A Wolf's Cry

My birthday is 11-11, but that is not what i searched for. What is this about

Thu, 13 Sep 2012 13:48:35 -0400

nothing but faded hopes, dreams, and wishes. You probably got me on search because of the Bio: I make wishes when the clock strikes 11:11 (perhaps its a Seattle thing?) Interestingly enough, my birthday is on Nov. 11th too, lol. I hope this answers your question, friend.

Recent Song

Fri, 21 Jan 2011 19:37:39 -0500

verse:

it seems like every

love struck analogy

makes its way to play cliche old love sick memories,

but I cannot deny

that I’m the type of guy,

in search of someone worth the chance to take control of me,

chorus:

so play me, come

manipulate me, love

is it so wrong to, want to

be used by you so

take me,

I’ve got the feeling that maybe

you can come and claim me, make me

Yours.

after chorus:

we stand, unopposed,

feed our hearts, to the crows

and we stain every prose

with the same minor note

and our walls, finally fall,

and our doors, finally close,

when you ask, no one knows

when you ask, no one knows,

such is love, I suppose

such is love, I suppose…

verse:

I guess that my request

may seem a bit foolish

but am I a fool, if Ive got nothing to lose,

cause baby, I know the risk,

and I humbly submit

my heart in four torn pieces you can use it how you wish

chorus:

so play me, come

manipulate me, love

is it so wrong to, want to

be used by you so

take me,

I’ve got the feeling that maybe

you can come and claim me, make me

Yours.

Bridge:

cause all I really want, is the satisfaction

of being yours, of being yours

so this is how i prove, my heart reflects the truth,

by giving all my freedoms to you…

after chorus:

we stand, unopposed,

feed our hearts, to the crows

and we stain every prose

with the same minor note

and our walls, finally fall,

and our doors, finally close,

when you ask, no one knows

when you ask, no one knows,

such is love, I suppose

such is love, I suppose…

free running thought

Mon, 03 Jan 2011 22:47:00 -0500

I don’t really believe that I have a soulmate, but if I found a woman that can love more than I can with an ardency only mother nature understands with her ever burning core, someone who’s affection has a design I’ve never seen, prompting me with reasoning I’ve always believed through faith but never really knew, I’ll believe it. Not to sound cocky, but at this point, with all the distractions in life, I don’t believe such a person exists at such high standards. I mean, people themselves hardly exist. Very few feel comfortable in their own souls, let alone their own bodies, so you can see how it can be alot to ask: for someone to be able to pull themselves to the side utterly for others interests simply out of love, for someone to act this way not because of some doctrine or conceived notion of “right,” but because it feels right, because they somehow can acknowledge the beauty within every person they meet and show them the depth of their own souls, someone who knows how to compassionately and empathetically perceive rather than judge, someone who can somehow find their invulnerability and strength by tossing pride away through submission. Someone who is unquestionably unique, only, one of a kind. A one of a kind that makes me feel like I am also one of a kind, making us a truly unique pair that was somehow destined to be, and someone who would finally know how to acknowledge that I exist. If I met someone that can prove this to me, I would forsake everything but my heart in pursuit of her, because I know that she is, that we both exist, proving the reality of it all.

I have been told many times to find my inner beauty, but what I really want is to find the person...

Sun, 02 Jan 2011 20:50:55 -0500

I have been told many times to find my inner beauty, but what I really want is to find the person that acknowledges that it exists.

Invincible

Sun, 02 Jan 2011 12:01:07 -0500

I might look like nothin, but today Im somethin.

Its measured by the size of my vibe

as I look into the eyes of my tribe

and all our minds just collide, as we rise up and stride,

and for once in my life, I realize Im alive.

We rely on our pride, emotions lying inside,

in the same place my fear desired to die.

Injected adrenaline drive that hurls me into a dive

never double thinking my strength because of my size.

No leader, but an unspoken word, that breathes in us and is heard,

with written dirt on the backs of our shirts.

