Found This Very Funny

today i’m fifteen

bruises on my hands

scabs split open

body shot to hell

today i’m angry at the world

and i don’t understand why

the world doesn’t take offense

today i’m burning rubber

in old parts of town i swore never to return

today i can’t seem to get lost

these winding roads are too familiar

and every turn brings me back to fifteen

bruises on my legs

fresh scabs from last night

eyes shot to hell

funny how yesterday i was twenty

adolescence fleeing my skin

tattoos scabbing over

innocence shot to hell

yesterday i locked eyes with you

yesterday i burnt rubber in the parking deck

yesterday i couldn’t get lost fast enough

today i’m fifteen

bruises still fresh

scabs yet to form

five years shot to hell

“Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.”

― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

I love kids they’re all like.. “when i grow up i’m gonna be an astronaut and a chef and a doctor and an olympic swimmer” like that self confidence! That drive! That optimism! Where does it go

I was rambling on the issue of museums and human remains and how certain populations are more likely to have their bodies put on display to be gawked at and then went "well I guess the Pompeii casts were of Europeans. there are bones in there right?" and Googled it to make sure, at which point I confirmed that yes there are bones in there, but more interestingly DNA testing revealed that a cast of an adult holding a child everyone assumed was a mother and child were, in fact, a man and a kid entirely unrelated to him. Honestly that's more moving to me. Maybe they were connected in a way other than blood, but maybe a stranger saw a child when the world was ending and thought the one thing he could do was hold them.

i'm not the best at singing. but i'm gonna sing anyway dude. i'm not the best at painting. but i'm still going to paint. my dancing will never see a stage. but it's perfect for early mornings in my bedroom and late nights with people i love. so what does this mean? it means that people are designed to do. not to be the best. just to do. if you're doing what you enjoy, then you don't have to be the best. you just have to enjoy it. you have to live.

-my poem

when i was a kid, my father would always say that optimism is just a lack of information. i was optimistic to spite him. lately i've been feeling like he was actually right. but you know what? he wasn't.

he made it look like being oprimistic was easier, because it meant you didn't bother to see the whole picture. in reality, being optimistic requires strength. it requires courage to have hope even in the darkest times

i am not optimistic because i have no reason to be pessimistic. i am optimistic because i am actively choosing to be. to see that future can be bright. to find hope.

Kids Who Die

by Langston Hughes

This is for the kids who die, Black and white, For kids will die certainly. The old and rich will live on awhile, As always, Eating blood and gold, Letting kids die.

Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi Organizing sharecroppers Kids will die in the streets of Chicago Organizing workers Kids will die in the orange groves of California Telling others to get together Whites and Filipinos, Negroes and Mexicans, All kinds of kids will die Who don’t believe in lies, and bribes, and contentment And a lousy peace.

Of course, the wise and the learned Who pen editorials in the papers, And the gentlemen with Dr. in front of their names White and black, Who make surveys and write books Will live on weaving words to smother the kids who die, And the sleazy courts, And the bribe-reaching police, And the blood-loving generals, And the money-loving preachers Will all raise their hands against the kids who die, Beating them with laws and clubs and bayonets and bullets To frighten the people — For the kids who die are like iron in the blood of the people — And the old and rich don’t want the people To taste the iron of the kids who die, Don’t want the people to get wise to their own power, To believe an Angelo Herndon, or even get together

Listen, kids who die — Maybe, now, there will be no monument for you Except in our hearts Maybe your bodies’ll be lost in a swamp Or a prison grave, or the potter’s field, Or the rivers where you’re drowned like Leibknecht But the day will come — You are sure yourselves that it is coming — When the marching feet of the masses Will raise for you a living monument of love, And joy, and laughter, And black hands and white hands clasped as one, And a song that reaches the sky — The song of the life triumphant Through the kids who die.

The Candle and the Flame

By sun.after.winter

If I am the candle and you are the flame

Then you shall burn brighter while I cease to rein

Scorching, and burning

Yet you shine so bright

Yet here I am melting

While you light the night