Shallow tears

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Her heart breaks, not for the player and his promiscuous ways, but for the homeless lady she sees in the same spot everyday. Her heart bleeds, not for gucci bags or anything else she might wish to keep. But because she heard about families in Grenfell towers burning in their sleep. Her heart weeps not because of her flaws or insecurities, but for the mother of that little boy that was stabbed on her own high street. She’s human too. Full of her own doubts regrets and fears. But her angelic eyes would just not let her cry,  shallow tears.

 

The mad men I met

I met  preacher man, who would twist his own philosophy, purposely, to make short term profit off a long term prophecy.

I met a bunch of bankers ,that toppled the economy

I met a politician, with his vision, so impaired, he was unaware, of his hypocrisy, trying to force democracy, using guns and bureaucracy

Hell…I even met a martyr with a life insurance policy…

 

saviour self

Single units too unfit to fit in.A random jigsaw piece, in pieces, nailed to a system of sadistic statistics.

Two faced barriers, that crossed the line, blocking positive paths.

Many go through hell, asking their demons for help… receiving death, before perceiving life.

No law, and no man can crucifix a persons persecuted personality. Except he that sings hymns to himself, or she, who learns to see, her once evil flaws as divine imperfections.

Many give directions, None can change one’s path. None can solve the mystery within ones self . Many will try, but only you know, what it takes to save  yourself

 

 

 

 

Unhappy family 

sisters have decided to make up lies, and wear them on their faces. They have chosen to chase vanity rather than face reality. 

brothers would rather fight for power, than fight the power. They have decided to undermine the importance of affection. They have lost direction,following ego.

parents demand all children must pay rent, to live in the very homes they were born in. Only seeking change, where they can earn a little extra change. They don’t correct mistakes anymore, instead they abuse authority, prolong animosity. 

children no longer want to read books. They chase numerical quotes, on printed notes, that have no real value, instead of dreams.

This world is a broken home. No one knows what theyre here for, nobody even cares anymore. Except us. You, and me. 

All that’s left of our scattered family. 

Coloured 

I was innocent, until you outlawed my existence. I was free of charges, until you put me up for sale. 

I was suddenly unwelcome, in your so called home, because I stopped hanging out in your fields. 

I had a dream so real, it woke you up, on the wrong side of the bed…

You ran so far ahead, of the truth, before I found my feet. You still had time to look behind and watch me stumble in amusement.

You limited my choices, because I refused to pick, when you asked.

You tell me my face is ugly, and give me yours as a mask. 

 I worked hard, for a while, amassing a woodpile, only to later burn it. In attempts to draw attention, to a fire you started. You use that same flame to torch holes in my history, later to fill them in with ego fuelled lies.

I was a blank canvas, until you coloured me black. You now refuse to look at your own painting. 

The gloomy heirloom built on generations of pain; decorated in every shade of genocide. 

Whether you choose to accept credit for the disaster master piece inspired by hate,fear, and fate;

or acknowledge that, you, neither held a whip nor hold the blame 

Without any change in the patterns our colours make, you will gain from these moral stains all the same.