Making appearances; in all of the experiences in this crazy
life. Sigh! I can't wait for the end of the show; the curtain
call to their standing applauds. "Oh what a show"

Raise up the glass; and let's forget about the past in this night,
like it was all our last. I sit back and laugh; smiling about the
few true friends I can count on my hand. I'm a slave to the trend;
of dreaming about the beginning to my end.
I've never been to the end of my life's journey, but it's a place I'll one day have to go. "Oh what a show"

The caught in between moments; running cameras, except in these darkest moments. At times feeling like the loneliest. Cheesy writings; melting on the knobs of being the corniest. And I'm about to be the bomb in the near future; with my successes about to blow. "Oh what a show"

Telling all of my kids, "there's a couple of girls I should have kissed." Kiss them goodnight ; after telling them my life's story
just for me relive. Give them grief in the morning; when Papa
can't wake up on his feet. And how I die, better be the same way
I lived. In peace. My death would be my family's low, but a higher place is where I must go. "Oh what a show"

So here's my final curtain call. I hope they'll all enjoy that show.
Holding weight on the wait to give their applauds. Hold onto
yourself, your words, your all and soul. Let me say my final goodbyes; just before my time to go.

And let me give them all a show.

Please pardon me; when I say, "it's all of me, all of me."
That's just the pride that swallows me; every time you love on
me, hug on me, each time we're cuddling, and snuggling. The
pretty scars look so ugh-gly; and that's not what I want my love
to be; honestly.

Making me wonder, "what the F," of the effort I'm taking; no
mistaking the fools of swine eating bacon. That's the charity
of clarity; giving your heart to all of the crowds, of all those
boys you met around. You've been around. Chasing circles
of where to be; as it seems. Dogs chasing tails; till it gets stuck
in your teeth. There's no peace, but the piece of sorrow; when your feelings were deceased. Diseased by the love sickness; as random kisses was the weakness to your knees.

I'm begging you please,

to stop pretending; that you're not trying to save up your worth
overspending; never-ending story of the people having the seconds of love's sequel. I'm a prequel to thought. What words are in the courts. All the illegal things that we bought; while breaking a few laws. I'm now allergic to a thought, of you giving me goosebumps in my pores.

I paused...

So you could stop playing my heart. Love loves to play with my
heart.

I paused...

Love loves to play with my heart.  Tell me when does it stop?

Fair;
as the skins
of solid ice,
her cold shivers; to a loving
touch.
A whisper of beauty;
only heard by
the eyes
gazing on her.

Too many to count on my hands,
too many to have, too many to make
me happy, mad or sad.
Too many girls in the land, I don't
always understand.

But what's the world without them,
what's a nine out of ten; if this world isn't
truly complete without them?
Some as friends, not too many as lovers.
But so many who taught me how to be a
good hugger.

They give me fatigue,
they stick to my side like the flesh to my flesh,
bone to bone of those potentials to my Eve.
The sharpest memory, of when I do them wrong,
who had, to have me falling in love with them,
and a corny love song.

What's the world without them;
driving me crazy. But we also go crazy
for them.

Running up the time; while running away
from all my crazy thoughts.
How much time would it take to get to heaven,
climbing up a clock tower? A lot!

And if I fall,
do I hit the ground, or will I soar?

As I swore not to waste anymore time,
but I broke that promise; wasting more time in
the above line. But fine!

I guess I'll be like time:
not a lot in the best moments.
Rushing myself with all of the time in the world;
but never to hold it. Or own it!

A thousand clock towers;
still feels like I never have enough time.

In a lonely room; walls feeling like mirrors
in every empty corner.
Reflecting, on cringey moments,
points for past arguments. And of course, enjoying
the benefits of being the casual loner.

Pulling myself to the self doubts for tomorrow,
"will I wake up in the morning," the question
I have before I rest my head. I say a silent prayer;
and maybe try not to focus on death.
But instead, my focus is the pretty petty moments
of life; soon to fade like a flower.

The greatest overthinker when I'm all alone,
balancing insecurities, pleasure, and life's pressures.
Music of past songs, still ringing in my buzzing ears.
Phone full of playlists setting the mood for what face
I'm sleeping with tonight.
And wondering which one of my dreams I'm living to
be leaving for a successor.

Yes sir!

My mind alone; takes me further from home,
when I'm all alone.
So quiet in there, that you could drop a stone and
it would echo down to my soul. Entertaining the
crowd of shadows peeping through the window.
Tree branches digging into the walls, with my bed
in the middle.

I think about love, I wonder about hope.
I yearn for calm, I search for control.
I fight battles alone, I set my life's next goal.
I motivate my soul, and I push myself into being whole.

