Excuse me, and my somewhat myopic preference, but I, I rather my art, my pictures, in the form words.
You see, my words! Are my strength. And I am tyranny to these symbolisms that I imprison inside my metaphoric prisms.
Making you clearly see whatever it is that I choose to describe, prescribe, ascribe to my line of thought just for a second, and see the things that are most important to me.
Like the fact that I tried to write a love poem last night; but I failed miserably.
Terrible was my endeavour at writing about this thing my mind find so much beauty in; but my heart is yet to feel.
But hey, I thought I was in love in once. With this woman, yes woman! NO children, but she had the personality of a single mother, who loved her baby more than she did herself, who would give up anything, who, in a single moment, would drop everything…. For the sake of her child.
And if you're wondering, yes, I was that child.
But I was foolish, and she was astonishingly beautiful, but apparently, not as beautiful as my pride.
You see!! As I mentioned before, my words! Are my strength!
So Still? You don't get it still?
It means that I am skilled, skilled in giving you these broken promises in the form of poetic reforms.
You can say, I am mechanic, and the car? Well, it’s your emotions.
So I’ll kick back, spend time and effort and literally plan out how I am going to psychologically, mentally and emotionally break you down into parts and then put you back together in a way that in the future, it's working the way I want it to be.
But it’s only like that because I've spent years working on me and my package, so all that you'll see… is what I want you to see.
And I made my exterior beautiful, I painted it with intellect, poetry, humour, sensitivity, a shoulder to lean on, romantic dates, good *** and all this! I laid out on top of black skin. So prepare to fall in love with me when, ugh, no, if you get the chance; but just know, I WILL NOT love you back.
You see, before “my words”…Trust used to be my strength! But that was before it got shattered, someone threw this huge brick at it, and now, like the promises I give out, it is BROKEN!
So every time I look in the mirror I am not sure if I'm seeing myself, so how did that “woman” expect me to see us together?
And it’s my fault! It’s my fault I lost the only girl I think that I've ever loved.
And I'm not one to live in the past, but if I could, I would turn back the hands of time. Hmm, No! As a matter of fact, I would rip its arms off, so it feels! The way I feel…. To not have this one thing you NEED, to be unable to feel loved and always feeling you're being judged.
BUT I admit, I am the cause of my own destruction… That started with lies; lies that the truth can’t fix.
I told her that I loved her, I told her she was the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen, I told her that I would NEVER do anything to hurt her and that she had me! That she had me only to herself!
Fast forward weeks later while I laid in bed with someone I thought was 10 times better, than her…
I sent that text saying: “I think we're Opposing Vectors, we have the same magnitude, just heading in different directions. And I don't know where our relationship is heading, but what I do know, is that I feel… there’s something missing”.
Days later, the last text I got from her read: “Steve, you're ******* disgusting”.
P.S “You did not make me fall in love with you. I chose to love to you”.
So I finally understand why God is quicker to judge the wealthy than he is to judge the poor.
It’s not because those who have it all automatically qualifies as being sinners of greed.
It’s because of people like me,  who had it all, and foolishly threw away something, that in the future, I know I would still need.

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.

It's okay to cry.
Cry a river if you have to.
Cry if it helps you to breathe again.