Unknown

The matter that I’ve written so many things

I can see myself at that moment my hands hit the keys

Watching and reading my bleeding heart run on these pages

Fills me with rage that I took these times for granted

I should have lived more in the moment

Grown a bit more from my surroundings

Now I am lost in an open room

So much is being asked for and yet I can’t hardly breath

I am so tired of trying to change what’s around me

But I can’t even remove the holes in my life

“I can’t remember.” Is now a well-known sentence

From dazed days too long nights

I did this to myself

I have the tools to dig myself out of this

But my motivation is drained

I feel like my head is a rock when it’s on my pillow

I don’t want to move from what is my comfortability

Brokenness still lingering since I was a kid

Unknown memories I can’t recall

They’re too real to even recall

Feel

I take all my chances and put my hands down.

Waiting for a real reaction.

Dip my hand into the water to be snapped by a snake

Turns out the pain that became started to contain, found its way out by streams.

Becoming number and stronger.

Started by a revolution inside my head

Hearing the gunfire, I don’t stand down

Taking the bullets to conform

Hit after hit, scream after scream, stream after stream.

Come help me.

This isn’t nothing new to come by

Take your heart and blacken it a bit

Give it and watch it shatter

Now you feel something

Asking now what does it mean

When you can't even trust yourself to see

Watching me bleed when I speak

You understand me?

Anxiety and Depression

A dungeon of fear and missed clarity.

Founded by past pains that ponder my perceived heart.

                                                Tell oh tell your oh so damaged heart.

Why does love wrongfully penetrate your lack of indulgence?

You have no space to fill with love in your room; as it were a chest full of lost broken home memories that seem to sit so still fully.

Tell, oh heart why you push good enough aside.

Perfect, persistent, and cloned.

Not a single stroke of a brush would fill your insecurities.

Making your pain so visible.

You know the heart gets what it wants and when it craves it feels like a mess.

You seem to be thrilled and mixed with a pain so deep.

That haunts over every righteous will of your being.

They know your insecurities and mysterious unforeseen weaknesses and pain.

But you’ll never cause her to end her life.

This curse is weak compared to her strength.

Sheep

Souls are rising and falling, each with a new breath.

Given to us for a moment, then released.

Exhale.

Bounded under unforeseen mysteries and disclosed ideas.

We search more with our eyes and less with words that were spoken from the unknowledgeable.

Giving us insight, strengthening our damaged soul.

Bearing witness to our selfish philosopher.

Giving protest to its ways, to silence the voices in its own head.

Those praising themselves put the weak to shame.

Shaming those who don’t agree.

Praising those who raise them higher on the scale.

But they’re dominant and destroy those who pull them down.

Killing souls and breaking hearts.

Turning peacemakers into violent protesters.

Taunting and scorching them, then they win.

No one ever wins in a society that can’t make up its mind.

For it is the mind that rules over all, onward to the environment of which the poison is released.

Filling the air and intoxicating our minds.

Opinions that strike the mindless to be followed or stupid leads.

As the puppeteer pulls the strings in life.

But even then the puppet cuts his own strings to strive for his independence.

Paving his own path.

Then falls apart from his own demise.

Realizing in the end, we’re all doomed.

But even in death peace will be found.

Like the calm before the storm, even then the winds still scream.

Change (Self perception)

I’m dusting off the pressure after another long day of the same thing.

That repeats over and over again.

I attempted the change, but then it reversed again.

I tell myself the same thing.

“I’m tired of the same old things that my brain and heart repeat.”

Change, change, change.

Oh, how it never ends, will when I be satisfied?

I try again, back to square one, over and over.

I want to go here and there, but life calls.

No, no, no, that’s foolish to think that might happen.

Talk, talk, talk, but what good is there?

Nothing is going to happen if your words are useless.

Indecisive, over emotional, overworked, underappreciated, lonely, and a self-loather.

But peacemaker, where is your shield of positivity?

You’re better than this.

Cherry Blossom

Oh, gifted nature,

dirt is your friend and the sun is your life.

Your body is long, gray, and your arms scream beauty as if they were tattooed.

Beautifully aged as you grow each day.

Furthermore, no heartbeat; but a breath.

You take in the air as if it were the words of your lover.

Redeemer.

You have life in yourself and all around.

Your leaves grant you structure and serenity in the peaceful patch you stay.

Wind and grace are your friends, of lovely gifted nature.

You grant me bliss by your oh so blushy, natural colors; no artificial cover up.

I am truly blessed and the pleasure is mine that you were given from the ground.

Whomever you be given, may she forever be beautiful, oh, gifted nature.

Silence (Slam poetry)

There are some things we question within ourselves.

Are we the ones that create the change or the ones who make it?

The founders of a deceased peace filled generation, that stands with a paper in both hands.

Screaming on top of our lungs.

“Stand and shout for the peace we deserve!”

By man the change can be made, yelling is a weapon of discretion.

Weapons in motion are seen as a peace token in most eyes.

But by our words and actions can peace be made.

Scream up you cancerous seed, for you will be the growth of mass destruction, that has already begun.

You feed your people dynamite and grenades from your beak of violent words.

For I am the one who remains in peace.

Silence, silence is what we need to conquer stillness on Earth as if it were fruitful land.

But we, oh us, find it more easier to open our mouths than just open our eyes to see.

That our thoughts are general poison to the land of what we titled the land of the free.

We are not free when we’re discriminated for who we are.

My not skins dark, so I am an uneducated millennial who uses handguns and unneeded opinions that deems dangerous for our current generation.  

My skin is dark, so I must be dangerous and use everything in my power to cause violence, I am not listened to because the color of my skin that wasn’t really a choice, to begin with. But my skin is viewed as a reason to shot me when I am unarmed.

Even if we’re heard as innocent, someone’s opinions may say otherwise.

Where is the peace in this generation?

Who are we to judge another person?

What are you going to do?

This day

Now sitting in this rut
I have found no closure
But found myself deeper and deeper sunken in
I don't know who I am
Why I ALWAYS feel like I am to blame
But am I?
Do I cause these things that cause me stress to happen?
Why I do I feel like a failure most of my days?
Why can't I listen?
Why am I feeling like a waste of space?
I can't find myself
I need help.