All of which happens in the dark room,
sitting on my own.

Okay...

Finding my ****** expressions without makeup,
Fixing my heart when girls say, "let's just break up,"
Figuring out my next steps when things start to shake up,
But I really get annoyed by the nice people we meet; saying,
"let's just f**k"

Oh what is this life; and what am I living for?
Giving all the pieces of your life, but it always wants some
more. As I'm senseless to the less sense of my interests to
my less cents. So reckless to my repentance; and a wreck to
all of life's pressures.
Weighing myself down on all it's measures. How to be strong
with yourself, with all of these offered pleasures?
But we all know nothing lasts forever. Still a chance of having
it now, could make things feel a little better.

Okay...

Still the lover; longing for a love to actually love,
Stuck with food for thoughts; but it feels like my wisdom
is still keen to starve,
Searching all of the skies, for all of my answers from the above,
Scheming on all of my luck to success; with the few of my cards,
But the game of life is always so hard.

Okay...

Where am I going, in these night trips to nowhere,
Who knows their final destination, only after their death's despair,
Why is life this constant carnival game, paying a fair to being
so unfair,
When do I show face to face my challenges, if I dare?

And this is all the okay to the okay, the day after today. Two
days into choices of Tuesdays. But no matter the day;
it's always a battle to just seem okay.

And that's okay...

I remember long texts, and shy long
calls at night; over the limited Wi-Fi.
The rosy cheeks, stomach knots, and awkward
laughs when I was referred to as, "my guy."

"My mans, baby, and the occasional cutie,"
usually after I say something sweet. And making
those gestures at tasting those lips.

The angry rants, unplanned arguments,
unnecessary jabs, soon after the honeymoon
season is gone. The long cries, silent treatments,
and cold shoulders. The missing each other afterwards,
and making dues in maturity, for it grow much older.

Saving up for those dates, cringing afterwards
because of my table manner mistakes.
Coffee for lunch, couple pictures for dinner,
and posting statuses that people can't get enough of.
And the few who got sick of us being love sick,
posting another picture for the week.

The first feeling of love;
oh what a rush. From awkward friends,
into a crush. Head nod greetings, into longer
hugs. How could I forget that feeling of the first
time being in love?

My first feeling of love...

Cuts at the grass, in these fields
of abundant life. The beauty of little; is
the most we'd all appreciate.

And as I yield in the fields of their many flowers.
Beauty, is the something only belonging to the
particular eye. A keen to thought; as you tell yourself
'he or she, is so lovely,' in your head at first.

And as the sights capture your words,
the experience of beauty has you in it's grips.

Oh how an experience lasts a moment with
experience. The beautiful moments I've had;
how could I ever lose the experience?

The experiences of love, and heartbreak. Of healing,
and hurt. Of wholeness, and brokenness. And of having,
and not. The beautiful moments I've had; how could I
ever lose the experience?

I am the present character, from past experiences.
And the future character, from what I've learnt from
present experiences.

Behind the clouds, the sun still shines,
Behind the pains, my sunshine still shines.

Just give it time, the clouds will go away,
Just give it time, it's going to be okay.

Be the sunshine, you always are today.

A story of spheres,
I'm wondering who fathered who; in the darkest
kisses all under this moon.
Oh, is the truth as clear under the sun, in the eyes
of the lonely son? Daily are the games of fun, running
away from troubles. Chasing a shot to success, like we're
all chasing a gun.

But I'm into changing thought. Like the days
that must come and go. Everything changes under
the sun that kisses the Earth.

But in all the wonders of the sky, and it's reason
and wonder. It all begs this question of, "why."
In this night, his lover is so bright, gazing upon
all of her lightness. She slowly fades out of his sight.

Wedded to his only bride, days setting,
kissing her goodnight; every time he brings
her a good morning. Saying hello as she's saying
goodbye; hurting him more in their only first sight.

Feels like a similar to my life.

"You're a pretty flower I can't hold,"
he sighs, just pondering at her marvel,

"Of the sweetest of things to behold;
you're always the one touched by my light,"
his love reflects, watching it all go to another.

"Why so, must I be allowed to watch;
as you're shining it upon my brother,"
as the story of spheres goes.

Alas, I'm often the son of the sun, in these daylight
thoughts. Anger burning my skin's surface;
but what comes in between happiness and self worth?
Successes of things I'm still chasing from birth, and
running around in three interlinked circles.
I just go back to myself in the first verse.

Again into daylight thoughts.

