I'm a human of the contemporary times
A millennial, part of Generation Y
A digital native in shrink wrap
An open minded, wide eyed, big mouthed wind tunnel

A genetic, mathematical, anatomic error
I'm souped up and decked out
I'm high maintenance with low standards
My humor is low brow, my expectations are nonexistent
I see the negatives as positive
I see the positives as negative
I think in subjective and objectives
I'm on the web
But off the grid

My pockets full
But my wallets empty

I'm over educated
But underemployed
I'm overworked
But under paid

I'm a bisexual, bipolar by product of society
I'm a hardworking, dedicated procrastinator
I'm an inarticulate fat head who isn't afraid to speak his mind
I'm a cold hearted hothead
I can hear, some times I don't listen
I'm clean and polished to get my hands *****
I work my fingers to the bone
Then cross them in hope of better tomorrow
And knock on wood until my knuckles bleed

You can check my Facebook profile
Read my Tweets
Scroll through my Instagram
Send me a Snapchat
And you can kiss my ***
I'm non-toxic
I'm irreplaceable
I'm a rarity
I'm an oddity
I'm offbeat
Off centered
Off color
Off kilter
Out of tune
Out of my mind
Hypersensitive
Indifferent
Rude
Crude
And universally unacceptable

I'm wasting time
And taking up space
But I'm living it up
I won't die down
I'm two steps ahead
I'm left behind
Coasting on thin ice
Walking the edge
Pushing the limit
And taking a nap
I'm greedy
I'm *****
I'm lazy
I'm angry
I'm cocky
I'm envious
And I'm
Not sorry

I like laying low
I love being high
I don't want to be a stick in the mud so I get ******
I'm a street smart *******
I'm book smart dumb ****
I'm an eloquent gutter mouth
I speak in
****** vernacular
Passionate profanity
Cynical sarcasm
And choleric curses
I have criminal ties
And it suites me
I'm a ball hogging, showboating team player
I'm a devoted alcoholic
I'm a thrifty shopaholic
I'm in school
But out to lunch

I've got friends
I've got enemies
I've got my family
And I've got problems
I hear voices in my head
I see things that aren't there
I over look
Over analyze
And over think
I under cook
Under appreciate
And underestimate

I use my WiFi to listen to LoFi
I watch low quality television in Hi Def
I'm a bombastic contentious objector
Taken aback but forwardly thinking
In your face
Out of stock
Unisex
I get down
And get it up
I'm a low key middle man
Undeniable
Unlikable
But lovable
A grounded skyrocket
Detachable
Seasonal
Unflappable
An everlasting
Know nothing
Know it all
I'm a egg-headed basket case
I'm a real heel
A loafer
I got the boot
Because he couldn't afford to live in a shoe
Or the box it came in
I'm broke
I'm busted
Discussed
Disgusted
But I loved
I care
I help
I laugh
I try
I cry

I'm on the short bus for the long haul
I have no money but I always got my two cents
I'm good with secrets
I'm bad with numbers
And good with money
I'm bad with people
But yet they love me
I'm unbiased
Tolerant
And impatient
I'm abstract
I'm avant garde
I like violent ***
With volatile love
I like pornographic snapshots
******* ******* motion pictures
Live action lust
But nothing beats my meat like the real thing

I shop at second rate super markets
First rate second hand stores
I'm on cruise control in the fast lane
I'm double parked
I've been traumatized
Dramatized
Hospitalized
Ostracized
Demoralized
Desens­itized
Exorcised
And I've had my toes stepped on

I was a premeditated mistake
A failed abhorrent abortion
Vaccinated
Alienated
Regulated
And always medicated
I have a an attention span an inch wide
But, I'm real
I'm honest
I'm kind
I go hard
But  take it easy
I'm always slick
But never ******

Wheeling and dealing
Clipping and stealing
Lending and giving
Living and breathing

I think this one's a keeper
You've all dug me a little deeper
Hope you enjoyed my veracity
Because this poem is completely me

i first considered suicide when i was 12
life didn't really get better afterwards
i fell asleep crying years before as a young child
because i couldn't be convinced
that my parents loved me.
literally, i said to their faces, sobbing,
that they didn't love me.
and their response was not sugar for an ant
i didn't believe their words
i spoke with certainty
i cried with surety.
so that emotion is ****** from the beginning.

