Is my skin still sin?

Am I cursed like ham?

If I play with toy guns will I be a savior or sinner, with skin this brown?

Am I the wrong shade of heaven?

Microphones cannot silence the views of others.

Don’t save her, she don’t wanna be saved.



Antagonizing the spirit of Saturday’s mind,

We run to destinations we are no hurry to get to,

Catching Pokemon as if they promise to fulfill the dreams we never caught

new dreams season old days with bad taste.


Forgive him,

preaching is making my ears bleed.

We hyperbolize our lives to fulfill artistic need.

Poets in shop windows, words still ignored.


Every moment avoiding their view.

We seek to be relationships of the alone.


Our thoughts and actions souly metaphysical.

The fleek of our eyebrows is just as important.

Throw it all into the little mix of things and believe the big dreams are waiting for the right time.


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