Weaponry in Words

Microphone by Japan
Microphone by Japan

Here I go, on this path to enlighten those who’ll listen

Keyed to unlock inequity from suppressions prison

I’m preaching for the little boy, who’s father beats his mother

“Daddy’s death” the torch lit wish, whispered under cover

I’m singing for the soldier who’s never left the war

Child Abuse 2 by Miss Murder
Child Abuse 2 by Miss Murder

Who lays awake in sweats dreaming death is at his door

I’m Humming for the tormented, plagued with their own mind

Questioning reality, distortions seen when blind

I’m vocal for the Muslim, seats vacant either side

India: Street Girl by Mister Now
India: Street Girl by Mister Now

Commuters opt to stand, over rubbing shoulders for the ride

I’m speaking for that little boy, asked to lick a lolly pop

The licking of a phallic, while pleading it to stop

For those eating feces to halt the destiny of death

Morsels numbered calculate a timeline for their breath

This is for injustice, inequity and truth

poverty 1 by myemptybliss
Poverty 1 by My Empty Bliss

This is for the world in which were bringing up our youth

Equip your lips with tactfulness to unshackle what resides

What keeps us up at night, producing pain when lips confide

Assemble with me, armed with words, to pierce a callused skin

A revolution without weapons, let your penmanship begin


Social responsibility is embodied in art. I cry out for those who’s tears are shed in silent suffering.  Words  script change.

A single voice can cross the world if cherished  by the right gust of wind…

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My 3 Day Trip

All aboard the night bus calls…

My three day excursion to a frail mind. 72 hours of insight into the possibilities of mental decline. I’m suffering a woundless incision. Paralyzed by indecision. Debilitation of mind and body, blood soaked thoughts. My fingers bleed as I plead for the Renae of yesterday. Please…this is a reprimanded illness, the AIDS of mental suffering. I’m muted by fear of persecution. An unmentionable affliction.

The Song Never Written by HFFK
The Song Never Written by HFFK

My jacket, hat and shoes are the same ones adorned when sound, yet I am cloaked in a veneer of mental persecution. I’m knee deep in a grave that I didn’t dig. A mound of earth excavated by nameless daemons coercing death. How deep is deep enough? When will the pile of turned earth be returned to its home? Will every granule find its way home or will soil be eternally displaced by my body?

Who is writing?? This is not my tune. These are not my words. A soiled reality! Feelings that are foreign yet saturate my everything. Who stole my mind?

Who returned it? An overdue gift carded by Anonymous. The unwrapped package

Low Man's Lyric By HFFK
Low Man’s Lyric By HFFK

lays open. Etchings regarding the 3 day mental voyage, a hallmark to my suffering. The pain  a privileged insight. Feelings, a cherished commodity. My tomorrow is empowered by those living with an irrational reality.  Empathy, respect, awe, marvel and compassion laces my art. How do people endure this eternal fight? My 72 hour excursion was the best and worst trip of my life.

I thank the jester who corralled this excursion. You have invigorated my next chapter, inscribing insight into the privilege of mental stability. An ever-teetering state, resting on the precipice of instability. For now, I write for those who are paralyzed by a mind. May you be free again. I write in hope that the earth underfoot is not grave. The ground is not a testament to your fight. It takes courage to arm yourself for the battle. It takes an army to win minds fight. Soldiers can be friends or strangers. Society….Enlist

Words You Rather Left Unsaid by Crazygrin
Words You Rather Left Unsaid by Crazygrin

My wired woes come and go

Demons scheming mental blows

I bleed in words, in pain I grow

This day’s ache is next month’s show

Life isn’t Fair

Mind tinkers in verse and transforms into rhyme

My thinking coerced by two stanza lines

The rhythm of thoughts, a sullen progression

My metronomes ticking tunes of suppression

A blessing and curse is my mindful transverse

To live full of wonder, yet ponder the hearse

How death isn’t fair, so neither is life

Wealth finds the wicked as poor pays the price

Image: Poverty, by Niv24
Image: Poverty, by Niv24

When the End is not Near Enough

Chest holds grenades pulled of their pin

Daddooms counting down those ticks from within

Strokes falling short of a meaningful measure

Beats that retreat, as aching’s trump pleasure

Oh how chambers chime in a pitch out of tune

Rhythms depicting a heart now in ruin

Daddooms void of lust, rings stripped of luck

A life that’s no must, screams a “who gives a fuck”

Oh… but action takes motive, motive takes might

Who’s the lacer of gloves for living this fight?