We get impossible numbers as long as I have my brothers,

we share the same kind of colors and share the same kind of covers

cause we depend on each other,

we weave and leave people in wonder,

they saw lightning after thunder, watch it rain up in the summer,

then we drag opponents under, make them shiver, make them stutter,

hurricanes for another set of kids who think they’re tougher,

but they don’t realize,

that we are real brothers,

not blood brothers, or thug brothers,

but bonded by love brothers.

So Imma rush til we drop, then carry them til we stop

because as long as my heart continues beating,

I am unstoppable. We are unstoppable.

My pride gives me all this, motivation makes me flawless

something so great, an NFL team couldn’t stop this.

Unstoppable, Unbeatable, Undefeatable,

and as I breathe the field, I might look like nothin,

but in this moment, I am Invincible.

Rain, World; Boy, Girl

Sat, 01 Jan 2011 12:00:06 -0500

I poured myself out for you.

Drizzled thoughts dropped that pushed you to the shore

making ripples that reveal your laughing dimples

as my simple cycle searches for a symbol on the floor,

I trickle just a little more to explore why you silently ignore

every moment that I make.

As if you forgot, I gave you the sun that you reflected

keeping me jealous as you keep me neglected

I dropped into you hoping my ripples made a motion

but you turn and spill into the nearest ocean, and still,

I drip upon your lips with a cool refreshing wish,

that maybe you would blow me back a little kiss

as you drink and take sips of what I have.

I dream of someone who embraces every thought and has a place for every drop

and dances in me, looking at the ground with silent envy

cause the surfaces take more of me in.

I dream of someone who

whispers in my ears prayers that only I can hear

thanking God for drinking tears that angels cry,

because they know that without me the world is dry.

Because they know that without me the world would be

tossed in havoc, and they never take for granted all of my forgotten magic

as they play in my forgotten source of life.

But you are the one that I sustain.

Hoping one day you would see the colors that I paint upon your window pain.

You say Im too cold as I caress you.

You say Im too wet and I depress you.

But even though you don’t care for me theres nothing I can do.

Its in my nature to fall for you.

(2009)

Forgive Me

Fri, 31 Dec 2010 12:00:06 -0500

Boys, for not being strong enough

Girls, for not being sensitive enough

Kids, for not being innocent enough

Dad, for not being bold enough,

Mom, for not being soft enough,

Brother, for not being brave enough,

Sister, for not being encouraging enough,

Friends, for not being reliable enough,

World, for not being mature enough,

Forgive me God,

for being Inadequate.

Rhyme for Thought #1

Thu, 30 Dec 2010 12:04:06 -0500

An empty rhythm to you, a metronome to consume,

but to me the empty tempo is another instrumental

something simple, yet so complicated, I traded my mind

for my heart, just to get a jump start.

I think from my center now my mind pumps art.

Heart, mind and soul, all the same but different roles,

tell me which ones in control, and Ill tell you what I know.

Ill tell you what I am,

I am the same color as land

the same minerals man

was made of in His plan

at least God understands he stands under me,

over me, cover me,

only cause our love is deep,

I am what my brothers see, but I believe that they are me.

And I hear every click and every tap,

every bass kick and clap to every rhythm.

I inject the serum, changing the momentum to eliminate the venom,

cause rhythm is the double pump.

I wear the same chains and I let them puncture my veins,

I watch plastic people playing media games,

I look passed the people who are living in vain,

and my two beats swing, people lie to be seen,

and then we all fall deaf to time,

this x and a line that we sign with a rhyme instead of reason,

and then we all forget why we believe what we believe in.

When its Real,

Wed, 29 Dec 2010 12:08:07 -0500

Words are so thick you can barely say them without choking on those raw emotions. Those raw emotions so real you hurt when you feel them, with your secrets you only show the stars when you cry with ever-aching devotion.

And its so real, there is no impossible.

For you, I would squeeze rocks until they bloom, and your nightmares can’t come true because even my dreams will die for you. I’ll find the reason to why the ocean contradicts the sky so you’ll find the truth in every reflection if it makes you happy.