May your eyes;
be bright towards the future,
Your past;
only but a memory in the shadows,

Your dreams;
as so bold to move mountains,
Your goals;
as precise as the targets you set,

Your hope's song;
as loud as many heavens roaring,
Your day's courage;
be the first step of chills to hell,

Your words;
the very worthwhile of the mind,
And your echo;
be the reflection of a heart's love,

As I bless all the eyes,
of this poetic piece.
And many more blessings,
upon all my fellow poets.

Black nights; up the mountain's time of 36 hours,
to tell a princess, "I'm just passing by."
She's hidden away in her tower, at the highest
point for storms to feel like light showers. By the hour,
doing her hair, for a knight to love her of her bare.

Vulnerable to a kiss, she's never really had. Everything
is a first, until she's got the permission from her dad.
She's so sad, just watching the peasants below. Listening to the
only music of the wind that will blow. Fair and beauty, rare and
cruelty, usually of the one King's rule so unruly.

But truly;

can the simple love the complex? Trading commas, just for the
compliments. It's not love if it's meant to be trapped by the
love that made one so lovely. A heaven sent goddess, so godly
unlike those who don't believe in anybody. Oh what a story, of the song. These lyrics filled of trapped lover, in the set up of
everything going wrong.

The bravest of the bunch, was the boy who spent hours kissing her behind her house. A love in secret, a fatal attraction, to a
fatal accident, on Death's wish list. Two skins of different tones,
she might have all the money to own the world. But boy did
she make him feel like everything in it, she could tell him,
"it's all yours"

But way to many kissing dilutes the taste of arising troubles.
As he had way to many, that he took a chance to snuggle.

Bang, bang!

There's this palace's King banging on the door. Caught them both
without their clothes. Better get up quick to run, ahead of the
bullet of that upcoming gun. He went out of the window, forgetting the heights he once had to climb. Fell in love, just to
fall into breaking his spine.

36 hours, the story came to an end. 36 hours was all the time
she had before it went. 36 hours later, and her only knight
was dead.

36 hours was all they both had.

The Apple of season in a nearby garden of Eden. What if I found my Eve, to share my seeds? In the odds of love, I might find it, to call it all even. As wherever I plant myself, the character shows. In a world filled with weeds, and roses. The harshness is really just people's thorns.

I might fertilize my imaginations; for all my offspring's dirt.
Just to give them a better start, to live on this Earth. A tiny mustard seed, that nobody expects. But when you make it big, everybody is throwing their respects, and claiming you're the best. Like Adam to his Eve; I do my bad, and have to leave.
Even when I'm on my knees, I feel I don't pray enough if they don't bleed.

But maybe like Eve to her Adam; life goes on when things are tragic. Sharing the Apple of sin, as the story goes. We all know that conclusion, because it's all already happened.

Still we learn from the happenings of what once happened. The only bite I'm willing to share; is the bite of passion.

Let the seeds grow; of their fruits that will show. And if the bad fruits are too many, I guess the tree has to go. But from how far these offspring have come, there's still hope for us all.

Now it's time to grow!

The golden mile warrior; speaks treasures on his silver tongue,
and bronze teeth. Like the echo of a gun, only after, the
the true event begins. As now the crowd is disturbed from it's  natural peace.

He's desperately trying to drown an ocean, as so pointless
as the inkless tip of his favourite pen. He faces the endless
journey to nowhere. With all the time in the world, to waste
it all again. The drops of tears, and blood in the ice of his parent's
cold words. "You'll never amount to anything," they've always said.

Where dreams lie, are those resting on them a thousand slumbers until the kiss of their charming. As the fear of waking up to soon, ironically is always so alarming. For if you kept on being called a nothing, all you'd dream of is being some what
of a something.

Something of a fool, somewhat of a tool to all their opinions.
Raised by the sun, for the brightest of all his ideas. But taught by
a moon for hiding them all in the dark. Well, reflective of one's limelight, the falling rock hoping to be a shooting star.

A fancier of an easy silent death. The fall into a maddening decent, and enjoying that ride right until the end.

A story of a million endings, but only a few he's willing to choose. Bending your back, bending all of the rules. As he'd try to fit in the crowd, in all of their shoes.

The people pleaser, of those who take for granted his help.
I remember him enjoying to cut himself. By the chance he lost the feeling to feel any hurt. As when you've been criticised by
an opinion's roast;  you get so used to being burnt.

I feel sorry for this warrior, but that would mean I feel sorry for myself.

The battles of which he faces, are those outside. But the war he'll always face, is that never ending war inside of himself.

The story of the Teenage warrior...

