Mezeker

He’s 10 years old,

He looks pudgier than the other kids
but don’t be fooled

its just the worms infecting his system

He's got diarrhea
a swollen stomach
and can't sleep at night



He asks me if I remember his name

Its Mezeker

Mezeker means “remember”



But I don’t want to tell Him I know that

Cause I don’t want to remember any of this



if I do i know i will always feel his pain
Ill remember every child
beaten so badly by the world
I couldn't even tell the boys from the girls


I am blind here
all i see is no food
swollen stomachs
weak limbs
and short-lived smiles

I FEEL temperatures of 105
and skin so tough they cant feel the flies dancing around their eyes

all i hear is Mezeker crying in the night
drowning out his dreams of actually being able to provide
for 3 brothers and a sister even though he’s only 10



Im sorry Mezeker,

but I don’t want to remember



You know what, ill sponsor you

That way you’ll get my $30 a month

It'll provide you with food and maybe a little medicine



But the best part is I can set up automatic payments

Ill even Ignore the letters and then I wont have to remember


I can finally wipe my hands clean of the world's needs







but something inside me tells me
this just isn't right
When's the last time Jesus threw caesars face at someone
and said now I can rest at night

Didn't he lay hands on the hurting
bleed love into the blind
and always walk an extra mile

But Im not God Mezeker
Ive always struggled with inadequacy
and pastors have always told me
just use what God gives you

Where you can teach
instruct the faithful

where you can speak
inspire the nations

where you can love
Love abundantly

But for Mezeker

the only thing I have is these words




and words don't save lives
hands do

words don't change times
hands do

words won't make the fever go away
words will just watch him die
while hands forget to ever ask why
they just feel

and a temperature of 105
just doesnt feel right

so take my hands God
whether they're black or white

stitch this world back together
with these tools to bring light
to the darkness

cause apathy is worse than being heartless

and whether you have one or not
there are 2000 children of God whose hearts today will stop
6 have gone since i started this poem

just because they have no protection for their homes
from things we only fear
might draw a little blood

Mosquitos kill 880,000 a year
85% are under the age of 5

but im sorry Mezeker

I don’t want to remember your name


I wish I could speak disease out of existence
if I could write health into your heart
or recite salvation, into your soul

but at the end of the day all they are is words






So I’m sorry Mezeker…



but I don’t want to remember

Graveyard

I am worn out.
I have gone far too far
with little to no sleep
and my body cant take much more I...


...am tired.


I have calloused feet calling out for release
from this boneyard
but the remains here are worse than death

Everyday I walk over the graves of forgotten poems
every word I couldnt find
every thought i couldnt hold

I murdered them of their passion
with a blade of insufficiency
and now I am forced to step through the holes of their potential
wishing like hell i had never met them

the tombstones here, hold the names of every person they were meant to save
every ear that only stuck around because they believed there was something
in this world worth listening to.


"Here lies katharine, she almost believed in true love"

"elijah, he could have welcomed the sun instead of beckoning for the dark"

"Kodi..."
"she would have found Jesus, and lived with you forever"


But the problem is, I am not an angel
my words cant sprout wings,
their shoulder blades were ruined long ago
chasin a stupid dream that was just too heavy

my halo is more crooked than time
Jealousy pulled it down around my throat
and reminded me "youre just not good enough,"
"your poems are emptier than your starving heart"

my dreams are plotting their revenge
I dont sleep anymore
Im too afraid of the hearts my poems could have brought back to life
but i couldnt set them free.


so Father forgive this poet for he knows not what he can do
He gave up on Your gift a long time ago
he crushed Your hands beneath His stomach
and he forgot how to breathe

Your Word cant stay here
theres just no room at the inn.




This is the curse of a poet.
behind every decent performance lies 50 that could have stopped war
but they turned the gun on themselves


I want to change the world
Free them of pain, take away their tears
I wanna show them the light over Calvary's Hill


I just have to get out of this graveyard

Father Tell Me

Before I was two feet tall I remember hitting my tricycle for not going as fast as I wanted to
You see I was built for speed and it just couldnt keep up with me so it had to go


I remember my mother holding me over her shoulder when my father would leave for work
She always tried to restrain me as I cried kicked and screamed “Daddy, you have to stay.”
if you go, itll be your fault when i drown in loneliness and fear.



Im 21 years old now and not much has changed
I still blame everyone else for my inabilities, inadequacies, and insecurities

You can say its because I was spoiled growing up.
And with two parents showing what love really is after 36 years,
enough money to keep the bill collectors at bay,
and "health like a horse" whatever that means,
who wouldnt agree? I never had it rough.

