before i was ten, i watched my family bury men.

was natural causes to blame, not likely.

my people dead nightly,

you only care if its pricey,

once high and mighty, held highly, lead precisley, obituararies reading my last name are hard blows to my psyche, 

i apoligize if this poem isnt even slightly delightful,

where do I start?

If it sounds too crazy

Then I'm lying

If it's abstract

Then it's art

If I don't say it poetic

I'm ignorant

If I do

I'm not convincing,

And I could've said it with metaphors

But this way you understand it, Goddammit!

three dead two wounded, is it wrong, is this a crime?

i guess not! its just a man on the crow reservation being taught a fucking lesson!


id like to say no to racism held against me

sadly enough i just sometimes have to agree.


the "savages" cant keep their homes nice.

the "savages" will kill eachother for enough drugs to suffice.

they all struggle financially,

exposing children to meth, fucking stains on humanity,


did that piss you off?


too bad it just described half of my family.



artist bio: just letting people see the world through my eyes.