All that I have, isn't all that I wish to do.
Oh how the faithless are faithful to
being unfaithful.
As in turn; the ugliest truths are beautiful
to the ears of a true friend.
Oh how the rich have plenty to give. But what
more can they receive?
We value more; that we've slaved to pay;
but would treat differently, something for free.

All that I have, isn't all that I truly want.
Oh how the needs are so little to their wants.
And only in life's tribulations, do we then consider
all of our needs.
Oh how they know me for I, but not for me.
All that you have, others would want a piece.

All that we are, isn't all the words said to be.

I am all that I am;
is all of me.

I hate my poetry, straight after I write a poem,
shed tears whenever I read them in my head,
Cringe at old works, grinding my teeth at grammatical
errors. I shake in my nerves when I show someone
a piece. Feel like a failure, when their response is just,
"okay"

I roll my eyes at my basic rhymes, and hide myself inside
at unnecessary lines. I choke on my confidence
when I read out loud. My mind shuts on itself when
I can't express myself so well.

I grow envious of those who write better than me, and
sadly admiring greats, I can never come close to be.
I sigh at those making trends online, and awkwardly smile
for those who impress the entire crowd.

Some nights I hate to be a poet, and I know it.

Still none of these things will ever stop me from writing,
and all of those flaws, I proudly own them.
As in the moment; I love being known as one writing a
good enough poem.

Poetry brings all my insecurities, my fears and doubts.
But it also brings out all of my creativity, bravery, and emotions.

                          I love to write poetry. I love to be a poet.

Why cry behind a mountain? Because I'd love to fill it's valley rivers with my tears,
Why cry in your sleep? Because the pain of it quickly wakes me
up from that dream,
Why cry when you're happy? Because the smile doesn't show enough emotions,
Why cry in a corner? Because it's a tiny space for me to count my tears,
Why cry when no-one is watching? Because I can cry for as long as I want,
Why cry in a glass bottle? Because I've cried about spilled milk before,
Why cry in the silence. Because the sound of my emotions makes it feel real,
Why cry about the future? Because the present fills me with the feeling of weariness,
Why cry about love? Because it's so overwhelming to have, and to not have,
Why even write about crying? Because everyone cries. And yet I'm the fool asking myself these questions.

The answer is: I'm just reminding myself of all the best places,
and times to cry.

By the attraction of scent; my nose has been called,
Falling into the sweetest embrace,
Called into it's descent.
  
Conspicuous; truly is the word making up her face,
And beauty; heavy as the anchor of emotions she brings,
All that's seen, is her bare honesty,
Open to my eyes, as all of her is exposed.
            
I picked her as with a touch bitter sweet,
Quickly cut by her thorns.

As I recently learnt, of all her very worth,
All truly rooted to ground,
And down to Earth.

Red, as the cherry blossom of blushing cheeks,
Green, as the valleys watered by Heaven's tears,
Brown, in the grounds as smooth as my skin,
My favourite flower, is a Rose.

The poorest man would say he's rich in heart,
The richest man would say he's poor in spirit,
The happiest man does cry in secret,
The saddest face laughs when no-one is looking,
The patient man has no rush to death,
The busiest man hasn't got the time to drop and die,
The dreamer longs to fly so high,
The insomniac buries his head in the dirt of hopes.

So what of me, in the list?

I'm the poorest when it comes to being romantic; but rich
in my words of flirt. The richest of all my written love
poems; but the poorest in having a love to share them with.

I'm the happiest man when I cry myself to sleep in secret; and truly at my saddest when their eyes are no longer looking at me.

I'm patient on my morals, that keep me separate from death;
but at my stress, I rush into the thoughts of just dropping dead.

And I could dream a thousand times of wanting to fly; though
the insomnia of my creativity, is buried in deep thought.

All that you'd expect me to love, I'd surely hate. And so
I'm unknown to the actual truth of many peers. Who would know me by name, but never my real title.

I am Mr Untitled.

I

Love,
could be a streaming river of a constant flow of words.
My tongue tip speaks of many things (All could be so
refreshing)

Lessons are hidden to blind eyes of my river; why not
walk alongside it? Follow along the lessons that stretch
(You may learn)

This river, made of a thousand tears in my eyes. Draws
greatly, and a great sorrow. It tastes sweet, at times
tickling at your throat (To ease a thirst)

II

Like a tall and mighty mountain; and pieces of treasure
no eye has yet seen. My words that are untouched,
the bare minimum of being bare. This land feeds
all others before me and us (My love has great care)

On top of mountains, two rocks at a peak. All rests on them,
all that's made of my dreams. These dreams are always
placed so highly, hoping they're high enough to be seen by
a God.