But you dont really know me
you see ever since i remember living I have groaned to hear
“I love you.”
to keep me from forgetting to how breathe

and i dont want to hear it spoken from your lips cause even demons have muttered of love
open your palms and show me
let your hands sing out the chorus of peace

because You see humans have become too good at covering vomit with rose pedals
And calling it a bouque
We're professionals at hiding an empty ghost of a man behind smiles
and addressing him as Happiness,
and Like MR. Rogers, everyone thinks he's their neighbor but its a lie, its just tv
And now, no one even knows what its like to dip your finger in the one thing we were created for

Truth.

Ive hurled boulders down a well of it and never heard a splash


But like so many poets,
today I’ve decided I’m breaking the mold.
So those with an ear to hear, let him hear,
Gather round pupils of my prudent passion
Because the truth is!.....



The truth is I am not satisfied.



The truth is something isnt right and hasnt been for a long time
I moved away from Happiness when I was 16
and My bouquets were tossed in the fire of regret long ago

Its not something thats been taken from me
It’s not a missing piece keeping me from knowing real peace
It’s the cataclysmic cat tongue tying and robbing me of speech
The antimatter of my soul
It has created a black hole within me
im destroying myself from the inside out

and now i can barely even remember what light looks like behind the clouds



So Father, Im comin to you for this one
because You once told me that You loved me.
But what makes you hold this prostitute to your breasts
Like a child of legitimate birth
You said You formed me from this very earth
Your hands knitting and holding me together
but then I drove them through with the nails of my own hurt

How could you love me?

I throw words like confetti and sell it for gold
But Your name is nothing Ive ever known, Father
Tell me You love me

Ive written 102 love poems for the same girl
But cant write you one, Father
Tell me You love me

I’ve given arms to sex, sports, and war
But can’t hold Your children, Father
Tell me You love me.

I’ve sold my body to too many women
But can't even offer you my knees, Father
Tell me You love me.


Ive heard it said that silence is golden.
and maybe theyre right

but in a world where everything rings at the wrong time
and everyone screams the wrong lies

I cant hear you anymore Daddy.




So speak up..





and tell me You love me

3 Minutes

Ive only got 3 minutes.

Ive only got 3 minutes to make a difference in your life

So if I could write one poem that took flint to your steel lungs
And flamed a “HELL YA” after every line
Maybe I would like my stuff better

If I could write one more poem
that started as intriguing
Turned into interesting
And build up to scrape the insightful
Maybe I would feel like my words were worth something

Maybe then Id read it with more passion
and like everyone else I could
yell louder,
pray harder
speak faster and faster
running out of breath
Throwing words around like a melody but have lost all depth
Wrap it all up back to the beginning, call it truth
And then with one word...in one final moment
end in anticipation and walk off from the mic

Maybe it would be revolutionary

Well if that's the case, I might as well strap on a dress, grab a wig
and stand on the corner of 4th and avenue triple X
cause I have made myself a whore
and spoken word poetry is the one I call Daddy


2 minutes left


I hate to say it but this original art
has some of the most unoriginal artist
we all follow the foot infront of us
then think that we are different
we claim that we have the one truth

Have you ever noticed,
we even talk about the same things
politics, love, death, hate
and how everyone else is always to blame
even when its ourselves that we cant stand to be inside of

well, let me tell you something poet,
it is not about how revolutionary you think youve become
i dont care about your fly imagination or your short-lived inspiration
it has NEVER been about your style or intensity
your new thoughts, smooth rhymes, sick flows or your audacity
to throw in profanity because you couldnt make something else fit
its not about how loud you get the crowd every time you start to spit

"be careful front row, this guy may get you a little wet"
but you aint gotta worry about truth, you see, he's just a marionette
doing the same dance every spoken word poet has danced
they just didnt know it till they missed every chance

to actually change your life.

to make a difference in the world
if words without action is revolutionary,
I'm sorry i'd rather be normal

at least then i can pretend like i didnt know



now ive only got one minute left
and if these words dont mean anything eternal
then i pray that God has made you deaf
because three minutes in silence is long enough to
hear Him speak to you
its long enough to
sit down
be still
and hear Him tell you that He's in love with you


and i dont need the whole minute to tell you this...

Jesus was a revolutionary
He is the only one who WAS truth
so why are you listenin to me?


Im just a spoken word poet

with a broken word.