You know that I would kill for you. You know that I would die for you. You know that I would live for you, but I would do more. I’ll cut the fabric of the universe. You know, the one that fate uses to write future histories? And use that cloth to wipe your tears, wring the pain into a cup, and sip the tonic slowly, because your pain is mine. I’ll finish the last bite on your plate when you’re full, take the last punch, sing the last note, and hum it until your ears hum the harmony.

I worry every night of my inadequacy because you assure my identity. You make me real.

And I question it in my head, but I need not know, at least not logically. Love is not logical. And though my attempts to shape the definition of love may seem radical, I know love is a radical term. I know love.

I know the reason I breathe is because the trees know some kind of secret. The kind of secret that school children giggle about because the grown-ups just don’t know, and we call these secrets truth. Didn’t you know, the wind is actually the breath of trees? I understand them when I stand at eye level. They look at me, without judgement. They don’t even look down on me, cause I have something worth dying for, and that makes me taller and stronger than anything that dares to challenge you. They say “blood is thicker than water,” but I know love is thicker than both. They say “peace and love” and “love is war” but they never tell you that You are the enemy, and they never tell you that you have to go in unarmed, and they never tell you that because we love, we are an endangered species.

But you know what, people spend their lives looking for this, counting the number of cracks on the concrete slabs they’ve passed, never coming to terms with their reflections. See this is the reason I breathe water and spit fire, to sting your mind so that hopefully it swells with these thoughts. Am I wrong, to be selflessly selfish? Am I wrong, to try to prove something you already know to be true?

For you, I would beg and threaten God. I would stand defiantly and attempt to stare him down with tears tracing my cheekbones, ready to embrace any form of punishment on judgement day if it would ensure that you would laugh in your last hour.

I would discard my soul for your happiness.

And even though I question myself, I question who I am, I question reality, I know this is real, because I love you,

and with my love, all things are possible.

Time

Tue, 28 Dec 2010 12:11:06 -0500

She sat and picked at my scabs

I thought of the colorful graveyard

Carrying my brother to his site.

Decay was covered with perfume

Death never smelled so pretty

As if sorrow were sweetened.

The odor almost made me vomit

I was trying to cough up things that were so deep inside me,

Blood came out instead.

We cradled him to his grave

sung him to sleep one last time

as we watched his embalmed face

gracefully fall to sleep.

She sat and picked at my scars.

I couldn’t help but bleed.

War

Mon, 27 Dec 2010 12:05:07 -0500

In the art of my creation, I was made to become this generation.

Scattered through the world, I was planted as a nation,

but growing takes time, and in that time I grow impatient

waiting for our young harvested through revelation

understanding life itself to be an education

ready to embrace our savage reputation

people pushing pens writing our retaliation.

From the quietest, I can hear a poet in this room

from the child like passions turning boys full bloom

I was being made generations in the womb,

and now that I am born I am ready to assume control of this soul

to send boys out to war when they finally realize what they are fighting for,

standing with ink-stained arms and lead-filled pages

storm these cities with scribes and sages

rise up all you people still nameless up from the ground our faces

shadowed with hoods cause we are undefined,

call us children of the night, taking back the day.

We stay on the streets, they say that we stray,

but we are not lost, we only walk our own way.

I am what you see I only wish that you knew,

that I look familiar because I am you.

Im a Guardian, Strings and sacred secrets safe inside a seeking poet speaking so you see whats spoken so that these secrets will never cease.

Im a Soldier, A radical, rational, revolutionary ready to die

Im a nation, standing at the front lines, every young and old mind with truth described and untamed pride, our faith inside our love filled lives with lifted eyes and soulful cries and hope to fight against Nothing.

We fight against nothing.

Only because we fight for everything.

So though we are here with armed guns,

whether that be pencil, pen, or tongue,

the war is within ourselves.

Smile

Sun, 26 Dec 2010 12:11:06 -0500

To romance anguish so deep,

I kiss pain and sorrow to sleep

To forget bad things like

waking from bad dreams

and leaving room for new memories to keep.

and it seems the noise could mistake our voice

for the joys of boisterous boys

but the thing that people neglect is

we have thing we want to forget,

and thats something that no one will get.

There are things we wish to let go,

cries that bounce of walls and echo.