III

This Valley of stories, of both past & present. The days of old
and soon the many days anew. Of a place I call God by so
many different names.

Mwari, Nkulunkulu, Jehovah, Jirah, King, Lord and Father.

And like God, I witnessed his beauty and glory,
And like God, my mouth spoke of his many creations;
And like God, I said: "it is good"

This valley is where I'm found.

Now your eyes,
are pretty as the ocean, and crying whenever
it makes you feel blue. A sad tragedy, something I
myself can be too.

Uttering no words,
but all to trying to speak our very hearts.
And what does it say; what all does it bare?
The hurts of passion; so bitter sweet of pain,
all with your heart in hand. All the emotions you
hold onto, dare I say: 'you hold onto a tragic past love?'

It was painted with faith;
but not of the colours it wants be,
It was painted with love;
but as for now, how much of it can I see?
All of the eyes stories I've seen, but of their mouths
that won't tell. Casting charms of luck; but the words
to their love they even can't spell.

The enchantment all of one's former delights,
no otherwise from others in your life. I've warned you
not to trick my heart. I don't do well with any kind of magic.
But oh how I'm in love with being so tragic.

Tragically in love with you.
The tragedy of us both being so tragic in our past loves.
We're the tragedy to love.

To my future wife...

How the present is the many moments, you and
I in our youth will cherish. But perhaps it's the future's
investment, we find so precious.

You and I haven't met, and we're all looking for
a lover of next. But why do you expect so much
from love, of that which we don't have? The tenderness
many will share to another; but what of us to tend
our own land. Do you understand; that all you
long to give, isn't as easy if it's not something you've once
received. How we live, are from lessons we've been taught
at birth, and kept to heart.

I wasn't taught how to truly love. As Love wasn't all I got.

I went out for the discovery of it, as a teen being lost. I've made
many mistakes, some that have given my character shape.
But often past mistakes, brings the present's shame.

As a lizard sheds their skins; I shed my skins of discomfort.
Vulnerable, and bare to the times I've almost lost it. (That being my love)
Beauty soon fades as with age. Some nights; the love
I give may not feel the same as yesterday's.

And I'm not one to often change; but I rather try and make it.
But why would I believe I can change one's self in the choice of
being in love with them.

"Oh I can change him/her,"
the phrase being said more than enough.

But this first letter points out the views of me, into the
views of you. And as I wrote this, the picture view of us,
being as one from two.

Sincerely;

Your future husband.

The many moving things,
moving scenes; that are stuck in between my eyes.
Look at life; and it's fragile creations,
through the window's glass.
Held on the weight of time,
those holding onto their past. But it all must change;
from the old seasons to those anew.
The many winters of cold, soon surpasses on the grass.

So many pictures, so many little things,
and so many moments. All caught in the prettiness
of an everlasting flower.
A tower plant, trying to kiss the glorious sun,
the Son of Man, and the sweetest rose.

The holies of all holies; resides inside of me.
Walking the testimonials upon my feet.
For how far have I gone to seek?
I've seen blackness, as a changing tide of darkness.
A ***** sheet; barely covering the littlest sin. But there's
still the greatest of all light within.

A Christ within me.

How are my eyes shut to the window;
and their curtains covering itself on a dream?
A dream to be free.

Freedom of will.
Freedom of speech.
Freedom to choose peace.

I scratch the tiny hairs under my chin,
biting the collar of my shirt with my dry lips.
There's no duty to being empty all your life.
No command to live that way, or any sort of drill.

But there's a thirst on my tongue,  
running down to my heart. My spirit's cup is waiting
to be overfilled. And to go on and spill.

I as myself,
only long to be spirit filled.
Holy Spirit come inside of me.

A thousand pictures in the window,
and I only long for the one picture of Him.

If you jumped out of Heaven, how far would you fall,
to go through this hell for love. How far would you go?
Having all of the questions, but less of the answers.
More of the hard lessons, than you got from classes.

And how you see the world, depends on the shade of your glasses. When everyone is a slave to their mind, the thoughts being their masters.

A pretty dancer, at night, you seem so free when
you are out of sight. Out of the minds of judgement's view,
the only time you can be you. They've haven't known us for as long, to say that it's true. That we all could walk the same mile in the same shoes.

But I have nothing to prove,
but maybe to myself. That I could be anything; not relienent
on wealth. To take care of me, I'll be taking care of my health. And I could do all these things if I said so, but this everyday I live, drives me close to losing my mental.

But I'm open to ideas, like this opening verse.
So if you have advice, on how to keep me away from being
at my worst. I'd appreciate if you could spare a couple caring words. At least open up, to my opening verse.

