The teeth are brittle and break away.
Blood spills and leaves me…
Alone. It’s been getting worse since May.
Flowers that used to give me color, just remind me of Gray. The sea can’t grow,
no co-sign for my loans,
and tangents never helped me anyway.
The question of “Why?”, equaled ex’s that got eliminated, division from dimensions, so nothing Remains. I can’t integrate happiness into dysfunction, but my voices want to play. They’re constant and fill me with dismay. Help is so far away, it’s just another sign of my exponential decay.
He keeps feeling broken day by day.
This life isn’t a game but us demons keep giving him the play-by-play. The thoughts never go, they stay, drowning his stupid *** again and again until night turns day.
Pills and people are needed but unable to change his way. “Is it possible to substitute U?” He wasn’t needed anyway. He’s so ******* annoying, just call him Billie Kay. What’s the going price of a casket in this age and day? No one will notice him gone,
they couldn’t even say his name.
He appears most likely in Hell, it’s a praise day.
Nah we won’t even hurt him, he ain’t worth the flame.
Bit by bit he’s already done, with so much exponential decay.
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 3:36 PM UTC
I used to have a plant that I loved.
The ones before neglected and left it
alone in the dark. At the base, there are still scars
yet I stared in awe whenever I saw it.
It had pink flowers mixed with bits of blue,
with a slim, tall, and strong frame.
The *** was white with a round bottom,
with red spots exposed by the chipped paint.
I loved it so hard because I wanted it to thrive,
but maybe I did too much. Every plant is different.
There was already yellow at the ends;
I didn’t notice the overwatering.
It hurt to see the plant go even though
I gave it love, and I thought it was enough.
May 7, 2021
May 7, 2021 at 12:12 PM UTC
I am from a dreamland.
My great land was diverse yet so grand as
the food and words were never bland.
The hands were rich with bands and rands,
built from working the same ground upon which we stand.
I am from a home that once spanned
prosperity itself; such a lovely
thing was a gift to our health. The sands,
skies, and seas could even hold the Heavens.
The trees used to dance in the breeze with ease.
I am from a dwelling of past envy,
but not of a hating feeling,
in the purest form, this was just only beauty.
But I am from broken societies.
Our hearts were bled dry
as we were taken overseas.
We prayed, begged, cried why
ever so loudly, but it was in vain.
I am from a place where our veins
still course with a saddened passion,
as a lack of love is our new fashion.
With sorrow, I am still from a life of death,
as their malice has never left.
Yet they still set us so carelessly upon the trees;
despite our screams and pleas, we
become the strangest fruits you have ever seen.
We have no identity and we have no names.
yet they still set us so harshly upon the pyre;
the painful extermination of desire
is a freedomless and killing fire.
Even our look for love is seen as theft,
and sadly, I am from where they even have my last breath.
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 12:26 PM UTC
Hands holding onto her hips,
breaths bouncing with bliss,
we both crave just one more kiss.
Hands now on the door,
pouring out even from my pores,
we both look to adore.
I love her in my life,
but this feels like so much strife,
so I need to just let her go.
No, she’s not near anymore,
yet the water still flows,
my garden of unemployed roses still grows.
Any more guilt and I’ll hit the floor.
Why hold guilt, a better man sees chance.
I grab her waist, just hoping we dance.
It worked but, she's just looking for free lance.
I keep coming. Closing the distance.
For her, I’ll go the distance.
But why do I feel this shame?
She ended things so I’m not to blame.
But her ocean eyes still hold my flame,
so for love again should I change my aim?
My fear should be cooler,
my wish was to move her. Closer.
Just a bit closer. But I can’t reach forever.
I loved her so I can’t seem to forget her.
I just miss the safety in us being together.
Her warmth was enough and I never needed a sweater.
And this passion to love what I’ve seen,
seems like beams of an eternal dream. A racing bee
is to me, as a honey-laced flower is to she.
I’m stuck and falling even though the leaves are changing;
maybe I should move on and leave her to be.
But if you truly love, is it right to flee?
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 10:25 AM UTC
She’s no longer the source of my prayer,
she’s no longer holding most of my care.
And I swear that I couldn’t really bear
her wear and tear that wasn’t fair.
Now I race with haste to get some space
from her taste and her lively face
which is now just slightly laced with a trace
of my want for us to discase.
She’s hard to replace
but no longer can I chase
and keep pace with such a cold case.
My eyes are stained red;
not from crying again,
but by the taste of an herbal hope.
Perhaps it’s better off left unsaid,
but the smell of dread is left dead
by the piquant flame to which I tread.
My head floats like a ghost
from this sweet green and purple.
With tasteful lips in supply,
and a rolled joy high in my mind,
I’ve forgotten what it was like to cry.
My sanguine speech seems slurred.
And I’m not crying anymore;
a toast to the flame-filled water.
It makes facing my regrets easier,
and it’s so easy to disappear when she’s near.
I never want it to be like before,
even though sometimes I wake up poor
on the floor from pouring my pores
into just trying to forget her.
But for her adoration I no longer implore,
I instead explore for ore within the lore
of another woman’s valor.
Now the thought of the touch from a one-time lover
smothers my past desire for her fire.
The tangy taste of love lost
has faded over with hoarfrost.
Each weekend, I distend my intentions
to bend my wants, to be blunt,
to punt my fronts, as I tend
to ascend with commonly dazed women.
I can deny that I see guilt in the bliss
that is built on meaningless kisses.