for a few years, the idea of death didn't exist.
life was too terrible,
confusing,
abusive.
verbally, physically, sexually,
i couldn't entertain the thought.
my life got worse
until it felt better
a mask had formed.
some kind of shell.
hollow, but still of some substance.

before turning twenty, death returned.
i didn't want to **** myself
i just wish i had never existed.
i found that distinction intriguing
although impossible, it relaxed my nervous mind.
then it happened,
i thought i found love.
i felt welcomed.
i felt accepted.
i felt appreciated.
but i never knew love
so what i thought i found
was actually just a person being a person
to another person.

my mind twisted into improbable knots
my heart was attempting to untie them.

life went on.
up and down.
lows got lower, until the valley raised
sunshine glowed brighter, until the clouds came.
i drank, alone.
even at parties
i drank alone.
somehow, loosing control felt right
it felt like chaos
if felt like the theme of my life
it felt like natural order
and i loved it.

i traveled
i drank
i worked
i drank
i studied
i drank.

at some point,
death became appealing again
i was on the other side of the world
riding a motorcycle through a distant countryside
one morning in December i said to myself
"i could die today, and that would be ok"
wouldn't you know it, just a few hours later
two bloodied gashes needing a number of stitches
fractured face in multiple places, a broken wrist.
i didn't die.
i just ended my expanding experience.
i don't remember what happened.
truly
the last thing i remember was seeing a tree
lost in the middle of a lake, a reservoir.
theres some significant symbolism, i think.
the doctors said there weren't signs trauma
no serious or minor concussion
my friends told me it looked like i was seizing
or that i had fainted
i just find it really odd that those would all come together
so conveniently.

time continued, life did too, even though i was uninvolved.
a conscientious objector.
life got better, or at least felt better
then it got worse
and the cycle continued.
i tried to love, i really tried,
my past was shared with a loving woman
and she held it against me
as if it was my fault.
so i drank,
i drank, found pills,
saw the morning rise covered in hot ash.
and knew i should be dead.

it got better for a while after,
until once again

death and i were talking.
he told me he's set a place for me at his table
the food is warm and
his door is always open.
i just have to take off my shoes at the welcome mat.
i made sure to tell him how kind his offer was
but my soles aren't run down just yet
i still have a few more miles left
somehow, i don't think it matters
we're all killing ourselves by living
so why not die trying.

They'll shoot me in the morning,
for leaving my **** post;
by the time you get this letter,
I'll probably be a ghost.
Didn't want this ******* war,
stabbed the dummy and yelled "****!";
not my idea of passing time,
not my usual kind of thrill.
I'm a pacifist at heart,
learned my lessons the hard way;
now my Uncle Sam,
requires me to stay.
But I said, no, not going to,
I hopped he Greyhound Bus;
said good riddance to it all,
now, what's the ******* fuss?
A simple parting of the ways,
is all that I desire;
I got burned by Army brats,
got too close to the **** fire.
They'll shoot me in the morning,
with a blindfold... or without;
this poem's my legacy,
the last and final shout!

Launched by strains of Auld Lang Syne
Leaving all that he had known
For love of far greater purpose
Glory! Ambition! The throne!

The code of morality
Death to our enemy
But don’t ask why
Life to our legacy
But don’t ask why

The flags wave highest
That most proudly sends their sons to war
Waving at the end of decency
Or is it the beginning that we fight for

For what is decency
Except to spare the life of the enemy
Yet that is not our charge
It is not to show mercy or remedy
Instead it is to march triumphantly
Never counting the dead
Only the medals pinned to a chest
Only the horrors lining his head

And though exhorted to turn the other cheek
Forgiveness is only a bent knee on a rug
He has received his pardon on this earth
For all that WILL be done before his grave is dug

But not for bats disrupted by gunfire
With shadows forming lattice lace upon rocks for the sacrament
But the sands once shifted by God’s breath
Is now ink made holy by the holder of the parchment

What coward would accept condemnation
Rather than death by enemy sword, sharpened
By the exceptionalism of old men
Whose achievements canonized but burdened
In their own minds
Forgetful as they grow into legend
Excepting of their own courage
In the stories they imagined

Giving white feathers but not for honor
To those who plant flowers in rifles
Flowers loved by Kings and Queens
Who smell them while reading lifeless bibles

Those loved by their mothers
Faceless as they march
The song of glory speaking of freedom
While they pass the closing doors of the arc
Their wives would rather weep tears of pride
Than of tears of shame
But what difference to his soul
Rising for what purpose or game?

