we, mistakes made in groping dark,
ironed and cheekkissed happy accidents,
told we arrived by love, and our purpose forward: to love.

we were chocolate milk runners.
we were completion grades.
coloring sheets of MLK and jagged cutouts of billy goats.
we were girls in sequined jeans with scraped knees.
on the basketball court we pushed pigtails to concrete.
rumors of us kissing in the lobby waiting for our rides
did circulate.

we, skinny white girls of Moore, Okla.,
skipped supper and laid at the feet of TV-watchers
like bleached branches of fallen oaks garnishing their standing brothers.

we were doorbells.
we were passenger seats.
peeking in the teacher's edition and handshaking answers in fluorescent bathrooms.
we were the first ones on the bus and the last ones off.
knees to chin, untied laces on heater's ****, winterlong sweat factory.
rumors of us agreeing to go to prom over fourth-period lunch
did circulate.

we, writers suffered writers' morality,
disregarded right, wrong, norm; lounged, waiting to be under the bus,
suffering for the story. tense matchstick lovers --  dim light for a moment and then.

we were someone else's *******.
we were someone else's hairpins.
as whatever ran so hot in us cooled, dried on thrift store comforters,
so did we. ceiling fans and ***. fingernails and boxed wine.
rumors sustaining.

and so it came, after announcements, after invitations,
after subbing in one bridesmaid for another, we were getting married.
we were grooms with empty pockets and full of sound advice.
our fathers took us behind the church,
chaplipped our foreheads,  and said,
"I know, we promised you were made from love and to love.
But I gotta be real honest here. You were made from whiskey.
And there's always the distillery."

we were jobless in wrinkled suits.
we were brown shoes; black belts.
and this will look good on your resumé. and this will look good on your resumé.
translation: how about ******* this ****? or how about this one?
a resumé was one page. we couldn't fit all the ***** on one page.

we, beardheavy and deodorant-streaked,
lived in dream houses in Ulysses, Kan., drove dream Tahoes,
watched dream Netflix, next to  portly wives who looked like
QUEEN MOTHER OF ALL THE BROTHELS OF THE LOWER MIDWEST.

we were childless.
we were wanting.
after consulting a physician and a bottle of whiskey,
we lifted and pinned the sagging belly of our wives with
a wooden board. one good **** in. one borrowed pregnancy test.

and so it came, the weddings of our sons. behind the church,
we took them aside and said,
*"I know, we promised you were made from love and to love.
But I gotta be real honest here."

Dread is a disease
most unkind, and
my guts riddled with it
whilst walking down those
narrow corridors for the
very first time.

In fact, those feelings
didn't drop until I was
stood out amongst the
spitting rain under
grey spring skies,
half enjoying a
cigarette that my
nervous body had
searched for.

A lad came to me
with cuts and bruises
decorating an otherwise
friendly face, with
an escort to keep
him stood up straight.

Before we
even shook hands
you made sure I wasn't
going to be alone upon
my first evening there.

There is only so much
handshaking you can
do until you realise that
no one actually cares
how you're doing or
what your name is
until your reports
have landed on their
desk once or twice.

But you, you cared
for a stranger before
you even know their
name. I knew from
then that you were
the real deal, but
I suppose the blood
splatter of chemicals
rotting away your liver
had dampened a
clean sheet.  

I was sad to hear
you took your own
life.

Maybe one day we
can go for that
drink

and I'll tell
you that I
learned from
you and all
this sadness.

Drink from it, that pearly blackness,
Instructed the trees; towering
Dark spires bleeding upward.
Not ominous, but cynical, like
They’ve seen this all before.

Take it as it is, they insisted.
No, don’t think of her, not now,
nor him, nor him, nor her.
Stop passing the buck
From your field; let it graze.

Don’t be embarrassed to be
That wounded deer. They
Offered some gesturing limbs
Towards your lunar embankment,
But refused further comment.

I sat there awhile, the low shrubs
Rubbing shoulders, greasy-palmed
Handshaking as if placing bets on
How long I’d last, How long it’d be
Before I drank from that pearly blackness.

You don't have to worry about
Sleep- you'll get more than enough
Before driving me to the doc's,*
She reminded me last night.

A mental note to text my boss
In the morning.
He'll understand. They always do;
Humans as full of love and worry
As anyone.

Instead of cranes, concrete trucks
And workers in black and yellow
Like bees outside my office window,

I see pinetrees dancing with winds
Warmer than yesterday's,
Beyond homefields of fresh-spring
-Light-brown-

And she breathes heavily on the
Sofa, shielded from the early
Afternoon sun,
Relieved from white coated,
Warm-handshaking sharing
Of news; none but reassuring.

Streched out like a cat mid-nap.
A beautiful, deflated balloon.
Breathing; not bleeding.
Sleeping; not anesthesized.

I worry not about sleep.
Hers is mine.

I dreamed of you.
Otherworldly. Blue and tender.
Not my pain anymore.

Did you pray for me
and asked to write a last
poem for sake of veil?

A bird takes, sand
bath, before jumps on a pyre
to prove fidelity.

