who make their dreams come true

by locking the catastrophe out of

the beautiful wallpapered screens

never opening our eyes to the bright light

of approaching armageddon, instead

build our kingdoms of followers,

crowning ourselves Kings, winning battles

shooting fancy opinions, always clicking, collecting trophies

the children built up of broken jig saw puzzles

of million wrong boxes & unnecessary baggages

our DNA with grey smoke threads sculpting us into skeletons with

socketed eyed, empty skulls, twig twisted tongues and snappy fingers

we aren't the generation

who get scared by horror movies

we inspire those movies instead

we are the generation in need of

exorcism to free us of our demons

that aren't real enough

for the world to see

or call them by their names out loud;

that aren't imaginary enough

for us to stay in our heads

and not crawl out our hairs and

spill blood like beads of sins in a sanctuary

so we choose our words very carefully

measuring the shade of every sound

not to let tar drip down the tongue

and we choose the words very carefully

tip toeing the unknown published territories

not to miss "trigger warnings" at the beginnings

and justification laced post scripts in the end

we are the offsprings of reapers

with sour hearted arid throats

we are the generation staying too high

Im sick

& you don’t touch me like you used to.

I used to think you couldn’t get enough

But i guess enough is enough

My attraction doesn’t fade but yours does

Losing all lust between us.

You fuck me for pity

And tell me you love it

But you never love me

You miss it

But you never miss me

You cherish IT

But you wont cherish me

You dont even go down on me anymore

& yet i stay

I come each and every time

I know my needs, i know yours too

But i also know your wants

They are not me

And i am not her

Maybe one day

I have been branded by the Robinson’s.

My father was killed by that white man’s gun.

my mother was raped by that white man’s son.

I had 6 sisters now I only have one. Barely can speak but she’s picking cotton, And I braid her hair when it comes undone.

Blood sweat tears under the sun, Blood stained fears as my brother is hung. They cry out his name and his story is sung, My brothers get ready for revolution.

On Every T.V. and radio station, Our blood runs deep like the Zulu nation. why you think we so strong? these chains weight a ton. Jump rope with these chains of restrain just for fun.

Freedom does not mean emancipation, Your owned by the public instead of someone. Freedom comes from self education.

I didn’t know my name but now I have one, call me Jhon X not jhon Robinson

-Itsjhondoe