A strange phenomenon seems to be occurring within the being that I call my self. Ideas, questions, and answers that seemed too foreign to comprehend at the beginning of my journey are slowly becoming known, and I believe that this prolonged suffering is one of the keys to unlocking the next stage.

Why are we afraid of suffering?

Was it not one of the byproducts of being brought into this world? To love, to learn, and to suffer are what we live and die for; or rather, it is these three fundamental principles that govern our existence. The majority of my speculation and extensive readings have concentrated primarily on ancient knowledge and stark rationality; however, I am somehow also in tune with the power of swelling emotions.

There is a rhythm to feelings, a spastic occurrence or a gradual rising and falling of immature thoughts. And yet, this does not explain what is happening now.

As I suffer this agony related to the loss of my dear cousin, Danielle, I am simultaneously being exposed to a new realm of influence, action, and most importantly, belief. Emotions do not control the individual; however, it cannot be stated, with 100% assurance, that man controls his emotions. Rather, it seems that emotions are somewhat tied to the id that lives below the surface of the ego, and by experiencing a crippling blow (in this case anguish and grief), one is able to examine the complete spectrum of emotions and, subsequently, recognize the consequences of utilizing them.

It is as if I have become more in tune with the thoughts in my head by allowing the pains in my metaphysical gut to project rather than repress. In essence, I have temporarily found a way to access the vast wellspring of inspiration, desire, and change. God granted us the capacity for suffering (AKA passion) so we would discover the truth of life, and to live is to love, no?


The rain sounds like the chatter of forgotten souls.

I wonder what they discuss as they drop from heaven.

Sentences exchanged throughout the stratosphere as lost lovers meet for the first time in forever.

There is an innocent whisper, moving from grandmother to newborn bosoms.

Each droplet containing eternal wishes, one from each name that will never be spoken again.

Memories fall from heaven as the morning fog rolls over the final horizon left untouched by man; the end.

No wonder the raindrops fall so softly here.

New Form of Freedom

One of the most pressing obstacles in our fight for freedom is the amount of observers versus actors. So many are willing to pinpoint problems, yet who is brave enough to solve them? It is because we think the scale of this task is too great, or do we have too little care to embark on a journey towards solutions? The ghetto, it is a cesspool that America has forced our brothers and sister into, deprived them of necessary resources needed to survive, and armed them with the tools of their own destruction. There is no doubt about these places, and the horror within it, yet we must realize that the root of it is intertwined around the root of American society. The ghetto is doing exactly what America wanted it to do, and those observing are seeing the results of a properly working system built on enslavement (both ancient and modern).

In order to combat this we must seek “entirely new and substantially different forms of expression.” How many more years can we sit idle while conditions continue to worsen? The fight for freedom starts with us, and within our own communities.

  • “Black people must organize themselves without regard for what is traditionally acceptable.”

Traditionally, we have fought with methods that have, in the grand scheme of things, been less than effective; what exactly does marching through the streets at night do for us? Besides foster filial bonds with your allies (which is ideal). We are weak because we are divided. The proletariat soon discovered their strength when their numbers grew and they were forced to work with each other. We must do away with this hateful and competitive nature that keeps us, oppressed humans, apart. It is the goal of the oppressor to divide us, for division makes us weaker and we can be easily controlled when isolated. This is the reason we need organizations, ones that are strictly crafted and drafted by our hands. Only we know what our people desire, value, and seek; and it should also be us who bring them together over these shared ideals. It can be done because our struggle is universal, just disguised by the characteristics it takes, ex. threat of deportation=threat of mass incarceration.

  • “We should concentration of forming…and not wasting time on trying to reform”

American politics are too deeply rooted in racism and hatred to be truly reformed. Although risky, we must form our own; it is the only way we can hope to achieve political victory. By creating our own, within our community, we can aid our brothers and sisters. Oppressive America wants to keep us static and it is up to us to remain dynamic and achieve our freedom.

Our movement starts within the mind. If we want change then we must be willing to dedicate our lives to it; the day of change will never come if we do not make strides towards that future now. That begins with sound organization in a way that best represents us. With organizing comes control, and it through these two methods that w can seek change. We should control what affects our community; housing, education, banking, politics. All of these are ways that modern society defines our existence as a citizen so we must do our part and prepare ourselves. The system will not do this for us, for once again, it was built to produce the results we see today.

  • “It is crucial that race be taken into account in determining the policy of this sort.”

Race can either be a divisive factor or it can double as a bond. When I enter a new location for the first time, I unconsciously seek out other people of color.  Imagine if you fond them all at the top of the building? This isolation that we feel would diminish and instill within us a sense of hope; it is with this malleable hope that we can change from observer to activist.


Carmichael, Stokeley; Hamilton, Charles V. Black Power: The Politics of Liberation in America. 1967.

“Prism Stars”

Her tears always fall at sunset,

Evening dew drops forming against

Her face,

Rolling down sullen cheek bones

As the horizon fades to black like

Hearts who’ve been in the furnaces of passion

For far too long.

