Find ourselves in these silver tears,
emeralds, and pearls, and precious jewels
like myrrh scented roses, we rose
to the occasion of these unlikely applauds,
celebrating awards, to celebrate our flaws,

'Roses in the dark; seeds buried in the dirt,
one day to rise and kiss the sun'
that first kissed us when we were just so young
and as I was once young as a gun,
a plant shoot, stemming from the soil,

Bare from birth, and leaving as a bare soul in the end
you may find me in this world, but not of it,
in a moment of winter, but it's winter for a moment
as it is destined for me to grow- tis my purpose!

"Hey me, how you doing,"

hey future me, I'm feeling clueless,
using less of my time, and feeling a bit useless

"Well, I wish I could tell you that it all gets better,
But even in the successes you and I will have
You're still stuck on hoping you've done enough"

that kind of *****, cos yesterday I was just telling our
past self, we still haven't done enough
and I'm feeling really down, but always trying to keep up
in playing this bluff

"Really life is just a constant game of us playing cards,
My advice to you; put down the cards, and learn to play chess"

sorry, that statement doesn't make any sense,
and above all, it probably went over my head

"Life is about making the right moves,
Lining your goals, and trying to think way ahead"

highly unlikely; let's not pretend

"Hence the word, trying;
You won't get it right all of the time.
But all of the time we have, is another reason to just try,
And every mistake is a lesson we can't ignore or never mind
For the never in our mind, is the reason to all of our insights
being so blind"

can you show me these lessons,

"No, because they wouldn't be the lessons
You'd hold onto, without any of the experience
As the best teacher is experience; still the hardest teacher,
But she'd treasure a good listener, and treat you so precious
My lessons to share, would be to stay brave, stay who you are,
And speak all of your truths of what has hurt/made who you are,
As all of those daily confessions

hey future self,

"Yes"

you really ****, because you always have to be so right,

"And me being right,
Is to show how to be right with our life"

                             sigh!

Let me imprint my love with my tongue,
speaking all of the words you've never heard before
And as one who has always experienced writer's block;
it's probably good of me to just go down town
But the streets are always unsafe, especially as a first,
a first for me, of saying less, but still doing more actions with
a mouth,

Knowing myself, I could start preparing before in a month,
as I know it all couldn't amount to much
Making a two plan meal out of you; always skipping brunch,
and would you come- to a place I should take you to
Or does it take a few more seconds of a numbing jawline,
to make you in the end feel so really good,

I never could, prove all my experience,
cos experience isn't all I have, at hand
So please don't get mad, if you find me looking up
to read your lips of what you feel at your lower lips;-
                                                   please do understand!

And would you accept me, feeling a bit down under
to go a little down under
Playing a little too much repetition, with a mouth stutter;
this person who is a newcomer, hoping you're a quick comer
Calling me out when I start feeling lost;
hoping by any chance I do have the right number,
And not to get too distracted by a hard wood, of my pants lumber,

                                                Let's see how this goes...

I need some beautiful poetry
The ones that write themself

Who's there to make it easy
Make it shine
To make it rhyme

Am I even worthy
of a poem of such magnitude?
Writing poetry can be so difficult..

A pen:

a brush that paints a shadow of my past,
a guide of stories to lead into a future's path,
a maddening chorus of songs; all that play in parts,
an echo that shouts the silence of my heart,
a remainder of me working on myself to be a work of art

But I'm still somewhat unfulfilled;
knowing that there's more of me to write
To write of people, this world, and life
as I write better than a day before- I'm still unskilled
Always in this constant unending plight
cursed by words playing in my mind and a drive
And as soon as I've died; you'd remember me as being skilled

Falling quietly into your arms,
still the loudest echo of falling love
Swept of the ground;
as closely to my steady feet, I can't brush off feelings
Or find a reason not place volumes of my pride,
announcing who you are to me
But I often feel as a selfish sinner to say,
"you should belong to me"
And I am like a mirror in your room,
reflecting on your beauty, as the first to see it in the morning,

To be a night-gown that covers you in warmth and comfort,
a resting pillow to the dreams still twined in your hair
And you being a thought resting on my head, of a brain chair;
feeling rude to stare, as you climb into my eye's sight
of your beauty step by step, of your glorious stairs,

Despite you not seeing me, above all those others chasing,
their desires of power they wish they could own, to own you
To enthrone you; those who once sat on their own thrones,
they have polished themselves, for you to sit on top of their heads
I doubt you care; as like a child with someone else to worry
responsibly for their younger's responsibilities,

Still would you ever consider to indulge in me,
with the dews of my eyes and sheering shy smile
I do try and try, till my tired is tired of being tired,
and my spark dies out for the night- lit again by seeing
you another day, and I continue on being fired,

But in the eyes of a looker-on, I'm fried;
spared no sympathy for showing such a simp in me
In the pits of my emotions, falling deeper and deeper,
and I pray in the end that someone would pity me.

What if I finally came to all of the places,
to feel eventually complacent
In between seeing a lackluster example
of what it takes to lack love;
Would I be lacking in the appeals
of peeling pieces of my skin to this former apple of an Eve,
The apple of my eye, bitten by the marks of the
world' dogs; with an echo to their every bark?

But what man isn't referred to a dog,
with just another territory to mark
As we're ******* by those trying to be just a man;
with mannerisms of an ill-mannered upbringing,
Did you at least question their gestures with a little reasoning?

We are littered by the stains of this society;
as the illiterate, misread by a literature written
by history's cruelty in a castration anxiety
Even to those cut from the same cloth,
how much have we lost for the cost of just playing another's part?

I'm in part, lost in the standards of this world,
that would cancel my tongue for speaking something so bold
As I've lost the voice in my lungs, and the hairs of my chest;
to honestly have the heart of bravery; as it now appears to be bald

And I would make the fortunes for these misfortuned,
fortunately for the lookers-on, it makes me an abstract portrait
So I'll just portray what I know best from my many teachings,
reasoning, understanding, valuing, and treasuring
To relate to those I have no relations to, to find their meanings


       In politeness,
          I am not one to share any other man's likeness
            Still to rather seek peace in chaos of all this society
               To not find myself caught in between this culture violence