The pins now been pulled, but whether to throw

Or wait clasping down for more souls than your own

The fight isn’t over, life’s in your hands

Grenades can be tossed to better-laid plans

Throw at the daemons poisoning mind

Let pins release pain, without blood on the line

Life isn’t over when thoughts muffle dreams

Life only halts when silencing screams

When a heart stops its course, short of fulfilled

When minds current racings are finally stilled

When that trigger is pointing to the one in the frame

When the mirrored reflection ends its own game

What is the fuel for pulling life’s pin?

Don’t rely on the mind that scolds what’s within

A stranger, a friend, a soul in the light

Is the lacer of gloves for winning this fight

Hearts soften voices poisoning minds

Rekindling hopes that alone you can’t find

Echo’s in mirror should be spied by another

Sounded in tongue, not by daemons you suffer

Put down the knife that’s intended to pierce

Cut down that noose that will cut short your years

Turn from the ledge that tows now caress

Discard the drugs you intend to ingest

Is your hearse laying chosen? Is the grave trumping life?

Is your hand on the trigger while your rolling deaths dice?

Please reconsider the bed you have made

Rest tomb bound plans covertly laid

I’ll lend you my mind to offload your daemon

My heart can fill yours, life’s not in completion

Image, Hand By Gilead
Image, Hand By Gilead

My Family Home

My lips covet courting, yet their locked by a mind

A misconceptions of affection is the poison lacing time

It’s a tick without tocks, a broken carrousel

Merry rounds are running as bare backs dance to bells

I falter with the alter and the visions that I see

Bride and groom not tended to, within this nuptial dream

See.. I flutter with a smile and suppress with a thought

Find comfort in the pavement, cement prevents the caught

It’s the mind within the matter, yet I mind the passing shell

That merry round is broken on this empty carrouselgay_fairy_tale_by_kikalicia-d3bv5qu

Do you grasp my plight or do I baffle with this song

See… this ramble is my gamble to make women not seem wrong

Do you understand the dream imparted to the young

Man weds wife the nursery rhyme, persuasions seen and sung

The fiction of a fairy tale, holds fact in its revere

My course is filled with fantasy, yet my couplings cast as queer

The tales weathered time and scripts evaded age

A diction of contradiction to the feelings that I cage

My dream that tends to scare the most holds a face across my table

No prince is in this pudding, girl meets girl my featured fable

A ring revolves my finger, isle sole split within the crowd

It’s the love beneath the cloth that brands the parents proud

What if we skewed a fairy tale, amending girl meats boy?

Slant the stories start for the heart to make the choicelesbian-wedding-tux-and-dress-300

Read genders yours to render and not be met with scold

High-heeled shoes the platform to transform without a toll

What if love is found, when girls dress dolls that kiss?

Little boys are clashing trucks, while grasping hands instead of fists

There is revolution in the stories that pillow rested we are told

A sentence without sentence, editions for spines folds

An adaptation to the cast, love composes to the ear

The picture perfect unions that don’t manifest in fear

Can my carrousel be merry, and each tick be met by tocks?

Can I a feel the roundabouts that circulate this clock?

I’ll heal when reading bed time tales to the kids I call my own

Love will be the lullaby that attunes my family home

photo by Devin Bruce
photo by Devin Bruce

Please share thoughts, stories, love and joy. Assemble with me armed with words…

Social Responsibility

The game in a frame we shamefully play

A touch up via matte masks what we portray

Let’s sharpen, play pixels, a lie to the site

Let’s contrast, then crop, to bolster a night

“Checking in” at a café, checking out of the scene

Refreshments arrive while your refreshing a screen

“OMFG, did you happen to see?

Bec got fucked over, I’m glad that ain’t me?”

Bec tweets her deceit, and bares underwear

She post he came close, but  more she won’t share

The depiction he sends, does not have discretion

Snap chat to “friends”, screen shot for possession

Captioned with lies to captures times truth

Just being, just seeing, not enough for our youth

Abolish a Blemish through the tap of a button

We’re posing as lambs, no time for a mutton

A freckle not sin to be filtered away

Scars not an evil up for eviction by gray

Posts teach our teens that perfection is life

Insecurities then corrected by enlisting a knife

Let’s tweet what we eat, share to show care

While we post on a host in a provocative stare

Addictions of fingers entertains our obsession

A “like for a like” chimes societies regression

Are you the one sharing with the goal of a like?

Or re-tweeting kids starving, a news feed your mike?

