Story of make believe 

Hello, I am black

It is not who I am but the color of my skin

Not my name but what I am known for

Hello,I am black

This is a statement and fact

Something to which I can not change

No matter how much others may want it

I can not dye it a certain flavor

To make it easier for others to savour

It doesn’t change my insides

Though I know how much you want me to hide

Hi, I am black

This fact holds me back

Makes others decide my fate in life

Not allowed to say my piece before it is pointed out to me

That I am, in fact, black

Judge and hated by those who crave it

A rebellious phase to touch

Punished lust, so hide we must

Locked doors with a passion

My skin worn like Fashion

Hello, I am black

This statement brings a bad taste to your mouth

Apology accepted for your ancestors lies

Yet sit and swallow your own words everytime a

Black person gives you a verse

Judge least not be judged

Your ancestors chose a path that you have since denied

Yet you turn a blind eye to what has not changed

Hi, I am black

I am still suppose to sit towards the back

Accept the fact that you are the golden one

Shut my mouth against the hurt and the pain

That you have since spit anyways

But it is not always your fault

See others who share my trait still hate

Still try and hit me behind the stable

Cause I am different and unable

To love someone with the same traits

The same facts as me.

Call me a slave who loves thy master

Stockholm Syndrome spewed from a friendly pastor.

Whose only saving Grace is their age.

Their wisdom behind what truly happened.

Laying with the same face that beats and rapes

Is this what was suppose to happen?

Have I made my ancestors proud?

Hello, I am black

And this fact has shaped my very being

Made me say an do things I do not mean

Made me afraid of change for change sake

Made me hate those who continue to debate the truth

The truth being that I am just like you.

With all my traits, we are the same

On the inside at least

My skin should not be the factor for my future and my past

Should not be the reason I am set back by the classes

Hated by masses who look like me

Speak like me

Think like me

All because I am black

Hated by those who hurt like me

Who are broken like me

Who live their lives like me

Because I decided to ignore the divide

And love someone I shouldn’t

There is a thin line between us all yet I dared to be the bridge

So watch as others shield the eyes of their kids

Watch as they turn their backs on my fact

Because of whom I love and the color that is me

Hello, I am black

This is statement and fact

But it should not define me

The Tape: Unheard Lyrics Are The Loudest, Side A

I love the way you scream.  How your blood seeps into my skin. I truly hope that this moment never ends. Can you see how this may excite me? How this has been a dream come true? 

I bet you are scared aren’t you? Don’t lie now, I can see the fear in your eyes. Want me to tell you a story? About how I got I got these scars in my wrist? About how, for awhile, I couldn’t think past the bullet jn my head. I can tell it to you darling.  Let you see the true me. Just know though, I am telling you this cause you will never have the chance to tell anyone else. Cause I am going to kill you. Oh no don’t shake your head and cry more. You knew this was going to happen. You knew that this was result of your very own actions. 

Where to begin…

Oh yes…

See, my name is Hannah.

….to be continued…

Bleed in thy name

An often cliche question right before one dies

“Where is God”

The devote Christian cries.

Before the trigger is pulled

And brain matter is allowed to splatter 

A question is asked

Though the answer doesn’t matter.

As they run place to place

A students blood freash on thier face

They ask a question 

Though they don’t truly care

A cliched question

A poetic end

“Where is God

The supposed Saviour to us all?”

Only a bullet wound 

is the respected response. 

I was reading an article on facebook (I am cheap and will not buy a news paper) and saw that there was a school shooting. Actually, there where multiple school shootings. In some people died while in others people where badly wounded. Still someone suffered in the end. 

I know Christians who want to kill themselves.  Despite it being a sin in their religion, they want to end it. I am not saying religion is a hoax due to that. It helps so many people; but it is not a save all heal all thing. Same can be said for those who do not believe in the idea of religion. 
The thing I am getting at is everyone suffers. Everyone experiences some sort of pain. Yet the one question many of us ask ourselves during this time is is there a God. If we believe or not he does come up. It is ingrained into many of our societies that he is real, so when feeling depressed is often hard to not think of him….or her….or them. 

So the cliche of the day before the trigger is pulled

        “Where is God?”

Not My Problem

Do not judge me

I gave up 

I become what they wanted

A body covered in cuts.

We are told that suicide is wrong. That is it the failures way out. I once read a story where of someone attempted suicide they where shipped to an island with other people who failed. There there were no rules and they could either try again or live how they pleased. 

Their records were deleted and their families told they died. I am not sure how the goverment in this book got away with not having to show the body, but they did. 

So on this small island some people did decide to take their lives while other vowed to keep going. 

It was a strange story. As you may assume all hell broke lose until rules were in place. Rape, murder, theft, just your basic chaos happened till they devised their own goverment of sorts. 

Not going to lie, I didn’t get that far into this series. Once I was assured people would try to find some meaning to life I stopped. 

Interesting that this is the part I stopped at. I guess I could have read on once the more darker stuff had passed….but I didn’t.  

