I'm tangled inside and everything comes out like glass
I'm cutting inside.
The way you carelessly lose yourself, cuts me inside
And I forcefully tear my skin off
To show you I'm bleeding.
Can these pools of red speak louder than thunderous phrases?
You find yourself in dark places
Losing yourself to people who won't remember your name.
And you forget yourself
In the worst kind of way.
I can't force you
Can tears? Can pleas of red and blue? Can whispers of adoration?
Does it come down like lightning - or do I sit in a deserted room...
Watching an hour glass, receiving postage with your name written on it.
Hearing about you from everyone but
And I'm the woman stuck in a painting
Trapped in an artifact
Scribbled on a drawing.
I can't speak!
Every single piece of me is lost in time, to trying, to trying..... Fading.
But, I saw you yesterday.
It felt like the beginning of something,
After all this time, maybe we can began again
Was it me, you?
I could not know.
As you sit by the veranda, I watched us fall down feet from each other
Years ago, our legs were entangled.
A choice made, that would change my life
Moving, living, and being together - then, nothing planned.
And now we don't see our plans as one,
And who could say what made that happen...
Believing and dreaming, growing and leaving
A whoosh and a spin, a grin and a glint, all that it takes before time is amiss.
larger, infinite, timeless, senseless, insurmountable, imaginable.
These are the moments in which the impossible can be conceived.
A smile is taken as a romantic gesture,
And every single moment can be jumbled in a messy, wild, reckless grin
Each stroke taken as its last
Each beat felt like never before
And its all coming now
Will it ever come like this again?
I'm a poet in my prime
Spiffing up my rhymes
I'm a legend can't you see
Only my words feel they spew to you and me
I'm a master at this connection!!!
My wonderful phrases
Creep into your heart
They pierce through like a dart
Shattering, mattering, caving a meaning
Keepin ya dreaming... beliving, comforting the soul!
Theese word like a bowl -- fill you up: with love, desire, the power to ignite!
I can only imagine what the rhymes in a singy-songy fashion
With fervor, power, and a burst of flaming passion turn up on paper
How they are presented by the maker
The writer, poet, artist of words - flowing, stringing tieing in the clarity with blurs
Creating a canvas that paints a moment through the feeling of words cascading by feeling, not structure
That sounds absurd, but these moments are momentous, in a passion of flury strung up in a phrase that summons the whole day
And the day has gone by, so has the year -- but I must keep rapping through poetry lyrics
I might not be as quick, fast, slick, or hip as some
With funky names, large persona, or partrying till we see the sun
I am a rapper of the moment in its purest sense -- of human nature and its surroundings through my philosophy, wisdom, passion, and emotions
I hope this year 2017, will acommadate this year's fast run
So, once was told to a shy girl the world was hers...
In fright, in sheer terror - the world for her was under the covers
The dancing trapeze animals alive in her blanket -- consistently distracting her from her abstract, constant fears
The wondrous squeals joined in with her, other children too.
The quiet tent, tight, small, concealed.
Nothing would leave -- the ideas of far reaching dreams would stir floating about, in the tent's humid, sweaty, sticky cover - like swirling fireflies
The tent was alive, contrived of dreams - dreams bigger than her palm.
And she never wanted to leave
She always slept with the blanket over her head, up until she was old enough....
Time passed, the blanket was to small to cover her head.
She felt the cold air press against her soft, rosy cheek
But, it was a stinging cold,
One she could not shake.
And it was there the hot air, turned into frightening pierces of reality.
Bare to the chill, bare to it all.
Bare to her very core.
But the tent was no longer a tent.
She felt the sting in her skin.
Sting in her veins. Her blood.
The emptiness of the golden blanket, oh, what a circus tent it was to her youth.
A blanket of dreams, a blanket of play, a blanket were the freedom of life could grow, develop, flourish -- ignite!
Now, it's just a blanket.
A blanket were anxieties, deep fear, depression, pent up rage, do not find the light of day in a circus getaway
A quiet word...
hypnotized the senses
It was pitch black....
I went to the kitchen
I drank all I could find,
And slept in the garden.
I pulled flowers from the garden's ground
And clipped their petals...
It tasted like honey.
All blended into a kaleidoscopic metamorphosis.
yet, I could not foresee the end
the world became a dome.
Immortal shape shifter's
When I awoke
There was dirt in my hands.
My mouth, had dirt.
I woke up covered in dirt.
But, I can only remember
how I drowned into an deep abyss.
The rest amiss.
In the depths, my outer self became less
In the future, I hope I do not grew thicker skin
We come and go, going far out
When we enter our vessel..... we fall - deep into the darkest abyss, but all seems light by day
When we fall and grow in ourselves, we constantly run - all around a quiet star
We lock our chests inside a wall
We stain flowers in our garden
We burn every paper - containing evidence of our manifestation
And I sit inside my own, waiting to burn inside
The life I live and its perilous surrounding - came circle again, once again
And the burning became an amber - crystallizing as stone