To honor his family or his God?

Going down with the ship
Accepting the bullet from the front
Falling not upon his sword but upon that of the savage
For that is how to die like we want
There is no reason that must be validated
Victory or defeat
He gave his life without question
And now his name is on a street

But still, the sun rises again
Callously living without purpose
For no man can touch its soul
No sword can plunder its surface
No words can destroy its pride
No tragedy can darken its rays
No, it is the earth that must rise and set
Living waiting until the end of days

And the coward drew small comfort from this
Knowing nature is an idle spectator
As is a flame at the end of a spear
A fire that only kills and not worth dying for

But a spear in the hand of a subject
Serves only its King
While the flower he picks prepares to die
Dishonorable and in shame
For though they may were once beauty
It is only to mark the graves
And line the path of solemn remembrance
For those who hope that God saves

I can't do it!
Don't force me to ****!
Don't give me that gun!
It gives me a chill!

I can't take a life!
It's as important as mine!
This feeling should be mutual!
Then war would decline!

when i'd be asked in the past
'do you collect anything?'
as a child i'd feel an obligation

my friends collected buttons,
christmas ******* rings,
compiled shells,
or gas station keyrings

so i collected can tops
and squishy toys from beach side shops
pointy pointless scraps of metal
that now sit in a dusty jar
and stuffed lizards and seahorses
in a box under an old bed

and when they said
they didn't get it
i knew i didn't either
but i'd say the metal
is sentimental
it really is a keeper
honest

and now i'm older
i'm no objector
to being a collector
promise

because in a box
inside my heart
beyond the dust,
i'm honest,
i keep a stash
tied in a sash
of all the things
i've sprinkled with stardust

of all the memories
of days i loved
and too ones fogged with miseries

of scars formed from thunderstorms
for thorns are as much of a blessing
as the caressing from surrounding roses

of people who loved me
and people i despised
of eyes i glanced at once and
should i see again
would go unrecognised

for when i'm collecting moments
i am collecting lives
and there is no better way
to be alive
than revising every moment
as if it were chosen
by you
from that gas station
instead of just through obligation

I fell in love with you which was like giving you a loaded gun and asking you not to shoot
You pulled the trigger but luckily I had already fallen so you missed me
I looked up at the exact moment the bullet left the gun
And it hurt just as much as if you had got me like you intended to

Cracks in the foundation -
They don't make 'em like they used to. Chipped concrete, rusted rebar
Fading facade

I make facile arguments
Excuse myself

Blame mental illness
Blame the drugs, the molly years
Blame ****** (I don't choose life)

*******,
Ian McGregor

Blame the ****** February weather
Blame the itchy sweater
That is life

If that truly is life then,
Become I conscientious objector?
Already live in Canada

Blame the city
Blame the *****
Blame yourself

They say we have agency
I grasp, I reach
But the fruits
Are bitter sweet
**** the bed honey
Like Spud lovely

Which lines do I keep?
And who to throw away?

I am a conscientious objector
to this System's Ubiquitism

Is anybody out there
Are you stuck in the cold
Are you reaching for air
Don't you dare fold

Do you need somebody for you
Can you breathe
I am here for you
Come find me

If you're scared
Just please, hold on
If no one has cared
It is I you can count on

I'll be your protector
I'll be your friend
I won't be your objector
I won't leave when it's the end

I'm only a stranger
Trust me if you dare
I won't put you in danger
I promise, I care

