Sun.
I sat on the top of the Sequoia tree
blinding myself by watching the sun in the sky.
Hoping by watching that sun
I can find the answers my
Son wont provide
When I ask
Why?
See I already called his high school,
talked to the teachers.
Who provided me with details
of the actions done
by taunting little righteous preachers
Now don’t get it twisted
mama didn’t raise no punk
In fact the boy can be
downright devilish himself
If only a tad more sensitive than most
And so my son cries
when not him
The track-running star
but his shy gay best friend
Is beaten within an inch of his life
And my son
He cant bring himself to
Tell me why he wish
It had been him instead
I watched the sun be
foolishly swallow by the world
but I am comforted in
knowing both will rise again tomorrow.
Showing posts with label Drafts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drafts. Show all posts
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Butterfly draft 2
in a cocoon reality where she is not so weird and frightened to think of herself as different. where it possible for her to love not at an arms length distant. but from within. hate so little cry a bit less and dance more.
all the colors have a hint of magenta to them and cats were more adored. smiling is never forced and sleeping an occupation. tales of the sun being war shipped off to become men are just fables. to scare little boys into not doing chores. for war is not present in the absence of peace. but harmony is the reworded of its presence we must keep.
as mothers absorb the presence of the sun they become humbled just for the offered gift of its warmth. the clouds transforms the sky. routine is just a made up word and structure only comes in chaoas. books are vivid and death is lovely. never sad and never lonely. being able to miss someone would never make her feel weak or weeping for no reason appear too meek.
flowers are handed out ever Thursday. music is played during every meal. food is not a privilege for the wealthy, and water is never used to as a tool to oppress the unlucky. in an alternate universe where she is not weird and dont think of herself as needing to be fixed. there is a difference between sexual beings and sexual objects. just as its okay if you want to hurt them for making you cry is not okay to actually go out and take a bat to their car.
everyone is vegetarian animals are not killed for sport. humans are capable of coexist. naps are mandatory. age is an illusion beyond numbered list for all to compare. we remain child like all throughout the years.
everyone is different and growth is beneath the skin of human development. we dance and play. flutter by and by expanding to greater heights in our transformation. we become beautiful in the sky. only because we know no other way to fly.
all the colors have a hint of magenta to them and cats were more adored. smiling is never forced and sleeping an occupation. tales of the sun being war shipped off to become men are just fables. to scare little boys into not doing chores. for war is not present in the absence of peace. but harmony is the reworded of its presence we must keep.
as mothers absorb the presence of the sun they become humbled just for the offered gift of its warmth. the clouds transforms the sky. routine is just a made up word and structure only comes in chaoas. books are vivid and death is lovely. never sad and never lonely. being able to miss someone would never make her feel weak or weeping for no reason appear too meek.
flowers are handed out ever Thursday. music is played during every meal. food is not a privilege for the wealthy, and water is never used to as a tool to oppress the unlucky. in an alternate universe where she is not weird and dont think of herself as needing to be fixed. there is a difference between sexual beings and sexual objects. just as its okay if you want to hurt them for making you cry is not okay to actually go out and take a bat to their car.
everyone is vegetarian animals are not killed for sport. humans are capable of coexist. naps are mandatory. age is an illusion beyond numbered list for all to compare. we remain child like all throughout the years.
everyone is different and growth is beneath the skin of human development. we dance and play. flutter by and by expanding to greater heights in our transformation. we become beautiful in the sky. only because we know no other way to fly.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Draft 1 issues poem
I am fucking beautiful
When I look in the mirror and see my alabaster skin, silky and untainted
I becoming giddy and warm inside for I am pure as snow
My baby soft head, is smooth and shaved down the to scalped.
I love rubbing lotion on it messaging the meaty flesh that cradles my superior brain within in its walls.
And I hate covering up my skin head just because some uppity, nosey ass folks down at the unemployment don’t like my swastika, tattooed right in the back of my white noggin.
No I cant see it, Yes I did want It there,
Got the nerve to look at me like I am fucking Hitler himself and deny me the rights I was born and obligated to have.
No I am not Hitler, I aint that luck but if I got the chance to meet I would give him a good slap on
the back and say well done.
But it wasn’t enough for God help us all, look who is running the county.
Next thing we know, were going to be swinging from the trees and hugging on one another like
We are all at some damn hippy fest.
No, I don’t have no job all the spicks and wetbacks got em.
What do I do all day?
I sit on my stoop, morning, noon, and evening and watch.
Watch as the coons walk by with their heads down because they know I am staring.
Listen to the radio as the japs and jews, gays and muslims dominate this country, bring it further down the path of disgrace.
Laying with our women, spoiling and corruption our children
But one day, we are going to have our holy war just as God intended
Blacks versus whites on the street and we all know who will be victorious.
I get hard just thinking about it.
And just so you all know, I aint going no where until that day comes
This is my home, I was born and raised
Just as my daddy and his daddy and his daddy
Born and raised
Right here.
When I look in the mirror and see my alabaster skin, silky and untainted
I becoming giddy and warm inside for I am pure as snow
My baby soft head, is smooth and shaved down the to scalped.
I love rubbing lotion on it messaging the meaty flesh that cradles my superior brain within in its walls.
And I hate covering up my skin head just because some uppity, nosey ass folks down at the unemployment don’t like my swastika, tattooed right in the back of my white noggin.
No I cant see it, Yes I did want It there,
Got the nerve to look at me like I am fucking Hitler himself and deny me the rights I was born and obligated to have.
No I am not Hitler, I aint that luck but if I got the chance to meet I would give him a good slap on
the back and say well done.
But it wasn’t enough for God help us all, look who is running the county.
Next thing we know, were going to be swinging from the trees and hugging on one another like
We are all at some damn hippy fest.