I’m not digging dirt with these hoes,
and we know that the marks on their
necks aren’t from mosquitoes.
And our souls stay open when our knees fold.
And no matter how many potholes I explore,
I don’t feel ******* deplored,
I adore pouring out my core.
I am different now.
I think that I’ve changed for the better,
but I know that I won’t be tempest-tossed,
no matter the cost.
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 6:23 PM UTC
Yes, revenge is sweet and the beauty of karma matches your face.
However, why would I get even with someone
who wasn’t on my level in the first place?
I really mean it in the worst way.
I’ve held the damage in for a while but now I’ll say
everything without regret because you made me feel this way.
I forget your name on purpose every time that I pray.
You caused cascading waves to flow down my face
after you entered the fray. My sweet wishes were slain
by your scorpion-like sting as you turned out to be a snake.
I see your weak speech filled with might and probably.
I thought I was safe, yet you didn’t even fret to try me
and I trusted that you were behind me.
So it’s shocking when I’m falling,
to see your arms not trying to stop me
when you’re so used to catching bodies.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 7:37 PM UTC
Never stop showing who you are.
Fear is what drives us, keeps us alive.
Emotions are our eternal star.
Sadness is something you should never keep too far,
understanding loss helps us strive;
never stop showing who you are.
Let the flames of your anger cause char.
Rage is human and should not be deprived,
emotions are our eternal star.
Desire to be greater in spite of scars,
lust for love and lust for life,
never stop showing who you are.
Joy is amazing and cleanses tar,
if your happiness dies, then it should be revived.
Emotions are our eternal star.
Do not let your emotions become your czar,
however, be true to yourself and try to thrive.
Never stop showing who you are;
emotions are our eternal star.
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 1:40 PM UTC
Does a black man’s life have a price?
Hopefully, you answer with of course not.
It is priceless. No sum of anything
can equal its worth. But some others say
of course not. The ones that seek to destroy
us, break us to the core, think that we have
no worth. Nothing to our names but
defamation and inflammation from
miserably myopic minds. We die so easily
to hate, to jealousy, to misunderstanding.
Our price is lower than zero when the cost
of freedom is so high. But not for us;
the cost is freedom for them. They need
to be free from jealousy and hate,
but they just can’t see how easy it can be
to be loving. No, the cost of a Noir Nature
is far too high. It burdens us with the pain
of our broken ancestry. It burdens them with
the fear of changing scenery.
But why does the key for me to be free
have such a costly fee?
We have no heroes; we are only zeros. No,
not even zeros because at least a zero has a place.
We don’t fit in, from elderly to infants, we simply
strain through sorrow for something bittersweet.
And it hurts with a biting sting of failure,
but not of our own. No, it is the failure
of ignorance and broken hearts.
There’s no one to truly hope or pray for us
as we are slowly strangled by those that seek
to destroy and break us to the core.
But why does the key for me to be free
have such a costly fee?
Where’s our true freedom?
We were once slaves to cruelty,
then we were set “free”. Free to toil under
the misery and apathy of a blinded, divided land.
We then struggled, clawed, begged just be
the same under the law, and through it all,
nothing has really changed.
But why does the key for me to be free
have such a costly fee?
But where’s our true freedom?
We still are set as windchimes in the streets,
we still are cast as fish amongst the seas,
we still are set ablaze from head to feet.
Why can’t we be truly free?
Why do they continue to ever so mistreat
us with sourceless anger? Why are we beat
and pleated into a lack of love that fleets
and flees with the fury of fleas? We ask, please,
to be seen, to freeze the agony, to show us mercy,
but they bleat like sheep, guaranteeing to **** our liberty
with glee as they continue to freeze us as they please.
They screech and decree as ugly as beastly banshees
when all we wanted was peaceful equality.
But why does the key for me to be free
have such a costly fee?
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 11:59 PM UTC
I’m enslaved although I’m brave.
Pressures force my mind to cave,
in spite of my cravings to save
my slaving eyes from a shallow grave.
Bravery lies in the ability to not lie,
or deny reality, but to unshyly cry
in day or night. My eyes are bright lights as I
look to the sky and try to not die inside.
To be higher is to not look at danger and shy
from the fear of a freedomless failure. Braveness
is greatness; a courageous showing of patience.
It is the face of the heart’s race and pace
that is traced from a loving embrace of grace.
It is not famous or faithless, it is the safeness
to continue to another day. It is to sway, to stray,
to waver towards the unpaved way without fray.
It is to walk on water no matter the weight, to say
that although we may be enslaved, we are brave.
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 10:47 PM UTC
I’m not remotely close to having control.
My fingers slip, but I don’t want to go down that hole.
Temptation at the tip of my nose
with her eyes opening up my soul.
My resolve is low, but I’m trying to make it last.
Sometimes in this race, I feel like I’m coming in last,
even though I stick to the goal, and I’m skating so fast.
I just wish to feel whole, but that’s evading my grasp.
It would be so easy to give up,
to lift up, the regret and hating the past.
Holding on is so hard, is this what
life leads to? The anger and grief bleeds through
my words, hurting him, her, and me too.
Is it sad to plead to the unknown when euphoria actually sees you
at your lowest? When you’re unheroic
and have never been stoic? When you’re unnoticed
yet devoted but you can’t keep focus
because you’ve lost all motive?
It’s sobering to deny the malice
but what if you’re too weak to avoid the chalice?
Will falling into euphoria break the chains on my talus?
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 9:11 PM UTC