They stand in their uniforms straight and tall,
They are family members one and all.
They put on the uniforms, not for money, fame, or glory
But for the untold story.
The story of wanting to be free to raise their families.
A story of love, emotion, and religious devotion.
They are willing to take the stand, and become the sacrificial lamb.
They are the AMERICAN soldiers who believe in liberty
To be able to express yourself no matter what it may be.
They come from the farmlands, the mountains, the big cities
And the small towns, where every soldier imaginable can be found.
Just read the story of Sergeant ALVIN YORK who in the
First World War he had fought.
He was a conscientious objector who came from the upper
Farmlands of TENNESSEE – didn’t believe in war but wanted to be free.
They told him about the founding of AMERICA and what they had gone thru
And to make a decision of what he wanted to do.
He sat on the mountaintop staring across the land
Knowing he had to make a decision – he had to take a stand.
With the thought of the bible s verse “thou shall not **** “
And the other thought saying “freedom is not free”
This has been going on throughout history.
He and nine others captured more prisoners than they dared to count
This is what AMERICA is all about.

louis rams

Float seamlessly in dark.
Come in my arms,
like a cloud―
like a moon.

The cult will live
on for eternity to
meet the challenger.

The objector had
the flatfoot. Will walk
overdressed.

In eerie silence―
an agile titan was going
to vilify himself.

Conscientiously I
wanted to feel you once
in my verses.

No virtue, no sin
was needed to come to
the lips of an abyss.

It is very difficult to explain what someone means to you who you've never met. I suppose we all have our heroes and those we admire greatly. But beyond admiration, sometimes there is someone who has an effect on how you view the world; an effect that shatters your naiveté and profoundly opens the door of the human mind, personal behavior and possibility. For me, Muhammad Ali was that person.

“The man who views the world at 50 the same as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.”

That one quote of his is all you need to know about the man. It transcends sports and the violence of his chosen profession. And while we all admire the sheer will of his being to over-come a near death experience in order to win a fight, it was his willingness to accept ridicule, scorn and accusations of treason or of being a coward that showed how much more his will was than just beating up another man.

As a child I was loved boxing and studied up on its history, especially the heavyweight division. I was aware of Jack Dempsey and the long count, Joe Louis and how he fought Max Schmelling, the pride of **** Germany and how Joe came knocked him out in the first round after a previous loss to Max, but then later in life he became friends with Joe Louis and assisted his former rival financially in his later years, eventually financing his military] funeral in 1981. , Rocky Marciano and his undefeated record and Sonny Liston with his terrifying scowl. But to me Muhammad was the greatest of them all because he combined power and speed. He could fight like a middle-weight and stand toe to toe with the strongest men who entered the ring with him.

But all of that suddenly didn’t seem to matter when I learned that he refused to go to Vietnam. At the time, like so many of you I was a child. All I knew about the war was the child-like fantasy that our soldiers were supermen and that we were going to win the war. We were the good guys. And yet here was this black man, so known to me suddenly refusing to go. I learned about a phrase called “conscientious objector.” I wondered how a person could just say they wouldn’t go because it was against their religion; especially if this same person was savagely beating people in the ring. It was a dichotomy that I do not fully understand even to this day. I wondered how a man who had the courage to enter the ring and fight would be called a coward by other men who would never challenge him to a fist-fight. I wondered about hating our own country and saying that he had no reason to hate the Vietcong. I wondered about what our country had done to blacks over the years and how maybe, just maybe they had a point.

And I wondered about becoming a Black Muslim and changing his name while calling his former name, his "slave name."

These things all entered the mind of a child. And I didn’t know what to think. But as time passed and he continued on as a boxer, I continued to admire his skills. I admired the way he carried himself after his defeat against Joe Frazier in their first fight. That was a shock to me because I thought Ali to be almost god-like in his skills and the way he lived life. But then he came back and later defeated Frazier twice. It taught me that we can be great even with a blemish as he was no longer undefeated.

And then came George Foreman; another terrifying man in the ring. Even more terrifying than Sonny Liston. Nobody thought Ali would win. But win he did and it was the greatest victory of all; because it was a modern day tale like David versus Goliath; Ali showed how his mind was his greatest weapon and how it can help a person overcome any odds; any disadvantage if they are willing to use and believe in themselves. Again, the possibilities of life were presented to me. You can do it another way.

But you have to believe in yourself.

