought too soon--

So I am off of the rails
Off the wagon. Off to nowhere.
'Cuz it's, "Onward, lads,
to one more night spent
covering ground's familiar footsteps
and sheeting snowy sidewalks
in the dollars we don't have."

And we'll lay 'em kinda thick
     press our prints in Presidents
pro bono comes advice
from the corners we can't heed,
but por argento comes the cure
we choose to **** our heads with

I'll pick a place, polish my boots
     get far as my front steps
where I'll sit until the summer rolls around
     and sweat rolls down in sheets

Short sheeted best hopes,
shortened thank-you notes
and lists of ****** quotes
lay around and resonate
on floors and facebooks,
tabletops
in summertime,
          when it rolls around

But, now, it's winter
and we're all 364 1/4 resolutions older
     --at 33 revolutions per minute,
     and 16 ounces at a time,
     we can almost cope.

Now, it's winter and the sheets are
          still too warm

Now, it's winter and we sheet the
          snowy sidewalks
in Presidential faces
in the dollars we don't have
and the cure we **** our heads with
keeps us safely insane
'Cuz in a world built by psychopaths,
the sane don't always last.
And, if I'm the last one out?

I'll sing a song and **** the lights before I go.

Today we were vandals
And yesterday we were saints
Nomads of the commonly know
Where bad poetry lines live
And Facebooks are forgotten
Where ice castles witness first kisses
And they dine alone
Dashing between the straight jacket high fashions
And flipped birds instead of words
This is where we belong.
I will stay until streetlights explode
And suns melts
And all I need is in your eyes
I carry you through mouse hole thresholds
And you never made drifting look so unbearable

I kinda wanna watch the Dead Poets Society and cry some more













                                               ­   and feel ok about myself










            and stop feeling so lonely inside







my own head all the time













and all the pain I've experienced, and all the pain everyone experiences, and all the hate and all the evil and all the betrayals and all the



              mad strangeness








all the dead end moments spent thinking


                           'it's about to happen'

with that little up-euphoria and a cup of hottie coffee only to have it sink again when it's all an



                  



                                       ­                  unrealized











dream


               for


                               no













                                                   ­     reason













and all the  





























                                                    distan­ce



                



                                













                                               all the facebooks










                                                      ­                            all the tumblrs


















    all the snapchats









                      all the xanax







                          









                                   all the drugs















all the





                                                           ­              sobriety
















all the



















                                                 'maybe tomorrows'




















                    all the
                                                              

­
                                                           'one days'












                                          I CAN'T EXPLAIN IT










all the banks




                         and



                                  all the houses








all the flowers looking nice and the niceness looking not so nice so the              niceness              of         the        flowers      



                                     ­       ain't

                                                       so

                                                               ­ nice



















































        ­                                    all the jobs





and




                                                            ­               all the laundry










all the money all the lies all the painful honest











                                                     ­                          truths









  all the cellphones and water



and the fridge,
                      in the quiet,
























                    humming





























                                   ­              humming































humming

























        humming

Facebooks News feed but it does not feed,
It fuels our perception of popularity,
It makes me wonder why is it this we need?
We get a thrill out of getting a like, it this humanity
Ruining ourselves with our own intelligence?
Are we not to evolve? This does not make sense,
On twitter we tweet,
But only birds tweet,
Birds are free and wild,
They do not worry about money or time,
Or if they can make the next line rhyme,
We are as free as a bird in a zoo,
Exact times to eat and use the loo,
We are slaves of our own mind,
These "intelligent" creatures which rule mankind

I spy with my weatherd eyes
A broken clock that shows me better times from my past life.
As these spiteful tides have turned me
Into a grumpy soul.

This desecrated ship of doubt
It's slowly peeling me away like a potato peeler
I need to grab my papers and maps
To find the breath that I was once searching for.
These scramblings of ramblings
So nonsensical
As they lead me to the fact
That you hate that I bite my nails

Like a hangnail you chew me apart,
Gifting me these splinters from this shovel
That I used as a kid to build mountains of possibilities
Which now leaves me a hole,
To bury my soul with.
Each stone I turn I see these regrets
That look like texts I that shouldn't have sent.

The heavens from above
Have blocked their facebooks
Casting her curses in cursive
Leaving me with my grave,
My shovel,
Memories of you.

WILted FLOWer CHild

Each generation looks forward condemning those from their past

Generational passion played out in rations, brewed in the bellies of momma who don't always plan for future drama

Dreams start as a child minor or mild, gentle inside inane shows itself from pleasant too insane

Dismiss the silly human race yet them rebelling is simply keeping up with others pace, invent the intent never truly marking time for karma

Burned bridges serve no purpose when the raging river remains, living legends are for learning more often leaves followers just yearning, lost within others' views your freedom is truly cast by what they proclaim

Grandma and grandpa now in tie dyed rockers showing grand-kids peace signs with arthritic hands, dementia-tinged memories of groovy songs that weren't all wrong, hard to show them the way if minds won't play, more of a clash in the current genre

New beginning not about right, wrong or sinning, visions of paradise few willing to compromise, Vision of pro-life lost because focus is only their own and at any cost, hard to see fate if lost in hate, an easy life lost in strife meanings harder to explain

Summer of love changing to winter of hate, players forecasting their fate, Life is what we make it, feeding a passion internally to rise up against unknown enemies, many new ways to view what is proclaimed as  righteous dogma

Many in strife fail to see the miracle of Life, enhanced by her luster, fail to realize beyond personal pleasure, to quick to insert they can,t make it here anymore,many now seem to complain just to entertain

Violence is nothing new always a tale of old and another view, folkies seen as yokels ,many more feeling Stuck in the shiny side of hell, Dance of death becoming their new aura

Lost at sea on their own ego ship, face into a wind of change, simple sailors see the sea taste the salt, new life looks to the skies, still similar neither content seeing life through a stagnate windowpane

Love and Peace replaced by blood in the street, Race is short and over before knowing if pain was worth gain, quickly played out in pluses or minuses, left in solitude with just the story, love ins lost to bad tastes of twitter and strangers on facebooks hidden melodrama

West meets east in Peace, returns in violence, lovely day gone astray as  another hatemonger starts a foray, wilted flower child needs a new drink from that characteristic bottle of champagne R.C

Do you ever feel like maybe
there is something more to this
then half empty whiskey glasses
and empty hearts that can never be filled.

That maybe every morning when
the sun pulls itself out of bed, it is
not for waking us up too, but rather
beckoning us forward to live the life we were meant to.

What if the morning call was not
telling us to check our phones and
update our facebooks, but to whisper
our lovers name over and over again in their ear until they awake.

What if we were made for something
more than these mundane affections.
What if we were made for passion,
for adventure, for anything but this.

When I was a child, I always thought
I would burn like the brightest of flames,
but now the brightest part of my day
is when I close my eyes to end it.

TIME IS ON FIRE

the girls scream…

…the world is on fire…tomorrow is burning…
the bombs scream….the living now the dead…
mere reportage…footage…pixels…talking heads talking…
time is on fire…the world twitters and facebooks…
…only water offers a chance to see…the shore approaches…
the new day dawns….
upon eyes that can no longer… see

the gulls scream

the gulls scream

I forget what my face looks like
Because my face is always in the Facebooks,
Poking my head through other people's lives
Wishing I could be invited to.
I suffer from this curse
Of being picked last in everyone's mental gym class.
They normally pick the stronger ones,
the Foxier ones, the ones who wink at them
With quick glances across the gym.
We, my friends, are the easily forgotten ones.