Both sides opened up the doors to their once-closed countrysides.
the intense light that shined into their once dark eyes
lit up their once grey skies
in result...
such color changes had changed their once heavy and drowning pride
once sinking into the despair of mistrustful quicksands
of each other
through long-range binoculars
The now once close-up and handshaking meeting
through the opening of these once closed doors
was nothing under "Spectacular."
******* from chains of Mind-Limited training from ancestors on how to lead their people
breaking into the freed world
for their wills to explore a freer
and ingenious means in which to advance a more obsolete and dying nation...
the voices of hunger and change had broken open the barrier of light
to those ideas vacating,
A fireworks level celebration.
As to arms leads to death
Hand in hand
Side by side alliance leads to strength and advancement of future
leads
our two  nations
to salvation
Ways to fuse the divided cuts of division like a medical suture.
Now, as we grow to know and to trust one another, both sides can learn
one another's bright cultures
while abandoning other notions
that was ill-founded by ideology and myth
and empower us with much more.
growth and change
prosperity
and even
Unity
New people ruled by a leader that saw the real world through his bare eyes
rather than through the machine
now can equal with us the means
in which to live a united life
Happy and to others in conflict
A better  a way to live
as brothers in the world
Large, happy, and clean.

the absence of:

idly chatting
hugging
fawning over a new born
boisterous laughter
handshaking
bestowal of compliments
holding the door for someone
smiles
frowns
grumblers
neighbors' casual discussions  and catching up
blithely ignoring people
people to be  annoyed at
not feeling like a germ
no six feet of separation
children cavorting
no  apprehensions
no trepidations
rags in the check-out lanes

I dreamed of you.
Otherworldly. Blue and tender.
Not my pain anymore.

Did you pray for me
and asked to write a last
poem for sake of veil?

A bird takes, sand
bath, before jumps on a pyre
to prove fidelity.

Heads, Heads,
I want Heads,
Smiling Heads, handshaking Heads,
Heads full of dung,
Heads hiding tons
Heads that are scheming
Always overseeing
Heads that love licking
Otherwise it's aching
Heads making deals
After the kills
Heads who think sharp
Their sycophants clap
Heads making tails
Heads growing nails
Heads, Heads,
I want...

often you see them
Making headlines
'working' for people
and killing at night
they are all smiling
but covertly thriving
apt in hard-quashing
any dissenting voices!

they speak of rights,
they talk of justice
they air confidence
they paint rosy future
you think 'His excellence,
is irreplaceably nice.'
that's exactly the thing
they'd like to spread
while they conspire and devise

Heads, Heads...
Smiling Heads,
Heads with headgears
Heads with less hair
Heads with a cap
Heads full of crap
they come in varieties
in suits or saris
all of them are honey-tongued
with daggers under their arms
they are the looters
they fear no other
except the roars
of united men.

when the men assemble
their thorns tremble
and finally they pay
with heads that were gay
I want those Heads
it's time for Heads
enough of waiting
it's so frustrating
it's time for Heads

We need to chop
        those
                heads
                         off

chopped Heads
Head chops
chopped heads
Head chops

I want heads
warring Heads
plotting Heads
lying Heads
looting Heads
corrupting Heads

Heads, Heads,
those rotten Heads
I want them chopped
I want them Heads.

I'm Dedicated
The Definition of Dedication
Wrote this whole page while I was levitating
Sit in my room with the pen and paper
I'm innovative
They have been afraid of me since I was a second-grader
I'm a kid on the playground mom told you to never play with
There are levels of writing and I'm on the elevator
Going up to the top floor look at how we elevated
Wait you don't know our kind now? better get educated


Take both of my arms to rip them out of my sockets and separate them
Forgive me, I know I get animated
But I still save lives every single day without a hesitation
Never been more motivated
Just look at all the minds I have opened and penetrated
I am the voice for the people that think things but never say them
That's why they come to me with courage far better than the wicked
Were carrying weapons


Put the controllers away its game over
I promise I'm way colder
My people keep saying that they're hungry for new inspiration
Pretty convenient I just made a plate for them
But this world needs a makeover
If you've been waiting, The wait's over
You're about to witness a takeover  
I'm home

Now they're waiting for me to match that
The emotion and power I had in the last one
But If I don't then they will say I'm losing my passion
But If I do am I repeating my actions
Yeah look at "The Search" is massive
Ain't no way I can match that
My biggest fear of writing this page is not writing trash
It's disappointing myself and my family


See I want you to picture me
I'm in my room writing
Crying on the floor in the bathroom
In the mirror my room handshaking
Reading "Leave me alone" On my computer screen
Figuring out if I will always feel the way that I feel
Or maybe I can learn to be happy
Or maybe I can't be
Couse If I'm not strong enough are they gonna call me a has-been


Pain has always been the root of my strength
If I cut it off how am I supposed to keep growing
If I let it go won't my whole way be ruined
Then I realized this whole conversation is stupid
Never cared to impress people that don't even know me
I just write what I feel, somehow I started a movement
Trying to enjoy my life but I don't know how to do it
Wasting all of my time being afraid I'm gonna lose it


But then I figured out the reason they follow me
The reason why my family surrounds me
It's not because I'm a god I don't need you to bow to me
All they ever did was doubted me now everyone is proud of me
acknowledge or not
You're not ignoring or following
I'm just teaching them something they can't learn in their colleges
This is for the ones who live in every single day in their lives
Feels like it's darker than Halloween


You're not alone out there
Look around you we have a lot of family in here
Couple a hundred thousand is what I did last year
Read "The Dark Inside Me" trying to **** my fear
They'll get that in a minute
I am a savage I admit it
A lot of baggage I live it
That's why my passion is flooding
Really don't care if they get it
Were only three pages in it
This is just the beginning
We are Home


Isaiah & Aiden Real Life

One day we'd be sitting in a cafe,
And it'd after many months
Of silence between us.
We'd make each other feel
Our hearts were hungry for love.
You'd take out your lie
Wrapped in wonder for me,
And I'd tear it away
To see the wonderful dial
bought for my birthday last Saturday.
I'd show you my lie
That's booked for Sydney
For the holidays in March.
Tumblers in hands,
Eyes would express
A deep longing to live together.
With some moments of uncertainty,
We'd stand up quickly,
Saying let's go now,
And there'd be no handshaking,
No hug, no smile and no sadness,
As our love was empty,
And silence would follow us.