No, I don’t have no job all the spicks and wetbacks got em.
What do I do all day?
I sit on my stoop, morning, noon, and evening and watch.
Watch as the coons walk by with their heads down because they know I am staring.
Listen to the radio as the japs and jews, gays and muslims dominate this country, bring it further down the path of disgrace.
Laying with our women, spoiling and corruption our children
But one day, we are going to have our holy war just as God intended
Blacks versus whites on the street and we all know who will be victorious.
I get hard just thinking about it.
And just so you all know, I aint going no where until that day comes
This is my home, I was born and raised
Just as my daddy and his daddy and his daddy
Born and raised
Right here.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Moist and Damp
I went swimming and stayed there for days.
Laying on my back
with just my face pointing towards the sky.
With gravity pushing me up, never letting me down.
I heard my heart beating and
I felt, even days after
in a drifted high
the rhythm of me drowning.
It put me to sleep at night, gave me
a tune to walk to and
a song to capture.
Its a coping mechanism that I
switched on to reassure myself that I still had
...sorry have,
a heart. A beating red popper
that is still whole, all mine, and alive.
I go under every once and a while.
Just to be reminded what still lives on in my chest.
Long ago had
I gotten used to the dull ache
located just under my ribcage.
Now, it just tickles whenever I sneeze,
acts as suppressant, and
clenches with each breath.
I have learned
not to trust the people I meet,
for they will easily tie rocks to our
wrist and watch us sink.
Laying on my back
with just my face pointing towards the sky.
With gravity pushing me up, never letting me down.
I heard my heart beating and
I felt, even days after
in a drifted high
the rhythm of me drowning.
It put me to sleep at night, gave me
a tune to walk to and
a song to capture.
Its a coping mechanism that I
switched on to reassure myself that I still had
...sorry have,
a heart. A beating red popper
that is still whole, all mine, and alive.
I go under every once and a while.
Just to be reminded what still lives on in my chest.
Long ago had
I gotten used to the dull ache
located just under my ribcage.
Now, it just tickles whenever I sneeze,
acts as suppressant, and
clenches with each breath.
I have learned
not to trust the people I meet,
for they will easily tie rocks to our
wrist and watch us sink.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
3 word Wednesday
bait jump victim
Freedom.
She was finally free and finally here.
Along with the breezy blue lipstick, she wore a wavering smirk on her lips that appeared to be melting into a frown. Control was never her strong point, but that can be fixed easily with a double shot of vodka. Nerves in all.
Her left hand felt naked without the band that use to suffocated her finger. For 6 years it was as if it slowly sucked life from her body. It mimicked her husbands hands almost perfectly. Except it took a little longer for her to get the ring to off, even after Big Red was sentenced away.
Cause she played the victim for so long, she didnt need to pretend to be bait. They smelled the vulnerability on her as soon as she entered the lounge. The eyes of 3 suits near the end of the bar had practically jumped out their sockets at her skin tight tube dress. It was the same color as the lipstick. Her new favorite color breezy blue number 4.
Tonight she was free, and planned on taking full advantage.
Freedom.
She was finally free and finally here.
Along with the breezy blue lipstick, she wore a wavering smirk on her lips that appeared to be melting into a frown. Control was never her strong point, but that can be fixed easily with a double shot of vodka. Nerves in all.
Her left hand felt naked without the band that use to suffocated her finger. For 6 years it was as if it slowly sucked life from her body. It mimicked her husbands hands almost perfectly. Except it took a little longer for her to get the ring to off, even after Big Red was sentenced away.
Cause she played the victim for so long, she didnt need to pretend to be bait. They smelled the vulnerability on her as soon as she entered the lounge. The eyes of 3 suits near the end of the bar had practically jumped out their sockets at her skin tight tube dress. It was the same color as the lipstick. Her new favorite color breezy blue number 4.
Tonight she was free, and planned on taking full advantage.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Pills and Skills draft 2
This poet
held denial in her trembling hands
as the doctor said she will have to be under
for the rest of her life.
That what she was giving me
was not a cure but a suppressant.
I felt reluctant
I could break under the side effects.
Loose myself just like last time
Writing.
My lifeline. My existing salvation.
The one thing that used to help
isnt enough.
Because the symptoms are too great and
I cant ignore them anymore.
Even if I write it all down.
Store them in a box on the back shelf, and bottle it away.
Next to my new prescription pills.
The words I write are still going to be there.
Unreadable to most due to the shaking from fingers tips
that refuse to still.
held denial in her trembling hands
as the doctor said she will have to be under
for the rest of her life.
That what she was giving me
was not a cure but a suppressant.
I felt reluctant
I could break under the side effects.
Loose myself just like last time
Writing.
My lifeline. My existing salvation.
The one thing that used to help
isnt enough.
Because the symptoms are too great and
I cant ignore them anymore.
Even if I write it all down.
Store them in a box on the back shelf, and bottle it away.
Next to my new prescription pills.
The words I write are still going to be there.
Unreadable to most due to the shaking from fingers tips
that refuse to still.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Robin, Robin
red robin, Red robin with your blushing red breast. Looking with sharp eyes darting pass the spectator a ignorance point.
radiating from the dew that was cried on by the mornings sky. Standing proudly with your bright red chest bestowing to the world look at me look at me!
oh sweet Robin who would come alive the most during the spring I will look at you ahrough the scope of a
beretta 92FS BB gun,
at 4:00 a.m
right before
i pull the
Trigger.
radiating from the dew that was cried on by the mornings sky. Standing proudly with your bright red chest bestowing to the world look at me look at me!
oh sweet Robin who would come alive the most during the spring I will look at you ahrough the scope of a
beretta 92FS BB gun,
at 4:00 a.m
right before
i pull the
Trigger.