Weeping oneself to sleep – by these muddy
tears, and their questions of worth.

As the relentless sands of time erode a soul;
it's all too simple to feel like grains of river sand,
drawn by the currents of life, and banking on your
dreams; yearning for our stream of tears to lead
us to a flood of many successes.

For in those moments, we are but the weeping
sandman’s tears, drifting into the embrace of our
dreams, lost in the wet lament of our tears –

One day, we shall master the art of swimming!

The pen –
is an extension of my body, held by my hand, as it
beats with my heartbeat; it's my very breath between
words, the intentions of my structuring, the brush to
my thoughts, the paint of my imagination.

The pen –
is the mic to my voice, the scope of my eyes, the chorus
to my soul, the bass to my heart, the shadow of my skin,
painted by the night, and why my pen chooses to be black!

It is bold, it is wild, it is persuasive, it manipulates words
to invoke change, it is controversial, it is understood by
few, yet it speaks to all.

The pen is an extension of my body –  for we are One!

My soul feels too short for love –
but there’s a tall glass of it, I’m hoping
fills the thirst of my heart’s empty cup
But if there’s a map to someone’s thoughts
…here I am, navigating!

While the hills of their eyes are always
these dreams like mountaintops
Though rising to your peak is so scary –
where the bottom always looks you up,
And I know we’re all still searching for those
pieces of ourselves.

Even when sometimes there’s a mix of
doubt in my cup – it’s so hard to doubt the
fact that you sometimes really love to doubt
yourself… most days I have to empty myself,
to refill up on worth in this cup.

Could we, still taste the stains of tears on a collared shirt
–whereas you cried, while being embraced in their arms?
To every new lover, every smile is just a spark we both
seem so hopeful will last us long; never to burn out.

Still there isn’t a crash course to love – for when it comes
to falling in love; it feels so heavenly as if Heaven has
made your angel, that stole the last breath in your heart.

But what happens when they don’t smile as they did
before – when ten thousand sparks, is just pieces of dust?
It's the answer of whether it’s a lasting love, in what seems
to be a lasting time, of not feeling those sparks…

We’ve all known the feeling of too many passing loves.

Tumbling walls whispering tears —
the sound of fallen walls in the rain,
closing remarks to the echoes of pain.

Tossed red dust's disappearing pieces —
still what we've built for ourselves -
are all these foundations to remain.

Three things I can’t live without…

Coffee, Creativity & Church

For coffee fuels my creativity;
My creativity comes from my worth –
A worth I only learnt of, going to church.

Well…

You heard the news, that I was finally falling
out of love — I must have forgotten your touch;
and I know it really *****, that you heard the
news from somebody else; her I’ll never love.

And have you ever kissed that taste of sweet sin;
I know I said we'd be lovers ever since we were kids,
but looking in the mirror now — I'm definitely not him!

Men go chasing after wet waters; my chasing gave
you running tears – I made you feel like a princess,
but never settled on making you, my queen.

I'm sorry for being a *******!