We hate that We’re like We but We wouldn’t change We for the world though the world changes for itself other planets uncaringly in its atmosphere
you wouldn’t want no different than We but you are filled with questions confusion a volcano tugging and probing for readjustment
so may try or think We lesser than you but We hate what We are what We are We wouldn’t change for your world you publicize as perfect but tuck sunsets into dawn
We hate what We are. Why are We like this? Return on character investment happens before an answer arrives, that won’t change much anyways.
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my mother struggles for the care of her community drop outs on broadcast with a curriculum in their mouth, the avenues always studying. so why the education that you offer?
which level of this cycle begs the most for attention? my brother strives to open our eyes presenting to a collection of disguise he’s the example, avenue. a Promise but our stomachs ask for attention, too
if death comes for me, tonight where in my sleep will it place the blame? am I a bad student? or do certain teachings drowse me amiss to the dreams deferred before i knew of sleep the dreams yawning, yearning, to be awake in the present
my uncle’s teeth are rotting but Which lesson in life did he not learn? Which course initiated the faults in him? Which choices were his to make?
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This poem was the result of an assignment I was given by an organization. The instruction was to write a poem that touches upon the idea of “The American Dream Deferred.” I wrote the poem and sent it to them, but I never heard back. It’s a great piece though. I surprised myself too.
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and the nervousness is in every crack in my confidence it slides on all the bends in my personality then leaks out my fearless structure like an egg almost saved
i shrug i make excuses i mask the disappointment with reasons why it was not meant to be, concealed with a blame away from me.
i dictate the supposed sequencing of the events of the past perhaps God had made a mistake on how things developed surely the powers that be mishandled this encounter
i contempt; the opportunity was not of merit, regardless even though i’ll spend the rest of time thinking about my deeds, reimagining the event in a world where I get second chances, and thirds, or a world where i flawlessly predict the obvious next occurrence
even though i’ll shame myself in future recounts about a great missed opportunity.
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Rest In Peace to all the opportunities we missed because of lack of confidence and nervousness 🙏🏾✨
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A train runs in the backyard but the wooden fences are still leaning from the previous generation so the train kept going on its own tracks
five executive reps stuck their ears to the ground to locate the incoming sound but the train sometimes runs above so excuse New York City if it seems to have lost its way
maybe a train runs through walls so since the great discovery, the bells have been a mystery and the rolling rocks have discovered the purpose within their spirit
but the people collecting tickets are well accustomed so they will never check the carpet in their living room even though in a rush they’ve broken the plastic tracks
built on the dead heat of playtime because that’s where all of reality makes total sense the conductor on bruised knees. Who’s also the engineer, the passenger, the fuel, and the only one who knows the way.
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the sharp edges hurt like a flower’s petal the texture receives grief like a cloud’s golden smile
if I fall in grace forever, eventually I’ll reach hell so I remain in confort. Soundless movements of my body obedience to my wishes, without complaint
so I ask how? but acceptance is not a choice it’s a decision made after a day of heavy burdens even when surrendering all the weight is done relentlessly unaware of the permanent pain, poison, pressure caused even when it has to bend unusually for your confort
love is only an idea for the amateur, and the cowards who overthink the purest form is “what else is there to do?” but embrace— let me lay my heavy head of a day’s frustrations somehow, turn density into dispersion, dissipation.
the nights are frustrating. they leave you in the morning, with creases to flatten for you to accept a bird’s song that is already rejected so you might as well choose to live in hell. so long as the fire shine for my confort what else is there to do?
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She’s the light of my life! ❤
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your eyes in mine we’re pondering each other’s thoughts we’ve shaken each other’s understanding of life and we know the dust will never settle
there’s a game made to bring us closer but i’ve already fallen into the river in your iris so i hope to always be a part of you, regardless.
