An ode to us

Are a generation of retards
Growing up in opaque greenhouses
Personalized out of our own filthy little minds


I rebel

I have been asked by big poets
To write in metaphors,
How do I make them understand
That my pain isn’t metaphorical?

About Change

I am a living heartbreak.
No, I am not writing this
Because I want to sound like a cool poet
Believe me, I am starting to get tired
Of metaphors.

An Apology Poem

Every time the sound of a bullet
Echoes through the walls of a city,
A village, through mountains that stand tall
And refuse to crumble into dust 
With shame, with fear,
I wake up from my afternoon siesta
In a puddle of blood.