Truth

I'd like to express
what may seem to be a lot
but please don't be stressed
Cause what's coming out in words
is what you may call a mess.

I can try to tell the truth
with words crumbling off my teeth
I might shock you,
and lock you in a weird pose
or take your mistake
and replace it with a dark dead rose.

I realize
such fake lies
told to the kids of such hopeful country
And wonder
For how much longer
will the blood of soldiers
rush downstream
which seems to be
a nightmare dream?

For how much longer
will I have to feel
this greedy air
and simply stare
at rich people steal
and don't care
about the wounds that won't heal
on the ones who need
to buy the least,
and their children feed?

Can it really be
that you won't see or know
and grown to disagree
to what's in front of your nose
and I propose to be the truth?

Is it that hard
to pull the card
with the right number or letter
that makes you feel better
about the way you look
and the time you took
to present yourself to the real world?

Can you understand
that an outcast hand
is equally beautiful and warm
than the shitty one
that stands in your arm?

I like to say
that maybe one day
the need for mortality
fear of equality
and escape from reality
will vanish and end.