Explain Yourself.Explain Yourself.Silence.The courtyard was at its prime in tranquility, save -- the bit of laughter coming from the children who were scattered about, playing around with each other under the deep blue hue of the sky. Whoosh, the wind was howling also. This was Bobby's favorite time to come outside, it was indeed his kind of weather, granted it was also a really good time to find some peace. The great and fearful sorrow that had taken over the mansion was being kept at bay, but it was just because the new day had begun...it could only be a matter of time before something was going to ruin the good atmosphere that the Professor and his assistant (Dr. Hank McCoy) so kindly held up with their generosity and benevolence.It was a few moments of walking in the vast outer gardens of the Manison when Bobby reached "the hill". It was the place that he and Marie almost always found themselves sitting at while they confessed their latest thoughts to each other. The greenery never changed...it
The WayThe WayTell me, is it a high demandTo wipe this blood off from my hands?The burden of the world aroundIs so heavy I scream, but out comes no soundMy plea for help has been delayedArmies of adversaries form, from friends I've once madeIs it such a crime to barely whisper or even speak?Then get blamed for everything, my emotions made weakSome situations, I'm not even involvedBut still the problems around me revolveThat's why some talents, I do not bother to shareBecause I'm afraid I'll just be comparedAm I just so intimidating to someEven when I try my best to befriend everyone?Can I ever fit in with the "in" crowd?Or forever will I be the sheep that follows and bows?A tiring attempt to befriend those who hurt and torment meThey all point and laugh when inside I tear up and bleedShudders and whines as they think of all the painWhenever they see all the cuts on bruises on me that remainFrom all their words and gossip—a painful black and blueAppears on my skin, and I
Who am IWho am I?Who am I?A dark-skinned creaturenaïve.So ever so shy, sitting back, and watching--wishing, as the world turns awayWhere do I belong?Who am I?I tread on these foreign landsYearningReaching out to retreating handsDreaming of the beaches, covered in white sandsenvying, as they cruelly glareWhere do I belong?Who am I?They point and they laughTorture!Inescapable teasing. My eyes. My skin. My culture.Suffice it to say, I am none like the others.All common, All stereotypical, All politically incorrect.Should I run and hide??Or fly HIGH in the sky just as the impeccably soaring eagle?What is this "American Dream" anyway?Where do I belong?Who I am—Now eight years later.Proud to be who where and whatI am.Loved by my family (aplenty)Surely befriended by manySuccumbed to the life I must lead no matter whatThey will all say.Where I do belong.
EngulfedENGULFEDHow often do I see peaceTranquil seas 'neath a starlit skyNonceChaos, rumbling lava—cooled by the gray heavens, weepingThis world controlled by two bodies, once joined by lawNow separated by their differencesNot your fault, they sayLast state of consensusAn age of naivety, do these whispers hauntSubconscious. In dreams. A preview of a bittersweet reality.TwoBound by my blood (which time has tainted)Shattered by their differencesOne; a past of comparisonDrugs, murder; better yet, abortion.The other, silenced by a pastB'neath an iron fistSilence unleashed when cocked backShot at me, the trigger releasedMy reply restrained: O Mater, malignus ex mi Patris!Now I have come, an age of the responsibleAn image of my fatherReminder of a decade of sufferingSet to be blamed every time regardless if the fault is not mineWhen in solitude to beads of crystal fall; inescapableFrom the torment of she, the epitome of my painNearer do these voices grow, discordan