Replacing diamond desires with

Coal complacency;

Love has no home here,

Only a temporary space for eternal gifts

Waiting to be buried under times soil.

I’m reminding myself of her,

Moonlight and bare legs,

Collarbone and lips,

The cool mist from a summer shower; but,

Now, winter storms whip away

While the icicles of loneliness

Begin to form where you once flowed.


Our streams reduced to abandoned creeks,

Forgotten behind the homes of strangers,

Unfamiliar feelings festering

As we separate the flesh from spirit,

Saying farewell as one fades and the other

Falls, both returning to the veil of darkness,

The resting place for our souls

Before they first found sunlight; illuminating

From fragmented pieces of my heart

These shattered stories still proving useful.

Now, the rays seek to brighten

While the night approaches,

And, we only lay


When the moon meets cloud;

And sister stars can see their reflection,

Our love shall be forgotten in the horizon

As tears fall into the sleeping sun.


We are all zombies

nothing but hollow corpses

corrupted piles of shifting skin cells

dragging our empty bodies on the sidewalk

You see our brains have been eaten

Gnawed at by electrical signals and data signs

Technology has zombified us

Cursed us, bartered our soul with the devil

We are insects caught in the world wide web struggling to break free from the copper wires that wrap us up

The box-shaped screen is a freezer that contains our organs

Heart and mind sitting on ice,

A brain freeze developed from a milkshake mixed with sweetened websites and manilla colored computer files

And now we shift through these streets,

carrying our inhibitions and fears

Inscribing the new commandments on these tablets

Thou shall not post more than three pictures on Instagram

Thou shall always sleep with the phone next to your head

Thou who does’t not know the latest Buzzfeed post is a sinner

We have lost our humanity.

It was transformed by the gamma irradiated internet

And now we are nothing but hulking figures of angry information

Heads struggling to stay up as we are ensnared by the sights and sounds of a cell phone

You call this life?

When conversations slip out of our hands like tap water

and fluoridated feelings fall to the floor

It’s rare to be human these days

To hear the hums of the wind in the trees, feel the angel kissed breeze

For we are zombies,

Hollow hosts just hunting for the next human to follow

Autonomic corpses inserting our opinions in every USB port

Generation Y is in the pit of the alphabet for a reason

Because we shall bring about World War Z

It seems the Mayans were right, 2012 killed humanity over night

Survivors in a world of empty friendships

For we are the age of the apocalypse.

A Dance with D

I wrote this for you on a used plate

That once held hot pizza at four AM.

It was all I had

At the time.

My ink is having trouble staying

Colliding with old emotions in the form of grease.

But I managed to pierce deep enough to leave an impression on you

The curves of the plate,

Contours of cheeks

And the way your laughter

Mimicked praises

As our bodies danced

To worship their Creator

Moving by force unknown

Like the pen being pushed across this makeshift papyrus.

Cruel Unintentions

It started when you stopped biting your nails

You found something

Something I had been trying to show for months, only to have you discover it when you were alone

A calling

A light.

A dance between heaven and hell

This life

Is only so fragile

Suffering renews strength

and happiness is a relatively new invention

You found a part of yourself

A piece hidden amidst the anxiety

Lodged within the depression you ran away from

Deciding to dig deeper instead of being buried

You found the power to choose

To stick by your decisions, whether right or wrong

Before, you were a babe,

Thirsting for my honey

My presence was more than important, it was vital

But all children must leave the crib, I just didn’t expect you to go so soon.

Holding your head high as you finally grasped the ledge leading to heaven

You were closer to your dreams, but so much farther away from me.


A relic from your indecisive dynasty

To give you up is to give myself up

And to give up myself is to give up my self

Now viewed with appreciation over love.


Oh change, how cruel you are

To the one who doesn’t.


What if an Armageddon meteor decided to suddenly crash into the world today, leaving only one other person alive…who would you choose?

Maybe that was a tad dramatic for an introduction, but I wanted you to know what your presence means.

It is stars in orbit,

Ink in quill pens,

Hearts in wrinkled hands.

I dare not to question for the mind seeks answers;

Because with you, my soul has enough proof to know that this passion we tend is purposeful, and that scares me.

Light is sacred for when it is gone, it is dark and my eyes are tired of gazing into the abyss of myself.

But you…you are the individual I dare to dream of,

The solitary being so beautiful that a garden has been sprouted simply from your beliefs.

Point in case, you are the soil to my seed.

The seaside cottage I can retreat to during the winter. Sand crawls between my toes as the wind tries to take us with him and I am ready. For nature has found a place for us to practice this pleasure.



Let your soul shine as if it were the last star hanging in the heavens.

These words. These confessions of the chaos within, allow them to stay with you when diving into the dark for it is down here where we shall meet.

The shadows from our pressed lips will fill the world with sounds while our hearts long for the silence found only when sitting next to each other.