somehow her hair halts me at every sentance
a dark brown finsh over a cute slinder face
her personalty speaks rhthmic poetry
like a connection over mortal things
and the only thing she said was hi
normaly i would forget a greeting
but it seems so inviting  if the whole world went left it seemed like the right thing
so like lightning i respond hi
tripped over my words
and got lost in her eyes
a pale blue that could unviel any disguise
she said my name is hannah
and so nearly 2 hearts almost coldide

Past the trains
Within the rain
Tells a story
Simple and plain

It holds a boy
Arogant and coy
Who thinks of himself
And those to annoy

He lost his friends
Again and again
And why he was alone
He couldnt comprehend

He traveled around
town after town
He was left searching
Up and down

He wanted to find
A particular kind
Of a person
In unique design

One who would break
His aggresive mistake
And turn him human
Make him awake

But unlike fairy tails
This one did not unviel
A happy ending
Or even a sequel

His anger would feast
On those he liked least
Till he ate his beauty
And became a full beast

why is there so many faces of hate, so many reasons not too but follow the ones who taught you, to, hate. we are not born this way, to live a life filled with angering decay>our first breath was made for love crying for what , so many peopl run from. yet our human path was set, we  the life as good as death. fake plastic people revolveing door in the labor and delivry room , revolving door at the cementary and morgue. We lived this life striving for what?. to be cast down and judged. I fought my whole angasnt your hate and racism. I wonder would it been like if i wasnt hated for the color of my skin. i wonder what it wuold be like if i wasnt hated for the clothes i wear, or the tattoos that tell a story. I wonder what if would be like aif iwasnt hated for being alive.Never will the wounds of your hate and the words you say, beable to removed the scarsof your way. i m fovever changed , marked tattooed internally, emtional brutality , The worl have somany people on it most have different faces, rarely do we see these their faces of love. i wonder what it would be like if i wasnt hated , but loved. A true love like from above yet able to touch . I know i thought i experiecned humans abiblty to love, but it was a dream , a lie i chose to belive . This human race with forever hurt eachother rather then love. Its sounds crazy, that  our humanity uses fear to gain wealth and popularity. for selfish end , the common man , turn thier back and say  **** a friend. what is your price i ask you to think , is your comfortable Hate really what you wan to believe .Take off your mask , unviel your face, take a good look at love in all the human race, for how stupid can you be, to hate a whole race of people, because of a lie you choseing to believe. I wonder what it would be like to live this life not being hated for the color of my skin, i have experienced thier hate, and racist ways. yet i still stand , i still fight.... i will not laydownand walk in the masses of lies,, even though my skin is white. A white man?over privledge, white boy, always has an easy life?Now thats a lie i ask you all to dispize. it would be wise for us rto open our eyes, see the lives, like mine

sugar and ****** are the same thing
minus one clean curtail:
the breadth of the crystal is a lame liquid
the flower is self-aware
one knows the power,
has never braved a shower
the other has the breath of a child
heavy ignorance pooling in the air

which one day corrodes with realization
but the other has been
known
always known


to opal opoid Poe traces can be found in down trodden spaces
they caved to impermeance and the ultimate tempter
****** outlining a safe haven for injection
to escape the wind of the winding helicopter wings
by words


the uprooting of the white sand cube crumbles
easily
as though it faked the illusion of beating,
being
and the waves lapped it time after time
making an imprint impermanent to becoming numb

did the classics have it right?
or did they fear dismally to stray from the unearthed crack
something that would unviel multitudes
a seam that would bust and be confused
unleash madness
it only looked as such
but touching a pinky into the ripples reveals
busted seals and phony penguins
curling around their fake egg for sixty days
keeping their minds out of reach of those
who yearned for ebullience
and pretending they contained the very essence of it
they didn't really know

only a small few
in a field
on a sunless day did
or in the middle of a bell jar with cyclones
spinning around the globe
wiping raw the temporal portions
lobes sorting right from wrong

or did they all have it skewed because their sheets were never torn
and they never had to witness what it was like to go to sleep on
a cumbersome cloud and wake with their lips to a puddle in India
poor and cold
both young and old
noticing nother other than what could be
and seeing logic as a spun out drunk
the one in the puddle who has no opinions for others
or flowers or mothers or god

not slicing themselves with invisible butter knives
or asking nicely for advice
but cracking their skulls in sleep
with the cackle of crows
and rusty crowbars

i just know this
the sugar, the plainness, the liiiiiiiiiies
are nothing compared to the lilies seen after getting burn blisters
from black rains produce; poppyseed planes
i know the sugar-coated croaks were toads
diluting their world in no's
afraid to change it
to change it to yes
to say something else
something far away
but attainable


and maybe coughing and once noticing
that no matter what

we are nothing

and doing it all the same