We're all living in worlds too small; strangers on the
streets, all our eyes surely met before. The crowd
seems so small, when everyone in it, you might have a chance
to know. Even if I kissed a thousand girls, it feels like I've had this taste before.

But I strangely want more.

My world isn't round, or flat. But a box with people, filled to the
max; of people you call fam. Everybody is an uncle, auntie, or
cousin. Stuck at those family gatherings; with the same old discussions.

"Tell your mother I said hie," the message that never makes it home. We don't take the time to get the clearer message,
when we're all playing broken telephone. We have too many
big problems, in worlds too small.

We want to know everything in our heads of worlds too small.
But when you done buying useless knowledge at the mall,
you could give me a call. Careful not to raise your voice, everyone is listening in worlds too small.

And it's never too hard to find yourself, in worlds too small.

I remember how they laughed at my name,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my accent,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at me for crying too much,
but I understand now,

I remember how they laughed at me for being afraid of helicopters and planes, but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my ideas,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at me for being too kind,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my poetry,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at how I dressed,
but I understand now,

I remember how they laughed at my smile and ****** expressions, but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at how I walked,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at how I spoke to girls,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my relationships,
but I understand,
I remember how they laughed at my successes,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my youth,
but I understand now,

From friends, to teachers, to family, and strangers;
they all laughed at me. But I understand now.

My only regret,
not being able to tell that younger me,
"they'll all laugh at you for being you. But you need to understand, you'll be the one laughing all about them. Let them laugh now, you'll always get the last laugh on them.

I need you to understand now."

And as she turned her hair, and ran the marathon of
make-up on her face, she glanced at me. "Aren't you going
to say, I look lovely today," she asked me .

"No," I boldly responded.
Tears started to fill her eyes, but I chose my next
words wisely. Forbidding her eyes a reason to cry.

"The phrase you speak of, is just too simple for me to say.
And being simple, you are not. So if you were to ask me how
you look like today; then this is what I have to say...

You look like a desire so unreal to me,
The calmness of love blowing in word's wind,
The strength of beauty rushing over me like the sea,
The spell of which enchanted me to your heart,
The nostalgia of my very first love scar,
The laughter of joy, to my sadness you heal,
The weakness to my step's; by their Achilles heel,
The eternity to all my favourite sweet dreams,
The first kiss of my morning, and the last of my night,
The end tunnel of light, never lost to my sight,
The shadow of pain, you're unashamed to show,
The willpower, and passion, not by actions performed,
The love of a lonely man, so possessive of it alone,
And all of that is not of today, but of everyday.

But if simple words are what you seek, let me put
your heart at peace. For these are the words you at first
wanted me to say. So for you my darling I'll tell you,
you look lovely today."

I should know how far beautiful I am,
but also be closest to the fact.

I am beauty in the words I speak,
I am beauty amongst beautiful people I meet,
I am beauty as the first to choose peace,
I am beauty to smile brighter when I'm weak,
I am beauty for it all resides in me,

I am beauty as a people of my land,
I am beauty as the many of ocean sands,
I am beauty for being proud of who I am,
I am beauty in the can't that I choose to can,

I am beauty of the moments I make,
I am beauty in the creations I shape,
I am beauty as I sleep and wake,
I am beauty for the many mercies and sake,
I am beauty because I see myself as great,

I am truly beautiful.

Diamonds that are forever; with love not being a treasure,
nowadays the news is all depressing. We seem so relatable
when we're talking about *** things.
7.6 billion people, and the whole world still feels a bit empty.

On the inside;

Where those battles are loud, when you're just a silent echo
in the large crowd. The ear to everything; but your own problem's sound. Out aloud, screaming in your head, what if today is the day I feel a little dead? I meant to say dared; into living this life. Living the lie of where you'll finally rest when you die.

Okay, that's depressing...

Let me try a better trade of thought. Butter the centre of my fill; to feel. No big deal! Weighing the bargains of too many dreams,
and all that's real.

But next line now.

I'll take my stand in this next stanza. Even though I have more questions than there are answers. Profiting from wisdom passed down in a bonanza. There's freedom in knowing who you are,
and being lost in that extravaganza.

I'm not working on myself; but rather working on my entire surrounding. In the wake of living, where a lot of things are so alarming. I can only live by one positive statement;

WE'RE ALL SO AWESOME

I don't make time for myself; making time for you,
be dead inside, when I die for you. Die for two, lie for you;
in the bed of death without the truth. The rain in the gutter,
pouring myself; but through a tight funnel. The end of a dark journey, at the other side of that tunnel. We don't believe enough; that we love each other.

