Masks

The persona is but a mask to hide their true potential
like a cougar who wore makeup since she was a preteen
whose wrinkles are so deep they surprise the unknown eye
like the smart child downing their brain to fit in with whats out there
why the need for this disguise?
its like an evil monster beneath the trenches of the good soul
praying and pleading to be let out
only to be told the flare has run out
the need to not drop the leaves like the pine tree is beneath it
to stay to their own image,reflections,needs and desires
is gone with the masks of yesterdays many faces
the black hole as it drips into reality
making them think of something they could never be
forgetting the beauty of what they once were
and what the many sunrises of their dreams looked like
the reflection looking back at them is but an unfamiliar mask
disguised as a persona
hiding the death of yesterdays dreams...

Toxic

The toxic is dripping upon the tongues of the ignorant
tastes like salvation similar to a blissful idiot in their mouth
poisonous and venomous words are the
birth place of those thoughts that linger in the air of the untouched kindness
unknown faces trickling with hatred to the unknown bodies
to those people who love and cherish as equally as those who commit these actions
but are judged by their beliefs
Racism is born with these feelings similar to ecstasy
related to prejudice and gives knowledge of this
this knowledge has gone to be named "hate crime" by  the law
that punishes after the seed has been planted, after the actions where committed
and like dolls eyes; seeing them, with no ability to stop them
excusing the old for their feeble age
pardoning the young for their undeveloped thoughts
the age of innocence is over
the years of knowledge has arrived
the actions of hate are as visible as the stop lights in an empty road
but not in the color sequence
because racism only views through blind colors
categorizing all, for one to hate
instead of wanting and needing to be blind to color...

Realize

It started with a hello

Those words were like magic creeping at my soul

Little did u know of what your words meant to me

Hate to get all lovey dovey, but damn could it be?

Those first few months were like beauty in the process of manifestation

It was infectious

Although my beliefs kept me from doin anything further

It wouldn’t have matter, cuz I was getting more and more drunk with your beauty as u got closer and closer

Till your true colors came out, but I was to gone to realize

When the hand would come, I would just be paralyzed

Maybelline covered up the scars on the island

But the inside was burnt, like the volcano’s erupting in Iceland

But I was to gone to realize

My friends thought I was on some serious crack

Because I was acting like a mainiac

But I was to gone to realize

Your love was like a link

The deeper I clicked

The harder it was to click back to the brink

But I was to gone to realize

As the time went

I could see it being spent

Healthcare is free but the pain cost more than you’d think

I would drink in your abuse, and spit it out, assuming it was my poison

But I was to gone to realize

Till the time came and you proposed

Because I was the only chick taking your bullshit I suppose

The cuts got deeper and the wounds wouldn’t heal fasta

But I was to gone to realize

Till crack of my ribs woke me up

And my broken leg sobered me up

And I was to damn tiered to fight

Than I realized that the fight was up to me

And than I realized

Windstorm

You came into my life a windstorm of confusion and a soul that can only be described as “frustrated”

Your smile was an entertaining sight, and the view of your happiness was an enlightening dream

Unknown to your power at first, I would say it was respect that brought me to you

Respect that keeps you in the light to my years of darkened view

Through the windows of life, a clear understanding of the word “friendship” was developed

My constant sarcasm and my closed heart were still characteristics that wouldn’t turn you away

I never tell you that a true friend has been you, no matter that shortened time of our encounter

You point out my faults, my awkward persona and the fact that I can never do anything right

While you seem like the perfect person to makes me try to obtain that level of respect

That you seem to constantly attract

Perfection, not in the sense of being inhumane, but the variety that is obtained through years of experience

Even if I may surpass that number

Years are counted through the scars of yesterdays and the healing of tomorrow

I never in my life thought I would consider someone not my sister, but to be blood deeper than any DNA source crawling in any human body

This poem is deeper than a friendship poem, because those poems are as deep as the edges of the sea

Pains

She said the pain was there

Unclear of what was to appear

Her daddy was the key and he was no salvation to her

He calls but no answer

Its as if a dark hand was covering every inch of his body

Cuz she could count on no body

But still the calls where screamed and still the answers not redeemed

It all seemed unclear, it was so nuclear

Cant she see he wasn’t here?

Cant she feel his body drifting at the pier

She was alive, but so is a tree as it carrys a beehive

The calls never stopped and the ring was never clear

And the daughter could feel the pain

As her father was the pain she couldn’t strain

When he said he was leaving

She felt like a blade was going through and she could stop breathing

She could see herself making a surprise breakfast when she was 11

To wake up that morning as though in heaven

Just to see her dad smile was reward enough

Now she could barely stand him as she tries to act tough

That’s what happens when the pedestal was so high

When they fall off, its always to late to say goodbye

See, she wasn’t the type to put her feeling up like a billboard

She leaned to keeping it built in like a brick wall

She told me blood doesn’t run through her like everyone else

 she knew she was different, cuz when she would get cut

her insides would burn  the floor and everyone around her

her arteries were filled with lava

She couldn’ handle it anymore

She wanted water to even the score

See what her dad did only made her erupt

She started using poetry to wash out the bad luck

So she used the paper as a bucket and ink for the cure.

so the ink was the key

to express these emotions that couldn’t build up anymore

cuz even though her insides where formed from products of minerals, she was not a mountain

she needed to crumple to grow stronger

 Even to this day, her dad was the pain she couldn’t strain

And the poetry was her therapy

Mockery

 The funny thing about life is that it has many things to love, hate, and contemplate, but mockery is one thing that alienates

That causes pains passed ones imagination to the object of unwanted catastrophes that you try to maintain

As though fire and ice where having a collected gathering inside your inner wants and need and causes these to evaporate with nothing but disease

Distress and empty gathering of thoughts that digress into actions that we claim as innocent

“mockery” is what their called and is led to believe that its acceptable and may even be called child’s play

These collected thoughts causes countless of sadness and lead many to protect their pride

By Childs play meaning Childs play is destroyed with the greed and unsavory lives lost in what mockery obtains

I don’t mean the simple mockery of playground affairs but the mocking that stabs the inner manhood of a young lad and bleeds his inside with wanting to prove of this legendary tyranny

To “play” and act afool isn’t what the mockery of lands becomes but the religions of religions of religions to be hit with animosity from the others religion

From families of families of families to be hit with the evil daggers of the others family

The hate within the hate that develops in the seems of the distressed call, that no one can answer because hate does not have a voice, and if hate is all that consumes us, than voices won’t be raised, cause the deaf ear does not degrade itself, rather elavates its own faults as correct natural acts

Rather creates a longing for approval

So the mockery of hate, is born in the mock itself

If we all mock one another, does that mean hate is within the back of the tongue where the words slipped into empty hallways of forbidden feelings, towards empty feelings with no passageway for a well lit room with no getaway?