I love the rattle of bones in my head.
The tumbling pieces of some intricate being that hasn’t been created yet. Smooth details rolling around each other searching for the perfect fit. Different sections that want order;
come together; don’t make sense,
rearrange; indiscernible,
once again; ah!
At last,
They are a skeleton.

I sit here so isolate with so much on my mind;
Oh how my heart cry's out to you Jehovah ,
Your words hold my poor heart in the right
Way to go ,
I was so lost and a lone , didn't have nothing I
Could call my own , I didn't even have a home ,
Some time ago I had lost my way of better days;
why?
what have I done? I taken my eyes off of the true
God ; and started walking in darkness , I thought
I could do things on my own ;
Know I cry out ! Please don't leave me ,I need you
Jehovah , I love you I was so wrong to think I was
Better on my own without you to lead the way for
Me to walk ,
This torture of this old darken world ; destroyed me
I can't sleep, My heart keep taunting me , For doing
So wrong , This pain that I feel goes on night and day
kills my laughter, encourages more pain; and keep's
Me so deep in depression  of my wrong's ,
My soul cry's out like a old sad love song of long ago
When psalms of David cry's to come home ,
Jehovah find me ! tell me that everything is going to be
alright , That you are by my side ,
Just know Jehovah ; That I have made a stupid mistake
And I will keep walking in your ways of better day's .
The beating of my heart,and the throbbing in my brain
Was as if I was about to die to an empty place lost men
Call home of ever lasting ;
I had to cry of a reality check , This was not were I wanted
To be ! My heart belong to Jehovah of everlasting love
From heaven above ,
I had to cry many day's and lonely night ; Hoping and praying
You would hear my cry's ,
I had felt you don't want me , But just then I heard a voice say
In the dark pouring rain , Saying I gave my only begotten Son
Jesus to die for you , and for all mankind ,
So just then I could feel my heart mined ,And I new Jehovah head
My cry and told me to live life right in his eyes, From that time on
I moved on teaching others about Jehovah and his law's .

Lilly Emery

Soul of black folk Trevon Martin and Emmett till..
A image of the worlds ills
There's a different between mans n Gods will..
The physician has  stethoscope now breathe Yes the worlds ill
A deviant of society words that the deaf can feel..
The difference in a person defines whats real..
My ancestry.
Oh yeah cotton fields
In a dressing room being asked how my jeans of cotton feel..
I don't know cause my genes are imprinted
Reaction to fashion..
How corrupt are these thoughts of blackness that have us branded..
Called to be continents of Christ but island mindsets have us stranded..
Like how u white and you talk black..or how you black and you talk white..
There's no discrimination to ignorance Just like Gods sight..
Yet a clear division he judges the heart its darks and its lights.
He sprinkled his people the salt on earth.
Eat dirt the earth lacks flavor
Transformed to salt 
We should not conform to dirt..
Express food I wonder if God taste buds hurt..
Chefs cooking lukewarm dishes..
Serving Jesus as he spits the food out.
Now he raging through the kitchen....
Looking for the ingredients like this is not the recipe..
Where is the complex simplicity ..
No surprise that there's sickness due to obesity...
A melting pot stirred my God  blends together...
He makes us all the same feather..
Once realized we can fly together..
Wings strong enough to fly through any weather..
Fly higher than Satan's paws that filthy jungle cat...
Yet some still want to perch on his back..
A bird singing but can't see the bars on the Cage..
Try to escape and hit the bars  which causes flight to disengage..
Racism damages the wings..
Hate damages the wings..
Why does a cage bird sing....
Well I don't think Its a song its a scream..
Because if you pay attention the pitch changes once freed..
That same sound harmonizes with the breeze..
A wonderful song heard through the trees
As trees we should be deeply rooted in Christ..
In Faith not flesh that's why the forest is a mess..
Like a tree planted next to a oil spill or nuclear reactor..
And some radiation has disturbed the soil..
Fruit spring up already spoiled..
And I think of the seedlings..
Without proper cultivation grow up to be weaklings..
Jesus is the gardener prepared to work a miraculous healing..
But he only heals if your willing
Church never stops whether in or outside of the building..

No please I enjoy your bullshit
Keep goin don't worry no ones doubting shit
Your act is perfect
Attentions diverted
To where ever you want it
You must have a magic wand man
Or maybe there's a hiddin cam
This must be a joke damn
Earth spinning around you
Looks like you like it too
Man I got nothing on you
Lie all you want baby boo
Just not when am around you
Sincerely F''' you !