I don't mean to be rude; but seem so crude. In the dullness of
yesterday's grey mood. It reigns on me, from above the rule of
thoughts; as ***** as the mud. Thinking of you; guilty of the pleasures. Holding my breath when we kiss, to fill my chest with pressure. Love isn't perfect, but with the lessons we get a little better.

So I had to write this letter...

The words in cursive; complimenting all your curves. The edges of the sword, piercing my heart. Your tongue is always so sharp. I seen a couple clouds shaped like hearts; pierced by the lightening at night. Which gave me a fright, of all the possibilities that might.

I stink of doubt, under the half bottle of cologne to impress your clout. The trends of love; on insta screens, telling me how to love. But why am I spilling my guts? Cause those deep feelings I have, just leaves me with enormous cuts.

Kumbaya; in the sarcastic unity we portray. Round the burning camp fire of love; hoping it burns into the day. The passion of *** after arguments. Leaving too many things in the air, just to face turbulence.

But let me stop right now, before I bleed out my pen. But what if there's more for me to write even after then? I hate that we failed as lovers, but are somehow drifting away as friends.

****! I did it again...

A mix between Adam, and Moses
would be the first man to walk through an ocean,
A Miss who knows all information;
can't be trusted for being misinformation.

A pen seal dropped on the floor;
gets picked up to be a pencil,
A high school dropout learning how to
smoke at school; is in high school.

The whether on the weather;
could be the forecast of doubt,
and this poem was so random,
I guess I'll just end it here.

Someone once told me;

"it's so magical to fall in love,"
And that they could never spell the words.
But love is also made up of a few tricks.
A disappearing act, when those lovey dovey
feelings don't last.

A play of hand, to lose touch of yourself,
A flip of the card asking,

"was this your love all along"
And with a flash of my wand; let's pretend all
those arguments are gone.

"Who cares whether you were right, and I
was wrong," pulling out the bunny out of the hat;
to play innocent.

Tell me where did it even come from?

But I don't hate love, just it's many magicians.
Painting a bad picture of love, to a blind eye.
The crowd awes and cheers, not noticing
what's truly behind. But I've seen behind the trick;
of love's bad side.

Still love is magical, I suppose to those
who can't see further, but just the dot on
the tip of their nose. But who really knows;
until you've been exposed to the feeling.
Where often morals go, and no remorse flows.

I guess that's what makes love so magical?

Searching for a lot of things...

Searching for a purpose; so I maybe
know where to go,
Searching for a best high; when
life is keeping me low,
Searching for the lows; when my highs
get out of control.

Searching for a lot of things...

Searching for a reason; to justify the answer,
Searching for my joy; to cure all my
depression's cancer,
Searching for my feet; to pretend that I'm
a perfect dancer.

Searching for a lot of things...

Searching for trouble; as innocent
as I am,
Searching for ***;  just to pretend I'm a
man.

But the search hurts, like words in
a script of a painful verse.

Life has rehearsed.

With the cameras always rolling,
the pains are always emerging,
Everything is so controlling,
and I might not know where I'm going.

All I know-
I'm always searching.

I guess...

I used to wish that I could die young;
but of late it's just been outdone,
As life is no fun. Gambling it all out with
no funds.

But what if I died young,
or whatever people considered young?

How tragic would be,
since that's been the reoccurring theme?
From burying adults and teens. These week
we're burying kids.

I guess...

I don't have any real tears; but just the eyes
of so many questions.
"If we're worth so much, why can't I cry
when those who die were so precious,"
my heart asks only in it's lonely confessions.

Would you hate me if I sigh,
when you tell me a loved one died?
Would you expect me to cry,
when I say, "oh, another death idly passing by,"
And would you expect me to have the words,
just for me to say, "oh, never mind."

I guess...

You'll probably think I'm a terrible guy.
But I'm sorry. I've just lost so much,
I don't think I've got the time to cry.
You can dig into my chest to find emotions,
but I wouldn't say they're all mine.

But why do I rhyme about death,
because the end words help me not focus
on somebody's last dying breath.

Yes,
that's not a good way to cope with death,
but I find it best. Than to be searching for
feelings that will overwhelm my chest.
But maybe I'm just a mess?

I guess...

On sixth day:
you made us after your likeness,
to go on to be fruitful and multiply,
The Images of worth;
of a great love's flamed fuel,
You paid for it all, for the weight of my sin.

Jesus held it all.

In the abundance of life,
Like a piece of art;
your love an ornament in my eyes.
You saw me as herald and royal,
even when I didn’t feel as much.

