Love often is expressed
by the silent language of the heart;
and words are just words
till a poet gives them life.

I was trapped in a room.
I didn't have any motion or feeling in it.
My mind filled with anger.
My thoughts were black like coffee.

Now I've been released.
I find freedom.
It really feels good to see light.
I am finally free.

Nobody knows what they really feel.
Nobody knows if life is really real.
People just think that this is a dream.
It's not what it really seems.
We just need to look at our mistakes.
Don't worry about those people who hate.

My people, live life the best way you can.
That way you'll get the upper hand.
It hurts to see my people hurt.
There's never going to be peace on Earth.
Nobody knows when they're going to die.
It can happen any time.

Nobody knows if there really is a God.
When they find out, it's going to hit them hard.
Nobody knows what to really believe.
Tell me, is there ever going to be peace?

Nobody knows.

My uncle is a soldier.
He joined as a soldier because a bad man killed his son.
He joined the army against those bad people.
He and the bad people came together to make peace.

    My worst fear came true on a cool autumn day. I thought it was a game someone wanted to play. If I knew that morning that my little girl would pass away I would have held her in my arms and breathed all her last breaths with her. I would have begged her to stay a little while longer; but, I guess it's better this way. She is with her king now. He has given me an angel not by death, but on that April 7 spring day when she was born.

    She has now given me new eyes to see bad things to come. Since she's been gone she's given me warmth when there was no sun. Now, when she walks with me, she flies above the ground. I remember when she couldn't keep up but now her new wings help her around. She goes everywhere Mommy goes and sees everything I see. With her, I am always secure, because I have my baby angel beside me. I love you Whitney.

Why do you look at me
as if you have never seen
someone pregnant before?
You whisper as I walk by
and you give me
some kind of evil eye,
as if you want to make me
feel embarrassed
or hold my head down in shame.
But please listen here,
though I may be young
I'm not dumb.
I may even still be in High School,
for I am not stupid.
You point your fingers.
You even call me names.
You try to make me feel ashamed.
You repeat, "If you were my child . . ."
calling God to come to your side,
to protect your child from evil . . .
but I am not your child!!!
And as quickly as you point your finger at me,
your child may be getting in the same situation
as you speak.

It feels good to escape
the rough streets,
the bright lights,
the thugs,
the knife fights,
the fatalities,
the murders in the first degree,
the nightmares of someone hurting me,
the way Shorty said she loves me --
when she hates me;
all the emotions that make me:
the way you lose a loved one at an early age
and it hurts,
the way dying was in my future since my birth,
the way you care for someone
and wonder if that someone cares for you,
the way it is when the sky is gray
and you wish it were blue.
It feels good to escape
from all that
It feels good to escape,
but I want to go back.

I have brown hair.
I pluck my eyebrows.
I have my mother's nose.
I have my father's hands.
I have crooked teeth and brown eyes.
I design clothes.
I used to get sick a lot.
I like the color of wine.
I've cheated on my last boyfriend.
I've owned a fake ID.
But, my hair is still brown
& my teeth are still crooked
& I probably won't always
like the color of wine.

I have firm breasts.
I have lips that always smile.
I have veins that bleed.
I bite my lip when I'm nervous.
I feel the pain of others
but cry for no reason.
I like open flames.
I've been selfish since a child.
I'm from New York, but hate the cold.
I've cheated on diets.
I've faked applications.
But, I still bleed
& my lips still smile
& my breasts won't always be firm.

I have strong shoulders.
I have yellow skin.
I have a Chinese face.
I've borrowed money from my father.
I have long nails on my right hand,
which break regularly.
My toe is strange.
I design.
I used to make flowers
from toilet tissue.
I brush my hair before bed.
I've cheated on tests.
I've faked flirtatious Latin accents.
But, still have yellow skin
& my nails still break
& I probably won't always
have strong shoulders
& may not always design.
But, maybe I'll start
making flowers
from toilet tissue again!!!

His face pale
free from emotion;
he doesn't speak. He doesn't move.
The smile he always had on his face, gone forever.
He used to laugh a lot.
Not any more.
His eyes glowed with that special light;
another thing that's gone away.
His eyes are covered now.
I stare at him lying there.
I see a ghost.
Everything silent. Everything still.
Reality has come in a dark form.
Death has found its way again.

Walking down the streets, I begin to understand
the pain of a woman, the pain of a man.

Nobody comes into the world
thinking, "I'll be a bum or a drug addict."
It's just things they went through.
They picked up the habit.

Their pain is blood in the alley running down the sewer drain.
Forgot how the pain came, but remember how it began.
The pain of verbal and physical abuse;
thinking you were no good or of no use.

