Newspaper covers

This Poem will get a rewrite and more explanation and how it came to be in some of the blogs to come, I thought it best to leave it here as it was, a little messy and frustrating as I was at the time I wrote this.

Attached also a performance at spoken sessions open mic night with a friend Marissa Verheij.

Under the covers, we feel safe that blanket is a force field to all hurt for children.
Our beds are the comfort to breakups, hard days lost friends, and tiered lives.
Pillows captured so many tears, heard all our fears. Our beds’ safety.

But how about them?
Sleeping in the confines of your house maybe you fell asleep with a tear running down your face maybe you fell asleep with laughter in your stomach
Forgetting about them the disgrace by day, them who make you afraid to walk around the street at night
Them who make you cringe at first sight
While you cuddle in your blankets starting to dream
It’s them who sleep on a shriveled piece of box it’s them who are afraid to fall asleep and dream coz they might just not wake up
Newspapers for blankets writes grim stories for dreams
Headlining there death

Who are we to judge if alcohol warms there body if it helps them forget the faces
That looked at them with hate
Who are we to debate what they are going to use the money for, to them, it may be the last day the can spend it?
Who are we to say we know what they deserve.
You are allowed at church, are they? Would you frown upon it if they are?
Then who are we to say they do wrong?
So let’s stop poverty we say I believe we have to start with our mindset

Climbing to bed at night with the comfort of a mattress
They have the comfort of tar and brick.
The thought of these drastic differences makes me sick
So I guess its true change does start with you!

Twinkle twinkle little star is not a comforting lullaby how they know what you are reminders of a roofless living.
The tug, the push, the pull, the ruthless eyes ruthless beating weather the ruthless living.
If we are what eat what are they nothing it is easier for our eyes, but
These Lonely ghosts are only seeking warm bodies to live in.
The winter is coming with its shark’s frostbiting at their bodies
Like the flowers, their limbs wilting
The cold so harsh black heart suicide a dream

I saw a man with the audacity to scream get a job lazy, he clearly doesn’t know how it feels to stand in the sun burning at both ends tar and sky, skin being colored by a violent kindergartener brown red black.
Trying to get that job in a haystack on fire broken glass
Their lips erupting volcanos with only ash to show
Bleeding eyes punctured skin.
What happened to their family tree?
Did society destroy it bulldozed what happened to the tree, the branches the leaves the fruit
The apples the lemons they can’t make lemonade, not a drop left.
What is this system? It’s clearly not the solar system of God it the system of broken men
Constellations are falling, Saturn crumbling, the moon is pale, and there is no Sun
Except for some time back on a cross seems like the path to salvation is sacrifice
What do you have to give?
Plant yourself in the backyard of homeless hearts
Grow a tree, grow a branch a leaf
Grow lemons feel the squeeze
It is ok we all fall asleep under praising stars
Galaxies glorifying the Creator
Twinkle twinkle little star how you know who we are
We are lemon seeds
Goodnight, sleep well.
Grow.

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