Let’s cure cancer with a touch of the mouse

Or swipe to fight AIDS while building orphans a house

Meanwhile that to go bag’s dismissed, as we turn to friends laughing

Yet outside comforts doors a vagrant begs, starving

That take away parcel could change hungers rage

A morsel of kindness, void of a twittering stage

Let’s beat what we tweet, let’s bare what we share

Let’s boast in a post we donated time spare

Societies conflictions should be our obsession

A like for a spike in inequities suppression

Donate the shoes that are void of your wear

Give the time of day not your media share

Dusty items in closets, gifts from a past lover

Are threaded with shelter, and zippered with covers

It’s not what we say that makes who we are

It’s not what we share that brings nations on par

Yet, It is what we do, what we aid and give action

Is your #hashtag uploaded to bolster ones own attraction?

20150304_155500_resized (1)


Am I a hypocrite if I ask you to reblog, share or like? Circulation for the sake of education? Hmmmm… food for thought. Until next time, assemble with me armed with words.

Suckling on Mother Natures Permanence

Kindness caressing as warmth on your face

Breeze bound in breaths endorsing her grace

Humor in sun showers minus a warning

Comfort in caves affording shelter till morning

Her forgiveness in spectrums acquitting the thunder

Fierceness piercing in the breaking of tundra

Compassion cocooned in the nesting of young

Her fable in chimes, not spoken but sung

Her anger, storms wrath, splitting the ear

Fight in the lightning, landing to seer

Her life is a fixture in the rings of trees

Soul on display when spring ends the freeze

Her growth and decay yields the cycle of seasons

Bounty in fruits, she’s the endless artesian

The curator of life, the shelter and breast

A world that suckles puts her permanence to test

20150926_173538 20141116_071622

Beauty and the Beast

She sings because she’s happy, tunes tapping her resolve

Her melodies are methods for melancholy to dissolve

A hum celebrating joy, as it emerges from within

Its lullaby cast crescents arcing in her grin

Tears are not from sadness, but a product of her state

Inner piece now dripping in a droplet down her face

Her prancing feet are to the beat of happiness’s drum

Tapping to a tune that is cheerfulness’s sum

Yet, suddenly this tapping skips from its even pace

The rhapsody is remedied from its joyful race

Inoculations seem to be the product of a man

Foreboding upturned lips through the raising of a hand

Suspension with intension to strike this damsel down

Beast puppeteer’s beauties lips into a trembled frown

Positioned as if waving, to an absent passer by

This hand produces droplets now fearful from the eye

The beast embodies father, brother and soul mate

Momentarily, this limb suspends with fury fueling traits

Yesterday, tender strokes where doused upon this dame

Today a hand will strike, ensuing charred remains

The aftermath a shaking beauty-clutching that which burns

The imprint of a hand, signifies a man who churns

Who stews, who brews, from daily dues, adding whisky to the pot

The beast is brought to broil, then lights the coil with molten shots

Broth abruptly spilling over dousing dame with fear

The stirring beast, spoils the feast with flames that dually sear

A victim lies in turmoil residing in tempered stewDV race relig

Simmering in suffrage with nothing she can do

A perpetuating cycle fueled by the absentee of hope

Beasts palpable remorse tightens wrists cuffing rope

The throwing blows like paper cuts, not grave but ever burning

Dames Pain remains when aesthetics aren’t concerning

A leash that wont relinquish without external aid

The marking scorched in skin purely fuels the flower trade

With each fume the beauty hones her skills to mask the former night

Denial put this file in chest marked “own fathers plight”

The maiming shame now stowed in heart and padlocked draws

Sympathy imparts submission to the pleading on all fours

What will strip these shackles fortified by beastly mourning?

Is it the bruised reflections, that beauties now adorning?

Is it the voice of reason that comes to her at night?

Is it the next-door neighbor who overheard the fight?

Beasts pitied pleads yield cuffing leads which paralyze this wife

That noose not lose as braiding burns when beauty takes her life

Accountability for a Soulless Classroom

The arts require intellect, yet it’s absent on your tests

A graphite stroke, confirmed a joke, by the dollars you invest

Multiple choice mutes the voice and restricts a seeking mind

When theatre has no place in schools, outcomes will decline

A dream plays second fiddle to the “rounding” of a child

Kid’s worth, is in a value, yet dreams don’t make their file

A boy is deemed as gifted, assumptions from a score

Yet, care is void for content prescribed in Common Core

His train of thought is never taught, so why would he engage

He yearns for ovations while standing center stage

Since birth the boy was dancing, while being bottle-fed

His tippy toes, were tapping shows before, he’d found his tread

Music brought a smile, when screams were all he knew

Daddy finds his mother’s face, and paints it black and blue

Headphones in, he danced from grim, fleeing homely hell

A grieving face is what’s embraced, without savior from the bell

His life’s in reach, yet teachers preach, no content to his dream

No person to simply question, “What would you like to be?”

