speak out
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"Hush
hush"
The silence kills me
Pin drop. Cold and haunting,
It claws at my throat,
screeches gainst my hollow ribs,
tears my bloodied heart apart.
My mouth opens.
Lost to an act so long ago, a kid already but I didn’t know
what it was you that you did and yet although
I was so naïve I could tell how wrong it was to not go
Those who can and can't
Those who CAN speak
Those who CAN'T speak
Those who do and don't
Those who DO speak
Those who DON'T speak
Those who will and won't
Those who WILL speak
Now that I've said it
It doesn't seem so wrong.
What was so hard to say out loud
Kept me from being strong.
So key to me
That now I see
I think, I can move on.
Our passions go out
Not with a bang but a whimper
Not with a whimper but a whisper
Not with a whisper but a shout
Speak Up, Speak Out
silence is emptiness
emptiness left by our own inaction
inaction leads to no where
Speak Up, Speak Out
nothing said is nothing done
why wait years
Speak Up, Speak Out
When my pencil hits the paper
I feel the world come to a stop.
Suddenly I hold my voice in one hand.
The chains that constrained me drop.
I'm not small. I'm not scared.
I'm not silent for you.
look, i never meant to hurt you
i never even meant to care
i've been hurt too many times before
honestly i think we've all been there.
i never meant to scare you,
to tell you about my past.
What does my soul want?
You see if my soul wants something...
The very thing that makes me, me...
If it's crying out for something…
Spittin with hate
They seal the fate
Of history and people.
They burn and bury
The humble and merry.
Taking the steeple and tower
and grinding them to fine powder
Oh boy how they deploy
You want a perfect poem. With a beginning, middle, and end.A perfect little thing that makes you feel fantastic with a good ending.Of nature, that makes you see the light of things that can't be seen.That is not this poem. Beginning.
I don’t write for entertainment, to gossip, or to complain about my life past or present . I write because, I believe my words are one of the things I have left in this world.
There's a box everyone is given
From the moment somebody's born to the moment he dies
In that box he is commanded to fit in
It's a box with walls made of magazine photos and "self-improvement" guides
My vision may be dark
But here's a spark
To light the flame on a candle of a heart
That's long gone for me now
Once torn asunder
Pain is released from the soul down under
Clean?
Clean, clean, clean...
clean...
one more time...
just one more...
twice more...
thirce more...
I swear I'll stop...
soap, water
scrub, scrub, scrub
hot, scaulding
Pay no attention,
To the girl behind the curtain.
She's got nothing to say.
Her voice is not important.
Pay no attention,
To her weakened state.
So you want to know what makes me tick?
Then listen up because sometimes you can be thick,
Living is filled with moments we enjoy.
Surviving is the moment where we overcome an agonizing obstacle just to live another day.
Luxury is not present until awarded.
Only the talented species can live.
You want someone clothed like a stripper with the ideals of a housewife.
Someone who is worn – a shell.
Gutted of originality and malleable like water.
You ask me now what makes me tick.
Now I shall tell you, brick by brick.
The look you see
When you gaze into the eyes
Of a mother who can't feed her children.
Or the childrens plea
The tears fall from her faceLike a river that never endsThe pain that she feelsClawing its way throughThey laugh and jokeNot seeing what it's doingTearing the hole bigger
No one is born silent.Even the dumb can speak outin the eloquent twirling of their hands and fingers.What's stopping you?
My friend told me silence was the loudest cry, but if I write it down, does that count?
If I scribble it out in jumbled phrases–carve words into my paper and not my skin, this time, does that count?
I write because when no one hears,my story must be known.They told me to speak lowI spoke of hope,but someone has to speak out.against hateagainst discrimination,but most of all
Sometimes I dream
That I will see them again
My momma
My poppa
But when I wake
All I can see is darkness
I do not breathe in air
This is pure musk that fills my lungs
