Nationalist 

I’m a nationalist to humanity

There is no dirt that belongs to me

Where I belong is where hearts find safety

I don’t look at color or the wealthy

My language is of Love

And my skin simply reflects the sun

My flag is black with brilliance, absorbing all the colors in the sun.

My culture is that of freedom and honor

And pizza and chocolate 

And cheese

And lastly, my religion, my belief, is my life and etiquette. 

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My modesty

Can my morals and free-thought culture be the flirtatious song of my voice

that brings charmed smiles

or my determination in my aspirations cause the love-struck ambitions

Can selflessness be an adornment the way

my robe generously flows around my hips

Or-When can my deep sincerity, honesty, and integrity be the exotic

blackest kohl

as my veil of identity and personality graces my eyes

Can it be that all that I’ve learned and am learning

be the gold hung around my neck and hands

And be the means of true impression and status

Or my diligence and it’s dirt of hard work on my clothes

be the satin fabric that illuminates my skin

the way my heart illuminates

all the same, from within. in full radiance, and beauty

that I can claim to be of my own

and natural

 

 

 

 

Giving In

It’s like painting a new picture

for the strange object that never fit in

Like a sock on a vase

rather than flowers within

 

Strange and despised

What nonsense is this

A sock on a vase? 

This art has no face!

 

Refusing to be abashed

The artist changes state

It’s the viewer who was wrong

And the meaning was misplaced

But the vase was painted over

with a desk and a sitting mother

knitting the last sock

for her dying little child,

because the idiots whose understanding

of life and living

is so very mild.

 

 

Smile in a cracked mirror

if only we can lead our lives with our hearts and eyes
instead of throwing fake poses and walking with our noses up high

thinking only of ourselves and falling into vice,
forgetting the meaning of life and how to sacrifice
there is a cure and it’s not magic
nor is it obscure or hiding something tragic

it’s to accept the pain that as humans we gain
and forgive our weaknesses that lead us to shame

to move on and ignore the count of numbers
to be free so we can lie back into euphoric slumbers

                    and remember that there is nothing more dearer
                   than smiling into a cracked mirror
                   and watching the world reflect back