The boy’s been patiently waiting for the question beings asked…

“I want to bow in ballet shoes, the lead in Swan Lakes cast

I want the chance, for toes to dance in perfect pointed form

I want the world to realize I won’t settle for the norm

I want my mind to fall in line with pirouette precision

I want a place to dance, when dad gets out prison

You say my mind is gifted, yet this box is in its wrapping

Bound in twine, the card your rhyme, no time for toes now tapping

You say I could be anything, yet I want nothing on your list

You want extension in the classroom, yet I seek it in my wrist”

Take the time to see his mind is absent in your day

Curriculums equate to hate, in light of the Ballet


During high school, education for me, was something that occurred through exposure, not through seeking. Its value was in team sports, arts programs and writing. I was rarely curious or captivated by curriculums, resulting in the Common Core devaluing my individuality. We wonder why standards are consistently declining? Last time I checked, children are being told what to learn, how to learn, and when to learn. That’s what we call a dictatorship right?

The motivation for this poem was unearthed when scrolling the enchanting abyss of recommended bloggers. I was unprepared for what awaited when clicking on We Don’t Need No Thought Control. The blog mandated reflection, giving me no option but to grab my laptop and start tapping away at realism. Are there more people who feel standardization, No Child Left Behind and the Common Core are contributing to our intellectual demise? Is the end result America compromising its leading role amongst the global stage?

I understand content will always be contentious and I agree that specific learning objectives should be in place. We all need to learn the basics right?  To understand simple math, while being able to express ourselves adequately through writing? Addition, subtraction, grammar and organization have a place in the minds of all children. How we learn however, is where my inner monster rears its head to say STOP! If a child loves music, teach them how to read through a crescendo of lyrics. If a child enjoys being active, provide content on distance, measurement and percentages in relation to their specific physical accomplishments. When to learn disturbs another sleeping beast. Research keeps presenting to us optimum learning times are dependent on age, yet we continue to take onboard a generic timeframe from kindergarten through to senior year.

Don’t get me started on learning styles and boys vs. girls. Visual, auditory, tactile and kinesthetic are all ways in which we can optimize content absorption. Learning is nothing without practicality. Why learn content if it is not going to be utilized after a multiple-choice test has confirmed retention? No Child Left Behind cuffs kids to their peers through comparisons, shackling them to their expected grade until graduation. When hatted and gowned, the cuffs are unlocked, yet these teenagers are not equipped for the freedom they face, as freedom has been absent for the majority of their lives.

Schools are becoming glorified babysitters, not because teachers are failing, but because standardization is holding teachers accountable for a soulless classroom. Let’s ask our kids “What would you like to be when you grow up?” Chances are they will be readied with an answer that is overdue for pursuit.

We wonder why mental health issues are on the rise. We are devaluing our own children’s identities by stripping them of individuality and choice within the education system. When we fail to recognize a child’s dream, we fail to provide avenues for individual expression within academics.  The next generation will only see value in values. The number of likes, shares, friends, snaps and comments will be the trade underpinning self-confidence. A digit should not define a child’s worth. We don’t learn in a standardized manner, so why teach to one?

Schizophrenia. We see it! We hear it! We avoid it. Let’s confront it!

Talking about mental health is how we progress mindsets. This video represents a poem I hold dear. The words are drawn from both personal, and professional experiences with Schizophrenia. As an Occupational Therapist, I have clinically witnessed the debilitating nature of Schizophrenia.  A fear of your own reality is heartbreaking to see, and difficult to mend. Daily function becomes hampered by your own demons and contradicting realities. Through living in New York, I am submerged in diversity. Eccentricity is valued, yet when a hint of “insanity” hangs on your coat tails, doors become closed and backs become turned. The correlation between homelessness and mental health on the streets of New York is devastating to see. I have watched Schizophrenia destroy a friendship because I was not strong enough to detach myself from my own insecurities to support another. I will never be a bystander again.   It’s ok to not be ok. It’s not ok for society to turn its back on those who live with a skewed perception of reality or those who are suffocated by their mind’s malfunctions.

As a society, we often let fear paralyze us! Whether we are bystanders, or a loved one to those with mental health issues, it is important that our hearts and minds remain open.  “Are you ok?” is a simple question that can turn a person’s day, week, year or life around. The time taken in watching this video and the attention sustained in reading this script is greatly appreciated.  The first step is talking about injustice; from there we can unite for a worded fight.  This is for equality, society, humanity and community.

Let’s start to de-stigmatize,  one smile or positive gesture at a time.

Please follow Mind to Unbind for further insight into our world through the visionary lens of a poet, dreaming for a future void of inequity and injustice. Your comments and questions mean a lot. I try to never shy away from personal growth, even when suffocatingly confronting.