Sometimes the moments that are violent

are the times when we are silent,

trapped inside a minds asylum

where the walls are white and plain

I start to think that I’m insane

And as I fell to my knees, I spat in the face of pain

When I smile

Its like Im taunting evil, I take another needle and continue

with my mind scarred, soul bent, and heart still content

because I smile,

I am a singing prisoner, a quiet listener,

and a happy person altogether.

Soldier

Sat, 25 Dec 2010 12:04:07 -0500

How can I speak of peace, when all I know is war? When I have been raised to be a soldier?

I was raised by a veteran of many wars, her back filled with faded wounds and scars from where she’s been.

Stories, bold and untold lay written on her skin.

I used to rest on her back as a little kid, and mutter under my breath, “If i was there… If I was there…”

I was raised by rod and staff, shaped within her guidance

and when the elements came through, I stood in sculpted defiance,

defined already by my mother’s chisel.

We ran around the streets, proving our pride with fists-towel tied,

mischievous, always looking for a fight, until the day that I died.

(I considered myself dead because I already know that I have a debt to pay for with my life)

I died when I told God life was boring.

He ripped a page of fate and wrote a never ending story, with my blood,

pierced my heart with a pencil and let the lead flood.

He repainted me many colors, in his image.

He dipped his pen into my soul, scratched me to the canvas, peeled every callous

and made me stare at my altered insides until I realized that I am perfect. That suffering is for those who can suffer.

He left me numb. I don’t feel pain.

I gave myself freely so that someone might feel me, but everyone has sold their pieces of me for perishable items

I walk with grey eyes and heavy brows that browse passed unnamed men and sideways glances, reminding them that I too have no name.

This is why I was made. I was born for this reason.

I was fighting from the day I started breathing.

I watched the light in my brother’s eyes go dim til I lost the reflection of him.

All of me has been revealed, and half of me has been taken.

I came from a hell God forsaken, and still, my mother keeps faith in a God. A faith so strong that her tired eyes can make you believe in anything

My father who never knew me and will never know me disowned me to live his life guilty and lonely because he didn’t understand that I am no longer a boy, but a self-proclaimed dead man.

My sister, His daughter, cries for the loss of her father.

“Why doesn’t he love me?” she cries.

I stand stone still,

Dodging gunshots that shatter dreams.

I see dreams wheezing their last breath in the alleyways of the street,

and because of this, I proclaim that nothing can ever kill me,

Because I am already dead!

God invented gravity to keep my body from soaring with my soul, and even then I bend the rules, because the sky cannot contain what I have inside of me.

This is my nature. I was made by war for this.

I’m the spirit demons cower from in fear of being possessed by me,

and even though I’ve been oppressed, I sing, just as caged birds do, because I don’t see bars.

By making myself vulnerable, I make myself invincible,

and I am still at war.

Even if I fight for peace, I am at war.

Unspoken Regret

Fri, 24 Dec 2010 12:07:07 -0500

I had a dream of you the other night.

We were in a car headed to nowhere,

You refused to look at me

Because of my biggest regret,

The day I feared for my life more than yours.

I went to your grave the next day

And so that you would understand,

I cut myself open and let my insides

Spill upon your grave.

Rhyme for Though #2

Thu, 23 Dec 2010 12:05:07 -0500

Im just a lyricist, with a single wish everytime I reminisce,

I kiss lines with the memories of innocence,

and blow dreams out the corner of my mind

one penny for your thoughts, one quarter at a time

no borders on a line, ten dreams upon a dime

and we find scattered change intertwined,

count our blessings both cursed and divine,

throw them in a well, make a wish on a sign

throw them in the sky so high they fly

til the kids joke about what clouds taste like,

standing on the corner and their mouths stay wide

so that warm ideas find their way inside

and I still sigh.

they wonder why I sing everynight,

wasting my time as the sun goes by,

another nickle short of a long bus ride.

Eyes

Wed, 22 Dec 2010 12:18:06 -0500

She tempted me to write a poem about her eyes, because she says that eye contact is important to her,

that it makes her uneasy if I can’t look into her eyes,

so I recall what I see.