“The man who views the world at 50 the same as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.”

And now these words mean so much to me because I believe I have not wasted the past thirty years of my life. I believe I have changed. And I believe I am now able to consider all possibilities before I decide what I believe and how I should judge the actions of another person. Though we are taught not to judge we find ourselves in situations where we are forced to judge. And when a man refuses to serve while another man does serve, giving his life for his country, then it is hard not to judge. And I’m not here to tell you that Ali was right not to go because I know I have friends who went along with their Fathers. And they deserve every honor and not a message that they died in vain. But what Ali did was make me think about the future and a world where a young man should not be forced to give his life for the ambitions of another man. Or the fears of another man. It taught me to think about peace and love. And to understand the culture and burden carried by another man.

Because not everyone is raised by loving parents. Not everyone was born free and made to feel special. Not everyone can live a life of relative ease.

And very few have the courage to live their life by their conscience. Muhammad Ali was that type of man. A black man in America, straddling the times of Jim Crow and the Civil Rights Act of 1964. A black man living in a time of hate and violence. A MUSLIM black man who saw a CHRISTIAN black man assassinated for speaking out for TRUTH, JUSTICE AND LOVE.

All I can say to my children is that this man WAS A MAN.

RIP Muhammad. You rose before us all and now you can take your place among angels who stand waiting for your great soul.

Doesn’t seem to make sense
Why is anyone tense
Can we not just relax
And omit the pretense
Just admit
We are flawed
Some of us
Above law
As the others below
Long ago
Made our peace
But it speaks of injustice
And hushes its streets
Is inured
To succumbing
Insured
Against loss
And desensitized
Genocide
Keeps you addicted  
Submitted,
Subdued
In their ruse
You’re enlisted
So march
Soldier on
To recurring mistake
Let your pride
In our homicide
Rate
Make us great

oppressive season
causes a struggle to breathe
unseen pressures mount without count
as prophetic undertones threaten mankind –
I try to unwind with Kind I grew myself
but the smokey flavor offers no solace
placing my weary head into my earth-stained hands
and any attempt at plan formulation is met
with only the recognition that the tears
falling from my cheek to the dusty ground
are not only soundless, but barely alter the brown hue –
Not often am I left uncertain of what to do
Normally I tighten boot straps and **** in the gut
pick myself up and continue the fight…
today tiredness overtakes me, breaking my
spirit and filling me with fear
unable to steer clear the queer feeling
takes my complete focus
So long since I gave my laurals some work
too much time has passed for me to go all
conscientious objector
the debt collector knocks incessantly
    the phone has not been quiet for days
         grinding gears and twisting metal
               fill my ears……..
                  and the sirens…….
                             the sirens………
                                      the sirens………

It was immaterial who had fired the first proverbial shot in the great Schenectady logomachy.
What was immediately clear, however, after the proverbial dust had proverbially settled
was that the battle had left no survivors.

Proverbially.

And what had begun as a simple ballot measure to rebrand the municipal mascot
had ended in the annihilation of every intellect in Schenectady County.
And much of the East, West, and No Coast regions of the United States.

The grass roots campaign to replace the Schenectady Patriot with the Schenectady Concientious Objector
(a figure no less devoted to country, but more "free thinking," its proponents would argue)
had gathered unexpected steam when introduced to the public at large
in a tweet by the nation's commander in chief.

The inevitable result being a relentless and fast paced evolution of the story
by all-day-all-night-all-the-time news producers.
All using the same words with different tone and inflection.
And the relitigation of every detail
by 37% of American households.  
Including 6% that didn't actually give a ****, but enjoyed participating.

So what had been good natured
and modestly ambitioned
civic badinage
progressed through all the stages of twenty-first century newspeak
familiar to the politically observant of the time.
With any nuanced or genuine debate
relegated to micro-audienced podcasts
and IRC channels scattered about the internet.

And when the measure passed.
As part of a pendulum swing greater than itself.
The victors
taken by surprise
and frayed at all edges
by the death threats and vitriol visited upon them in the preceding weeks
felt sure
that everything would be better off simply left alone.
While their detractors
apoplectic
foretold the end of civilization.
And prepared accordingly.