I have read two variations to this story. One was a manga and they other a adult novel. Both times I stopped reading once life reached some sort of order. 

I don’t delude myself into thinking it would be perfect. Instead I choose to never give it a chance. I didn’t try to see if it would get better because what was right in front of me only seemed to be getting worse. 

In these books order was found but I just knew that it would change quickly. I knew that someone would grow bored of that life and try to start problems again. What else can happen when you put a bunch of emotional people in the same room. Even if everyone is getting along there will always be that one person who craves chaos. Who has this hidden bloodlust that they can’t get rid off. 
So I stop.

I stop reading and instead give up on the series. I see the dark past and have an understanding of the future. I expect change but it is not the change I believe can help me. 

People might think I am strange for that. They might tell me that I need to stick around and let the story finish. That giving up before I can truly reach the ending it not giving the author credit. But I, as the reader, hold all the power. 

In a story filled with violence, I can choose when it will end. 
So when people look to suicide I do not see what they see. They find a failure, a victem, I see a person who took their life into their own hands. Yes they have left so much behind but they are finally free…at least…that is what they think. 
Now despite this understanding I do not believe that peoppe should harm themselves. I do believe that people should preserve. Giving up on a silly book is easy, but giving in to life is a whole other story. 

We readers hold the power. Our story may be filled with pain. We may not hold all the answers on how it could change. We may not be alone in our suffering. We could be sitting on an island surrounded by people who hate just like us. Emotional husk, beings left to rot. We may have tried to end our lives in the past and have it being held against us but we still hold the power. 

Change may not happen fast enough. Somewhere along the lines there will be thay one person trying to fuck it all up. But we, dear reader, will try our hardest to go on. Not just for ourselves but for those around us who also need a reason to go on. 

Do not ever think you are alone. Do not ever think that you are not worth it. We may not have the lives of writers but as readers we are still so very strong. So very very important. Because without us there is no them. Without us they world would be an even more crueler place.
I understand death. 

I understand wanting to shut the book and call it a day. 

I understand giving up.

I understand it all. 

Without those who suffer this world would not understand.
But fuck me !it isn’t fair! It isn’t fair that people must feel pain so the rest of the world can learn something called empathy and understanding. 
I once read a story where people were forced to live on an island after they tried to kill themselves. Their loved ones were told theu succeeded. Some were probably forgotten whole other remembered often. On this island people died, people were raped, people suffered. Forced to live a life they didn’t want just so they could teach others a lesson. 

It isn’t fair at all. 

I stopped reading that book once things started going good. I didn’t want to see people come along and try to break what was once broken. I didn’t want to see as they healed from their wounds and try again. I didn’t want to see them be happy, for others to try stop them. 

Instead I focused in them surviving. 

Cause in the end…no matter what they decided..they did all they could to make their life theres. 
How unfair is that? 

In the end I say hello

A dull blade to past the time. 

Don’t worry sinner, I won’t take something that isn’t mine. I know my place at the holy gate. I know that death is a welcomed fate. Yet I can’t imagine how you must feel. Me looking down on you as you choose to do what you will. And here I got shit for giving you free will. 

Yet still I lend a helping hand. Sure it is not always welcomed but in the end, does it matter?

You will come into my light eventually. So what if you suffer a bit. So what if your life is full of pain. I mean, come on, to see me is a win-win. 

A dull blade to past the time.

Crusted blood on tile floors that used to shine. I know you feel bad and you want to end but don’t you know giving up is a sin. 

It sort of sucks if you think about it though. I give you a life yet make it hard to bear. Give you choices upon choices but never will tell you the right  one to make.  So you shuffle through life thinking you are mistake. The one clause given to make it all go away is the very one you can’t even take. Instead I give you sin to test your love. I give you people around you who have the free will to judge. 

I stamp title on your body so people can see. Sure I love you and in the end you’ll have me. But till then stay where you are. It will be ok, I mean maybe…maybe not. In time it will be ok.

A dull blade to pass the time. 

So fondle your blade slowly with tears sliding down your face. I will not take it from you because it is not my place. Instead I will stand here at the holy gate and wait. Wait till the life I made you takes control and ends you or someone else steps up to the plate. 

I am the only one who cares in the end anyways. 

A Petty Poet Poem Production.

How to ignore those around you

CW: abuse, rape, children hurting. 

(Please be advised and head my warning. )

Father helped to poison me

As we build forts with bloody sheets.

Pile of pillows staind with tears

Turn on the radio

(It helps me pretend this isn’t real)

Loudly sing for all to hear

They smile at the sight we make

Daughter

Father

Picture so fake.

Daddy helped me to poison me

As I lay in bed looking at trees

Leaves sound out across the wall

Music playing down the hall

(I listen because it help me to sleep)

‘Take as long as you need’, they sing

Dancing not caring what midnight brings

Daughter

Father

A kiss goodnight

They ignore the screaming 

Music brings a new meaning

Louder, louder, louder

Teaches them to ignore

All the little girls cries

Behind the closed door.