The giant’s ruminations could once demand
Salvation, the order of the universe in hand.
Now, all his awe and glory’s come to naught
And man cries madly, distraught.
In black and white, His word and song is made,
And in this darkened night will never fade.
Who are you to say we must submit?
Who are we to give our spirit and quit?
Great Lords, and Pope, alike, have written what men think,
So who am I to tell you when to sup a drink?
Millions upon millions, the critics tell our fate through wit,
But hasn’t it all been said, hasn’t it been writ?
I tell you no certainty, give you only proof,
You must read those great volumes to which so many are aloof.
I sing praises like as David, a song that Solomon would want,
Of everlasting truth, without a philosophic taunt.
Salvation is not my message, repentance not my ploy;
I wish to give you knowledge, to teach your mind it’s not a toy!
There is no great illusion of the means of life on Earth,
There is no puzzling mystery in death and life and birth!
Whether God is at your side, or rejected wholly through,
The only one to chose your fate is overwhelmingly, singly, you!
Gloriously glorified, stained no more with sin,
To live a life of Glory, is glory given Him!
Whether purpose given, or purpose thrown aside,
Whether admit he’s risen, or deny he did abide;
Travel the less-trampled track—the path less trodden down,
For the destination matter less when that road is filled with crowns.

She was in Mexico visiting her father
whom she hadn't seen in eleven years.
I was at home,
falling in love with her
about three weeks after we had begun to know one another.
She called me before she left.
Scared.
Uncertain.
I could see her on the other end of the phone,
sitting on the corner of her bed
in her half-lit room,
pondering over an open suitcase.
I spoke to her every truth I knew,
every caring thought I could think,
as fast as they could be born.

By the time she got back,
I knew I was in love,
even if I couldn't quite find the words to explain it
to her.

We had spoken once about our obsession with birds
when we were younger.
So I prowled around the day before she got back,
in the woods behind my house,
through thickets, brambles,
up the sides of leant trees,
in the remnants of abandoned nests,
for a feather
or two.

She got back from her trip,
and we sat in my car,
before the modern saloon where
I told her I love you
My hands moved for the door
She said wait,
I have something for you
And she pulled out a long, brown quill.
Her cheeks florid,
beneath the thin light of the street lamps
that leaked in through the window.

I laughed,
and she grew redder.
Then I too produced a feather
and I saw in those eyes
something I could not possibly explain.
And even if I could,
I'm not sure I'd want to.

Whenever I want to write something
To say something profound with written word
Yet cannot find the eloquence I desire
I think of you
And the sight of your face within my mind
Provides the inspiration to write
More words than the worth of a picture

One day I wont think of you

Till then I hear that salt water helps clean a wound.

One day I wont think of you

when that song comes on.

One day I wont think of you

when my favorite tv show is ruined.

One day I wont think of desperately wanting to hold your face and kiss it, of wanting you to kiss me as if I were about to drift away into thin air. Of how I didn't let myself do that, because I know you wouldn't like it. That self control killed me, because aren't those are the little things that shouldn't have to be controlled?  I had the wrong kind of self-control with you. Now when I need it the most, it runs away and shatters, that fucking prick, and then it’s up to me to put fragments back together and build from the ground up.

All over

again.

One day I wont think of you

when I think I see your face on the street.

One day I wont think of you

when my heart stops, falls, and drowns when I see your photograph

"accidentally"

One day I wont think of you

with a glass of wine.

One day I wont think of you

with two, three, or four glasses.

One day I wont think of you

When I doubt.

One day I wont think of you

when I look beautiful, because I wish you could see it.

One day I wont think of you

with every little success a day brings, because I want to shove it in your face.

One day I wont think of you

when I see the gorgeous girl across the room, a natural beauty with big round eyes, pouty pink lips, fair perfect skin, arms sketched with tattoos. Your type of girl.

One day I wont think of you

and I wont have to write all these bullshit poems anymore.

One day I wont think of you
because you're just like all the others.

death is make-up for the interview.  when I get to my mother I plan to visit the city.  I hear a gang of young girls operates there trafficking middle aged men who act old.  I hear what I want when I delete emails.  I lost not touching my mother soon after she stopped being an actress.  she fled my father who at the time was known as her live-in stunt double.  I put my fist in the air and waited.  some told me I was being cinematic.  still some told me I was being cinematic.

There is a work of art in the proportions of your body, a song in the rhythms of your movements. You can't see it, I know you don't believe me, but you are the most extraordinary creature I have ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with. If I were able, I would show you the beauty in your shoulder length auburn hair, and handle it like the finest silk ever created. I would show you the steely grace in the strong chords of your neck as they slope downwards into your perfect breast, and laugh when you protest that it might be compared to that of a twelve-year-old boy. I would show you the delicate loveliness of the lines creased deep in your palms, like a map of all that you have touched or felt in the years leading up to this moment; lines that I would follow to the ends of eternity, if only you would allow it. If I were able, I would study you. I would take notes with my fingertips on the silken skin of your artfully curved spine and pay a kiss to each vertebra, like a tariff to a toll booth on the road of your body. If you would let me learn you, I would be the most studious attentive student there ever was; keen and detailed when practicing my new-found knowledge. Yet somehow, you are blind to this. But oh how I long to show it to you. Oh how I long to show you all the ways in which I want you. All the ways in which I wish you were mine. You cannot see your own perfection, listening more to the voices of doubt and insecurity more than to those of love and self-confidence, but oh how I wish you could see yourself in all the ways I do. And someday, I will make you see it. This, I promise.