I’ve been told many times
Poetry is dead
Why want to be a poet?
As honored and humbled as I am
I’m here to express
I’m  not a poet
I’m not a writer
I’m not a blogger
I’m not a columnist
Nor into journalism
I’m just simply
Undeniably
Expressively
Unapologetically
For better or worst
The
Messenger
Of
Love
My poetic life started through my struggles, my happiness and gratitude.... Poetry Is All Around Us , All You Have To Do , Is Take A Glimpse ;)
The covers cried out
as I break free of their greedy,
jealous grasp. First small victory…
I’m supposed to count those you know?
To remind myself to keep moving.
I still cut out my heart today
and sat it on the kitchen table.

The knife smiled at me,
small victory for it I guess.
I felt the air slaloming
between my ribs
on its way to my spine,
where it grabbed hold.
Cold, unforgiving.

I should be used to the cold,
it’s the same every today.
My needle pierces the scars
as I sew the thick flesh back in place,
to keep the cold out, of course.
Reminding me of the days
the victories weren’t enough.

I stand and put on my sweater,
grab the heart, and throw it in the trash
on my way to the covers
to ask their forgiveness for thinking
I would be strong enough today.
The victories can wait until tomorrow
after all.
stone cold killa
knockin' fellas off
they feet, murder on the bay
writing poetry and
pushing bodies in the lake

she's a killa, man
get off on false promises
of commitment
no 5-o's, no weapon clues
no witness

i'm dead broke
i'm her next target
spending money on happiness
a poem like a wandering outlaw
us, causing sinister stares under the sunset
she tells him that

some days she wants to be
the blazing Sun
full of glory
& so overpowering that though
her light spills generously,
no one would dare to fly into her flames

and some days she wants to be
like the Moon,
cloaked in regality,
shrouded in the dark colors of the
night
& so beautiful that
your eyes would fight against
the sweet blades of Sleep
to see her a little longer, a little longer
before Dawn arises and conceals her
in its rueful dyes

and he held her gaze, taking in all that she was
and sighed,

because he did not see her as the Sun or the Moon,
for him, she was and always will be, the sky that somehow
found the strength to hold both

You got me so drunk
I forgot what a hangover was.
Twisted lies,
and the devils eyes.
In between the happiness,
is what I call hate.
Unlike what you might think,
it's what made me want you
in the first place.
I crave a drop of you and your face
now and then
when I'm not really thirsty.
I search for mercy
wrapping myself in the sky,
going to bed,
planning what I might do
when you let me drink again
the next time I see you.

What am I supposed to be?
For all I am is what I've been

I've never been what I am to be

Don't think I'll have the chance again
Written: July 14, 2018
Be the wheel
that's set to turn
The comfort in
the daily hurt
The flame that lights
not the one that burns
Be the lesson
that is learned

Be the hope
and not despair
The helping hands
that show you care
The pleasure ride
that takes you there
Be the truth
inside the dare

Be the answer
to the call
The very reason
for it all
The solid yes
to all the no's
Be the river
that freely flows

Be the kindness
that we need
The encouragement  
that sets us free
The do good
to the deed
Be all this
and all of these
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