I find myself lost in brown childhood memories, running around in young, old, sepia photos.

I see rounded roasted almonds floating on a spot of milk.

If eyes are the windows to a person’s soul, hers are sun-stained, the way faded windows glint from afar. I see solar patterns, a sunflower blossoming from the center, (she loves me, she loves me not) I see sun sparked secrets that shimmer, like crop circle enigmas wth puzzling sun spots, like vast untravelled sunscapes.

I see two sun drops.

I see the grains of her eyes that seem to be God-carved into a delicate design, with a little green beneath the bark.

I see honey glazed lime leaves drifting loose off of a tree by the summer’s wind, the same color as my morning cup of tea and if I stare hard enough, I can imagine that I am staring at her.

I see two chocolate filled butterscotch kisses.

I see caramel drenched green apples.

I see copper wishes that we both set loose to find some kind of happiness.

Powerful advice.

Tue, 21 Dec 2010 12:00:06 -0500

Powerful advice.

Dear Father,

Mon, 20 Dec 2010 12:01:06 -0500

They say I have your eyes.

Your nearsighted, stigmatic, brown eyes.

Your imperfect vision

but I still remember what the stars look like.

I still remember what Hawai’i is

what paradise is from the inside looking out

into the Forbidden Bay

while tides return to me.

I dreamed of my sun-tailored past

and ocean marred skin.

I still remember when you took me

to get a new pair of glasses.

You wanted to repair my sight.

At first you had given me your glasses

but they were too strong.

Looking through your eyes was a severe headache.

Everything was concentrated and narrow

rigid and strictly focused on everything

That didn’t matter.

Things like money, pride and power,

You wanted me to see things your way.

Your piercing, judgmental way in which

You have become blind.

Out of bitterness, you called my family

Savages, Gorillas, uncivilized people that

only know how to click sticks and stones.

You had lenses crafted for me.

You picked the frame.

“I don’t want your eyesight to get any worse.”

But it didn’t.

I saw you eroding slowly.

I never wished for you to fall apart

with your constant shouting at your new bought wife

unbalanced sleeping cycles, messed up hip

declining health, elevating weight

painkillers that could never rid you of the pain.

Dad, even now, I see past all that you can.

I can even see you,

Past your incriminating stare.

They say I have your skin.

I was born white, with your pigment

but the sun somehow found favor in me.

I never kept myself from the land

from the ocean, rain, trees, or sand.

They loved me. They became my father

and granted me their genes as I grew up to become

an island boy.

I know Hawaii’s last name,

the one that you’ve forgotten

or maybe never knew.

And because of that I never really knew you

until the day you unveiled yourself before my brother and me.

and then our pasts suddenly made sense.

The constant cursing of everything

The discipline you demanded

The pathetic attempts to justify all your faults

The way you honestly believed that none of this was your fault.

It all left me remembering my childhood.

The times that you would come home later than eight pm.

shut yourself in your room with your already prepared dinner

and claim that you have work to do or a boxing match to watch.

Playing with your kids was never what it should’ve been.

You called it watching the kids

that one hour of the day or less that I saw you.

And we saw you even less because of your many “business trips”

that sent you away for weeks.

Then there was the trip where you never came back.

Who were you then?

You always wanted to be part Hawaiian, didn’t you?

But who are you now?

Your family used to live here generations ago, you told me.

But you don’t talk to them anymore.

You even blame them for your problems.

You blame my mother for everything else.

We aren’t from the same seed, dad.

We are not from the same lineage.

The same land that gave birth to me did not bear you.

They say I have your hair

When I was young, mom used to comb my short hair

out of my face so that

my beaming smile resembled you.

I dressed like you, shirt tucked in

belt around my waist whether I needed it or not

and my clothes always ironed in the morning.

Returning to Hawai’i, it must have been a surprise when I stepped off the plane

to greet you with my baggy jeans, t-shirt, and

mid-length wavy hair that represents nothing of you.

You didn’t want your son to be a hippy,

You called me a “faggot like the rest of them.”

You took me to get my hair cut the next day

You might have been able to trim off loose ends but

my hair grows fast. My hair grew back thicker and

Now it is a strong bond.

