Wednesday, November 14, 2012


Do you know how it feels to cry with no sound?
Pulling a blanket over her face so she can't see the shadows in her room.
A boy calling for his mother to come and rescue her from the overwhelming fists that rain down from a loved one.
A chubby child pushed over the edge by whispers and notes.
A human struggling with who they are popping pills to run away from it all.
A person too afraid to look in the mirror so instead they find comfort with the surface of a razor.
To a young man choosing to hit them books instead of women.
A girls' broken spirit tortured by a man's false promises.
A soul that is beyond another's mere discrimination.
A child heart whose thunderous beats will not be stamped out by the imperfect shoes of adults ideals.
A person who will not fear their parents rage, drinking all their pains away from the inside of the same bottle.
A father/mother who works to provide for the children sound asleep dreaming safely.
To that face who looks up and pray for another meal to come, but smile anyway when they get a penny.
To that young mom out there who holds it together even though the odds are against her, for the sake of her child.
To that kid who dreams big and stands tall no matter what they had to face in the past.
To a person who draws with their soul, a person who write to tell a story within their spirit, a person who dance and sing because they are free.
To all these people all around the world, your silent cries have been heard.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

They Say What Naught They Know

               They say its locked up,
                in a holding cell.
              Buried ten feet deep,
                behind a brick wall.
              Covered in blood,
               beats numbed by pain.
            They say it don't exist,
                 because I'm too cold.
             Because Its all alone,
               behind those stones.
            That's what they seem to say.
               But they don't know,
        solitude is silence and silence is peace.
             That it's not chained down,
                its waiting to be released.
                It's underground,
           rising as bright as the sun.
            Beating like a drum,
Covered in the gold it outlines my soul.
               It is there, it exists,
Its past was etched in blacked, but its future unclaimed.
            Blood symbolize energy and life,
       not something as easy as pain.
It's relevant, It scare them cause' of things It is.
  It is  intelligent, beautiful, peaceful, caring, free, untamed,
          It is one spirit, one soul, one mind.
Some people refuse to believe in things they don't want to know.
       They say what will happen to it, now?
      Its a survivor, a trooper-it never gives up......
                      It is me.
                Who is "me"?
Look at your own reflection and answer- who are you?

                    -Sincerely Fay,