Gentry Fried.

Wolf of wall street types,
with slicked back hair,
stole the stained ceramic tiles
right out from underneath
my single mother's
sweet, aching feet.

She saved every penny
that she earned,
to buy this house–
her pride and joy–
only to be evicted
by sharks
disguised as sheep
who dragged her out
between their teeth.

Immediately painting over
offending graffiti
with signs that read,
'Starbucks: coming soon'
like the kiss of death,
with another five
within twenty feet,
where my b-boy crew and I
once breakdanced
to the Beastie Boys
and Run DMC.

Ma was relocated
forcefully to some
suburban scene,
that might as well
have been called Hell,
instead of Parish Street.

She stuck out like an alien,
an unwelcome stranger
in this neighbourhood,
where whiney women
wined and dined
on weekdays,
then attended church
on Sunday evenings.

Still, they locked
their cars from the inside
when mom had the audacity
to step foot outside her door.

This community of Stepford wives,
that looked down on my madre
from their horses high,
were more self-righteous
than born again convicts
intent on preaching to the choir.

Gentrify some other guy,
erect your crooked condos
in some other sky!

As you build profit,
and raze projects
that once unified
people who would
never have seen
eye to eye otherwise.
Different cultures came together,
mingling with one another,
leaving prejudice behind;
these meetings even
drastically reduced crime.

Until the men in black arrived
with their pockets lined,
drooling over future
bank account balances
that were stacked sky-high.

Single mothers, tossed aside,
fell so low on the social hierarchy
that they simply remained silent,
in spite of the tears in their eyes.

Another ghetto fairy tale
that would not end
with 'happily ever after'
but instead,
just with a single sigh.
.

Maktub.

When we strive to become better than we are, 
the world around us gets better, too. 
The universe hears the aching uncertainty in our hearts
so, be patient as it clears a path for us to pursue. 

Whether through prayer or wishes made in wells, 
the stars will align to light our way.
If it is written, only time will tell, 
until then find delight in every blessed day. 

If you should encounter calamity upon your soul's quest, 
hold tightly to your faith and keep marching on. 
Even if you fall seven times before you pass the test, 
the secret of life is to keep getting up until all fear is gone. 

Do not forget the universe exists inside of you. 
Like alchemy–you are the winds, deserts, oceans, and even the moon. 
The denial of your own self-worth is just like blasphemy.
Love yourself so brightly that your dreams are drawn to you.

If it is written, take a deep breath, 
and soon you will know the truth; 
close your eyes and listen to your spirit 
as it softly whispers "Maktub."

hate that i love u.

Nearly four years to the day 
since I first saw your pretty face, 
funny how life works that way.
It's like you vanished in thin air without a trace, 
left me replaying all the things you used to say,
like, "Baby, you're my favourite member of the human race" 
and that you'd always be right here to stay.
Now you've got me falling from grace,
cancelled all my colours, and you left me gray.
Stuck here missing you, addicted to the chase,
but I can't keep at these games you wanna play,
in the hopes of one day feeling your embrace.
You're still the sculptor and I am your clay.
Brighter than all the stars in outer space, 
now all that's left to do is pray,
'til I accept you're really gone and not just misplaced.

Me Before You.

A paper bridge under attack by razor winds, 
I was as fragile as a baseball bat made out of glass. 
Naive as a child sheltered from the outside world, 
I fell for your sparkling words. 
Left in a mess, 
a heap of soiled linens on the floor, 
I drowned repeatedly in my tear-filled bath 
until I returned to stone. 
I will go back to the warrior that I was before.