Like my brothers, I wear my history on my head.

My hair became a symbol of many things, but

The most important was my silent defiance against you

Even though I was afraid.

They say I have your body

Samoans are known to have wide framed bodies set on tree stumps for legs

that I wasn’t born with.

At birth I, like you, was thin and white.

For years I have been ridiculed with the term

Chicken Legs.

The Littlest Samoan.

My arms were scrawny, along with my

bony forearms, and thin calves.

I was expected to be weak, because I was small

But I didn’t let myself become you.

Your arms don’t know anything of accountability, yet you

Lectured me on responsibility,

and discipline

Your legs have grown fat

and have proved to be big and useless,

to the point where the grounds you’re standing on are about to give out.

Your hands still untouched by real work,

Typing, selling, sitting at your desk.

I have been carrying a family since you left.

My legs do the work of real Samoan men that were meant

to raise kids, and lift families up on our shoulders

cultivating our land and community with our arms

while letting our mothers rest on our backs for our childhood debt,

and respecting the land with our bodies when we have expired.

They say I have your Mind.

Remember when I accidentally ruined your thousand dollar photograph?

Or when I couldn’t fix the broken ukulele?

Or when I lost the key to your apartment?

Your words were piercing gunshots

Loud, quick, and deadly.

you called me a fucking idiot in that peculiar anger song you always sing when you get mad

over and over again. I cried.

I cried because I feared you so much.

I feared what you would do to me.

I still am afraid.

But since I am no longer your son, I guess

There is nothing left to fear except myself

and all the pieces of you.

But I don’t think like you do.

I never armed myself against my family

I never used my voice the way you did.

I think with the welfare of my family in mind

before myself. And I may have a set mentality and beliefs, but

I always remember my lineage.

I don’t know Portuguese. I am

Samoan. I don’t know Correa. I am

Tautua. This is my lineage.

I know what it means to serve

To whisper tulou out of respect

over graves and between chiefs.

I know of welcoming in a simple “Talofa”

To assure that hello always means that we love.

I know about greeting the eldest woman everyday with a gift

Even if it is just a simple smile.

I know my family.

I know that my fathers were born in Samoa

Every one of them.

They were called Tautua even then.

I buried my grandfather there, who buried his fathers,

And they buried their fathers.

I’ve always had fathers, Dad. It was you who needed a son.

I am not you.

and even though I may have pieces of you,

your eyes, skin, hair, body, and mind

I have my own soul.

Gun Shot, One Shot

Sun, 19 Dec 2010 12:00:07 -0500

Gun shot, He stops….

I come onto the scene as soon as his knees drop.

Almost as hard as my heartbeat stops, and I ask him in my mind, “bro, please stop. Please stop…”

“Please Stop playing!” But he’s not, and all of a sudden the peace stops,

my feet rock, and the smiles from before were peeled off, and we’re not,

joking or laughing cause one shot says the weeks not

as good as we thought, I shake my fear off,

but I hear him call my little brother for help before he drops,

and color drains away as he bleeds spots, into the new rug that we bought.

My baby sister now she’s shocked,

Asking me if these are mean cops, but I ask why we need cops.

We need an ambulance cause he’s shot!

and we’re caught up in a phase where fear brought us into pure shock.

They deliver the news….

And the hearts in the room I could hear drop,

falling to the floor and crashing with every tear drop,

with a shrill wail I could feel shot

my ears that can’t believe all it took was one shot,

but I still can’t cry because he’s not… he’s not…

Gun Shot, might have hit my heart, but I won’t stop.

Gun Shot, hearts still bleeding, but I won’t drop.

Gun Shot, my heart will never stop beating,

because I realize now that I only have,

One Shot.

(2008)

“What better way to own my words than to wear...

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 12:02:06 -0500

“What better way to own my words than to wear them?”

one of the many lines on a Western Washington University T-shirt I wanted to write on. The idea being that maybe if i wear my words, maybe my soul will be transparent, and I will have nothing to hide. No walls, no fronts, and maybe then I can find truth, and be as genuine and transparent as the wind.