Somehow the Almighty has picked you up
and given you another chance,
a chance to better yourself,
a chance to enhance with dignity and pride.

Go the extra mile and strive,
strive for greatness,
strive to keep the head afloat,
'cause you came from darkness into the light,
'cause you say to yourself, "Now I believe I can fly."

I sat on rocks looking in the sky,
looking at the sun shine on my eyes,
thinking the rock is going to make me feel so special.
I sit on rocks when I have a problem;
by sitting I think it makes me feel good.
When I'm doing my homework I sit on the rock
and sometimes they turn different colors -
In the park I see lots of rocks, big, small, all sizes . . .

Tell me Daddy, are you alive?
Is it true you went to Puerto Rico?
Daddy, is it true you are married?
Daddy, do you think about me?
Daddy, do you love me?
Why do you never look for me?
Daddy, do I mean something to you?
Daddy, are you there?
Tell me please if you love me . . ?

I would like to talk to the people who may read this.

It is about a man I know by the name of Death.
See, some people when they hear his name --
it makes them feel strange inside.
Some get so scared they must leave the room.
I'm going to tell you why.

Death has no friend or family.
He has no feelings.
He does not eat or sleep.
He only has one purpose,
and that is to take people from this world
to where they belong.
See, that's really what gets people scared.
It is how he does it.

If it's your turn to go,
then it is your time to go.
No ifs, ands, or buts.
You can't ask him to give you a few days
to do all the things you want to do.
He won't tell you that it is your time to go.
He just takes you.

That's why most people are scared of Death.
He can decide to take any one at anytime
regardless of what age or color you are.

See, around my way
Death comes to see people every day.
It is like he never leaves.

He stands on the blocks or he's in your house
waiting for people with his list.

But around my way it seems
like people are signed up too early.
This makes his job go easier.

Sometimes I sit back and wonder
if I'm being signed up early, too!

Note: I originally wrote this for my father who is, right now, struggling with Death. But then, I realized that a lot of people are struggling with Death. I just wanted to say that when he comes don't try to fight him and don't hold back. Just go. We aren't meant to be here forever. Enjoy life while you have the chance. Now you're going on to a better place. Don't worry about what you leave behind. I write this as your son and as a writer.

I look out the window
wishing Hitoshi was here.

It hurts me more to
think that you're not here.

Life is like a flower - it
blooms then it dies.

It hurts more to lose a brother
like Hiragi than to lose your faith.

Know there are angels
keeping you safe.

But I don't understand
why love is not a game.

I saw him once
but it wasn't happiness.

Look at the sky and
see a star fly by.

Was there a way to prevent
the words "good bye?"

Oh!, how sweet it is or is it so sweet?
It's supposed to be filled with happiness and treats.

But not for me.

Visions of boys one after one
staying out late until the party is done.

But not for me.

Thoughts of the future, sound and secure
not thinking of the pain that is to be endured.

But not for me.

Hanging with the girls checking out the fly guys crew
liking someone and hoping he likes you, too.

But not for me.

Going on a first date having your first kiss
your life is a sudden bliss.

But not for me.

'Cause you see, well, I had a baby at fourteen and had my second at sixteen so I didn't get to do what a normal sixteen year old would do.

Who are we?
You ask me well.
We are the world.
We are the planets, stars and galaxies.
We are Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Christmas and Thanksgiving.
We made the past, and will be the future.
We manifest the power
to cripple the negatives
if we choose to be positive.
For I am positive
because I choose to live in the light of the Lord.
My ancestors strove for freedom
and we strive to stay alive in these infected streets
of crime and drugs,
and even want to be thugs, and shooting slugs;
faster than an infestation of bugs.
With my mental mediation,
I become more than a pigment of your imagination.
Higher than any other godly creation,
with no hesitation,
I will have a nation behind me.
For I'm you and you are me.
We are all the same. We just got a different name.

Poetry to me is one of the world's
finer things. I perceive poetry as
poetry perceives me.

I am poetry and poetry is me. It
helps me escape invisible boundaries
that the naked eye can't see.

If poetry were to die, then so would
I. It helps me relieve stress, or at
least tries. Poetry has become a
friend. This I can't deny; and I
hope the day I rest in peace where
ever I may lie, that the world uses me
as an example and perceives poetry
as I did through my eyes.
I love poetry!

I wonder what my balloon can see
so high above the world and me.
And, if I am as friendly with him,
as he is friendly with the sun, moon and stars --
oh -- will he breathe a word to me?
No, no he is as quiet as can be.