let Earth remember us as artists overwhelmed by passion, so we consume each other in the tight chamber with royal elephants on the wall; a forest of sunshine or absolute darkness; a temple with mirrors on the wall
webs of betrayal bundled inside, connecting our eyes; galaxy, flavored chocolate. cobwebs attach—closing the distance between
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I’ve been reaching out to her in every way that I can from my cell
You see, patience is not my best feature
So I tap on the metal bars in search of a rhythm Only her and I understand I launch a sound in the air, hoping I know where her ears are listening
I summon her in the middle of the night in my lucid dreaming if that’s what it takes to see her I tell her I’m here. I’ll always be waiting and looking for her
You see, patience is not my best feature
So my spirit rises in the atmosphere to transmit my prayer The wind causes turbulence. Sometimes I’m cold, and I envelop myself I leave all I have behind because my interests are not pleasing her
There are some possibilities I must accept. But my heart doesn’t understand patience nor defeat My soul doesn’t accept an outcome until it’s bold enough to face me So I strum a guitar chord in her direction “I’m sorry. I’m back. I’m waiting.” So I speed through my daily commitments to leave an eternity of time for her. Forever. Until she decides to come back.
You see, patience is not my best feature
So I apologize to my past. I go back to the event that changed everything Then create a reality where all of our dreams are accomplished Where neither of us suffer and serve punishments
I recreate a bond so inviting We’d have reasons to leave our unimpressive realities We’d abandon the happiness we started forcing ourselves to rejoice in, And go to that part of the multiverse Where we nurtured freedom, peace and safety All of our comforts.
So what are we living for? If not to amount into a higher self that exists throughout the universe how long will it take until my higher self exists with her? In the same room, where we go through our grocery list, separate the laundry and rip our hair over tax forms Did you forget that alternate future?
How bad does the present have to be destroyed to rewrite a future set in stone? How many times must I kill myself? How many times should I volunteer to die before my spirit arises to deity? How holy must a human be to enter the presence of a Goddess who is cursed to these streets and mortal moral? Humanity morality
You see, patience is not my best feature
So I lay in bed unimpressed by lateness I calculate these possibilities. Bringing the guardians of time to anxiety I ask them to pay their debt for my frequent trips to the future, in the past, Because the present had matters to be tended to and resolved But I was convinced these matters already destroyed our future.
You see, patience is not my best feature
So I shoot the dream down out of anxiety. I abandon the boat before it sails I remove the moon from the sky claiming it’s to protect it “Fear” is too similar to “care” so one is often confused for the other So instead of waiting for doomsday or our ticket to paradise I figured it’s best if I never find out.
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I wrote this about 7 hours ago. So it is still pretty new and unedited. If you have any suggestions on how I can improve it, please do let me know. Thank you!
Thank you for reading! If this piece impacted you in any ways, please read more of my work here.
it’s the sense of having nothing to do— though surrounded by inspiration conversations bombarding the ear start an analyzation.
My thoughts becoming lamps hanging in the obscure tunnel that i travel with a hissing passion bringing me to astonishment.
before my destination, I arrive at an idea sometimes it waits for me—standing on the platform alone, in the open air, where cold wind brings the echoes the bench sitting in suspense, waiting for its purpose
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If i had all the time in the world, i still wouldn’t complete my responsibilities
i’d become a monk; i’d be a preacher of an earthly life to value caring for one’s self to distance from the need of currency to reject the necessity for labor
i’d drench myself in the pleasures of the world. If i had all the time in the world, i’d spend time thinking of the best chores to complete i’d spend time thinking—as an action
i’d let the world go by because isn’t it all meaningless? What’s the purpose of the things we cultivate on earth if all the crops will remain? So i sink deeper into my sermon of rigidness—detach myself from what is not needed
If i had all the time in the world, i’d float on excuses i wouldn’t worry about the voices in my subconscious i’d glide to the end of time. Regret, as patient as could be, waiting. i’d shame myself, seeing i’m out of time
wishing If only I had more time
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There’s a graveyard in my house. Dreams in the tears on my pillow; Dead Dreams of long ago, on my pillow.
Shaking fingers Chasing strangers Until, A trumpet is blown, A grave is owned
Tear drop.
There are Dead Dreams in my house. Dreams that have Passed way too long ago To be Resurrected.
I ponder to myself, Shovel after shovel: “I could have held tighter; It could have lived longer.”
Dead Dreams in my soul A graveyard on my heart Crosses, tombstones rising out of my chest. When I’m sad, I wonder if it is because There are too many Dead Dreams? When I’m happy, I wonder if it is because There are too many spirits?
Dead Dreams in my vessel Dead Dreams in my house. My steps are never gentle For I travel with force
They’re trying to pull me under.
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Sircharlesthepoet 