I’ve got the world in my hands—
but that means embracing both the good
and the flaws of every man.

Right now, the world trembles at the sight of blackness.
But let me reintroduce it:

Darkness is beautiful madness
when you learn how to use it.

It isn’t the absence of anything.
It’s a color full of meaning,
a presence rich and deep—
not empty, but complete.

It’s the ink of ancient tongues,
the rhythm in survival songs,
the womb of galaxies,
the balm of activated charcoal
that quiets your uneasy stomach with ease.

The stars in the universe wouldn’t dare shine so bright
if black weren’t the color that cradles the night.
Without it, light would lose its purpose—
and that,
would be the curse.

So I carry the world in my hands—
its bright sides and its heavy demands.
And still, I hold my head up high:
black is the color at the center of every eye.

I know the truth that lies within—
that just because light is beautiful,
doesn’t mean blackness was ever a sin.

You judge me
for the way I look—
but this is my face.

You point fingers
like I’m a science experiment.

But what about you?
You don’t speak in pretty things either.

Imagine—
if there were a transcript
printed on your body
of every word
you’ve ever said.

Would you look
so pretty then?

I’m a prime number
I remain unfazed
Until I meet my reflection
And finally crumble

I told the referee

“I don’t want to play anymore.”

The referee said “No I won’t let you, give up.”

I asked him “Why not? Who’s keeping the score?”

Then he pointed up high where the lights would never fade.

“Those people who believed in you before you ever played.”

Then he continued “They don’t cheer for you because you never fell -

They cheer for you because every time you get back up - you raise hell.”

He Doesn’t Want Me.

It used to sting—
like sanitizer on an open wound.
A sharp bite that started small,
then grew to consume.

Maybe it’s because I wasn’t pretty enough,
or because I’m too rough, not soft enough.
Still, from rawness, I create—
turning pain into power.

But I had an epiphany today:
it was never my job to make him stay.
Better things lie ahead that’s yet to come
I’ll keep marching forward,
like a soldier to the steady beat
of a snare drum.

Today, I caught myself—
saying a phrase
a close friend used to say.
And I realized:
my heart twists, contorts, and bends,
just to hold a piece
of everyone I’ve ever loved.

It caught me off guard.
My soul works so hard
for no reward—
carrying feelings
I don’t let surface.

Whew.
That was a close one.

The room is thick like poured molasses
The sand in the hourglasses show time passes
There’s a question that starts to a rise
A curiosity that is written in the stars of the skies
Why was I born? What am I for?
It’s a question that stings like a cold sore

I use my brain to create a voice,
I nurture it like a plant and keep it moist.
I keep to myself, not expecting the fame,
Not knowing I won’t come out of this the same.
I carry myself with a lot of poise,
'Cause as I can create, I can also destroy.

Then suddenly there’s sounds like lashes
Broken only by lights and camera flashes
The reason for my birth seems to appear
The newest idol has arrived, a crowd draws near
When I enter a room, everyone stops to stare
As if I’m the only person that dares to be elsewhere
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes
I was born to transfix the masses