**** shame it ain't taught in religious schools, hell, any school
that ain't politically correctable,
and the world doesnt protest that this ius not the 11th commandment, not cause it should be…but cause,
deserves to be

it's a hardscrabble life, like playing Chutes and Ladders,
you think you're climbing the ladder up, slow and steady,
when the chute trips you up, and down on your ****, to
just start all over again...
and once more, you wonder
if
this is worth it all...

down in the basement, some friendlies, pick you up,
even dust you off, take you to Start, even some with large
hands give freely a pat on the back small,
give a slight push of encouragement
to drown out your own shivering sighs of emotional excuses

here's the moral of the story;
you want world peace,
want, no anti-
anything that includes people, and truth can only be found,
marked down, in a charity thrift shop, marked "Bargain!" but
no one wants to buy any cheap
christmas "stuff" slightly
used

you start to think about grand
notions, big ideas, ways and methodologies that coud actually
effect change that migh affect people, and

**** you start wearing empathy
like a tattoo on your forehead
and hell, it attracts stared thst
circumventing into

smiles.  **** .

Whenever there’s a storm,
And I hear the rain pour,
As the wind blows,
I’m reminded of the coziness of home.
That feeling of safeness,
A place to hide from the darkness,
When it seems hopeless,
A bed for your tiredness.
Though I know,
Not everyone has a home,
Or one that is safe,
One without pain,
So I feel empathy,
For those who may not be,
Lucky like me.
As I write these words,
I hear you,
And I’ll hold you,
In a tight hug.
It’ll be okay!
The storms aren’t here to stay.
Even though the winds may blow,
You can find a home.

I believe everything
Happens in a sequence
In an order

I don't need to be
Versed in religion

To understand that
Every test, every sickness

Is moulding me
Into a more concrete form

One with unshakeable foundation

Through every pain
Along my incision side

Made me softer
To other people's pain
And yet I'm grateful for it

The pain yesterday is worse
Than today's pain

And yet with that I still
Don't glorify pain

I just think it's the only way
That I truly learn

From a crosswalk

Everything is sidelined

Not focused

Bruised up,
They focused on the bruises

I said she needed empathy

Justice for what she's going through

But as I mulled it over

They could be wrong

But I could be more wrong

Being a neutral spectator

Isn't entirely bad

But hey!How are u doing?

Could fix a whole lot

But neither of us did that

Because its a crosswalk

and though we breathed the same breaths
under different skies
and in different tongues
though the whispering birth
of one
was the death of another
both righteously tainted
both cut open
bleeding into me
and her
and us
and them
and god i wish there was no them
i know
i know i know i know  
the room was ink
and cheap leather
and there’s no room for god
in collars or letters
but have your bones been mended?
and
has the bleeding stopped?
because their hands
are still red
their wounds like honey
sticky
infinite
crystallized
so, my love
it’s time you learn to sew!
stitch up your broken!
sever the wicked!
make your mosaic!
and i’ll tattoo it on my sleeve
i’ll bottle it up
and swallow it
and when it sinks into the ocean of my body
i’ll think of them
and hope
that some day
under some sky
they can taste it too

As we sit, take our seats in the banquet hall,
everyone rushes to be the first to feast,
while we’re left choking on the past.
Does no one hear the wind,
wailing against the stained glass?

Silver goblets raised in mock celebration,
filled with the essence that I poured.
Gleeful toasts echo against fractured stone,
laughter filling the banquet hall.
Does no one see the blood,
dripping down these chains?

A little too late,
they finally look around.
The stained glass has cracked,
its stories bleeding out onto the marble floor.
The drapes now hang in tatters,
lace left ripped in shreds.

Is this what you wanted?
The desecration of this citadel?

As walls begin to tremble,
pillars groan under the weight of decay,
no one stays to help.
They run.
Feet that once stood in reverence
trample the sacred,
careless, unburdened.

But I remain.

Veins of frost cover the walls,
the ceiling yawns open, snuffing out the light,
and I cannot move.
Not as the glimmering chandeliers fall,
not as the stone gives way beneath me,
not as the ruins cave in.

As the winter chill creeps in,
the dust now settles.
Within the silence
of these hallowed grounds,
the echoes of laughter now lost.

As I watch from beyond.

A ghost draped in apathy,
watching the remnants of me buried,
watching the last echoes of my warmth
fade into cold ash.
Wondering if I will ever
rise back from the ashes.

No hands reach
into the wreckage.
No voices
call my name.
No one mourns.
And maybe
they never will.

Teach me mother how to say NO..
To raise my voice and swim across the oceans.
To value safety over politeness.
To feel comfortable in my own skin without seeking any validation from the outside world.
Teach me mother to hit back, when I'm mistreated, when my feelings are not validated and disrespected.
Teach me mother to know what I want.
To be brave, stand tall and bold.
Teach me mother to believe in my dreams, to dream of a better world.
Because when you're gone, I'll carry the legacy, that doesn't have to be out of pain and suffering.
Mother, teach me to be my own hero so that I won't tread the path taken by you again.