I both love and hate
Everything. Everyone.

I walk the streetlights and fluorescents,
The haze, the shadows, my ever accompanying faculty,
Remind me of the prospects, liberties, feelings

My emotions are in jeopardy
My world is in peril—
The realization is this: trapped in our hearts is our life
We try to break free, we are lost
..have been since the wheel.

Have you ever noticed how the leaves fall,
spiraling out of control, seemingly leaving their parent to die?
A whirlwind,
Mother is crying out in pain, the war and rape of offspring—
She will recover when it is all over.

But, what about now,
When I am cold and without help
as my heart is being pulled, contorted into thousands of shapes
None of which comfort my terrified mind—
I want something beautiful in life,
what the rose used to be and has since lost—
I want something fascinating, something worthy of breathing.
—
I run through the rain, counting the drops and beats
Trying not to trip on the dreams of my brothers and sisters
Crying, the clouds feel no remorse, no pain—
Vessels that instantly release their emotions,
Why can’t I be this way?

Maybe my words are useless, fruitless, a never-ending negativity resulting from pessimism
Maybe I am right.
I am right. The world is wrong, we are wrong.
To criticize is worthless; I will not change everything with my words—
Many have tried, and try they might…
…in the end, they have all failed.

My hands are freezing;
regardless, with every word I write there is blood in the air.
Another year and another week, they are all the same—
Another rape, another slaughter, another child left to the elements
Those lives I could have saved—

So what about now?
When I am cold and without help
I say I care, but is it the truth…or do I cry for the feeling,
yearning for what I cannot touch—
Not wanting to feel pain,
but not wanting to experience it is the problem.

I walk the streetlights and fluorescents,
my ever accompanying faculty, my friends
—I both love and hate
all of you. all of them.
It is this baggage that makes it worth it, the act of living, surviving…

I'll get back to you when I make sense of all of this,
when I can neither love nor hate
when I am filled with only compassion and the world stops turning—

sometime, I will feel genuine—

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