Bare of my heart; guiltless of my shame,
naked, being vulnerable into your love.
I have no cares of this world to sustain me,
I've been left empty by it,
though on it's rocky grounds; the righteous
aren't shaken.

And shall the taste of forever be spoken
from His lips,
His thoughts are not of my thoughts;
neither are our ways the same.
He surely rests high above both our thoughts
and our ways. But still on Earth;
he let’s the snows and rains of Heaven come
down to us.
All things bud and flourish.

Yielding seeds to the daily bread,
he has provided.
Never to let me go a night hungry;
for I’ve been given provisions of the day.

In joy; I am led to peace.
In love; His glory I seek.
In words; are blessings He speaks.
And in actions, the love of Jesus is seen in me.

He invites us all;
but only the few will accept the invitation.

The God of my all; in the little that I have,
The words of Salvation; in the promises you've made,
The light of my path; on the days that I walk,
The song of protection; in life’s destructive chorus,
The echo of light; for the brightest of days.

On shaky ground; His foundations are my steady,
In empty days; He’s the fullest to my mornings,
To what do I owe to be given such love?

Nothing! Of what good works can give,
But rather the praise and adoration I have for him.
Nothing! Of what seems impossible,
Will be too impossible for Him.
Nothing! Of what the enemy plans,
Can stand against in the wayside of Him.
Nothing! Of my constant worries,
Will stop the love of the Lord our King.

Nothing! Is impossible,
for nothing is as great as Him.

I see the stars of the night; in the days of your eyes,
The winds behind mountains; in the power of your voice,
The ways to wisdom, in the words you once spoke,
The songs of promise, in the desires you've now fulfilled,
The provisions of daily, in the bread you've provided.

I've longed for love; that this world can't provide,
Tasted of all it’s things; that are sour to my spirit,
And lived in the world; despite being it's visitor.

I'm not of this world; for I know this is true.
I'm not of this world; for I know of YOU.

As of my shepherd; I shall not want,
As of my green pastures; lead beside still waters,
As of my restoration; lead in paths of righteousness.

                                        He is my all, my Jesus Lord.

The turning dials of that old car radio,
Metallic, as the rubber coverings fell
off. What had once protected, lost by
the twisting of that radio's lifespan.

In a car, old as it's manufacturers who
are all dead,
Her strength is still strong on this long
journey to the bigger city.
I fiddle through that plastic box of old
cassette tapes. My finger picking out a
title to fill the radio's mouth. To fill it up with
so much music; that it's old speakers *****
out noise.

Choking the engine of the car's battery,
the lights on the gauges flicker,
And I pull over the side of the road,
it's dark outside and cold. Not of the night
but of the music's chords.

I'm alone.

Waiting for a stranger to stop by,
and jumpstart my car. But only a God,
could jumpstart my heart.
As I reminisce on what it felt like being in
love. A station I had once tuned into,
with all it's cheesy love songs. And their
catchy hooks.

I miss the sound of the music.

A small car pulls up beside me. Yellow
as the sunflower open to the sun.
Bright as a smile; of someone you're glad to
see. 'How long has it been,' you'd ask them.

The window went down;
as a girl with a smile greeted me only by a gaze.
'Do you need help stranger,' she asked.

'Help with a lot of things, I doubt you could
come up to. But you're welcome to try,' my
heart replied.

I nodded slightly, hoping this could be
a quick fix. The quickest way for me out
of a conversation.

But my car was dead.

The stranger offered me a ride to the next town,
to grab a mechanic. I reluctantly agreed.
And before I hopped in that box Sunny,
I had to grab my plastic case of cassettes.

She seemed keen on what contents I had
at hand. Insisting I put a tape inside her radio.
'Hey that's my favourite band,' she said.

I never smiled as real in that moment,
than I ever did before.
With so much in common, we fed our ears
on good music, with our similar tastes.
Making it to the next town, I gave my
thanks.

Not expecting much back.

'Here's my number. We should hang out sometime
to listen to some good music.
I'll trade you my number for a couple of tapes,'
she said.

She drove off leaving me with a smile,
a number, and a reason for them both. As I
wondered where next this story would go...

I'd love to tune into that.

Empty: as the word meaning a
glass bottle in Africa.

I'd have my fill;
to the brim of life's expectations.
Expected of the plenty from the very
little I have given.

Life is that empty,
as many are trying at their fill.
On the straight and narrow, of where
it sits.

Hoping it won't spill.

How tall do you measure your glass
view of life?
Fragile are the moments; tapping on
the taps of glass.

Hoping it won't crack.

This bottle is what I make of it's fill;
Am I overburdened, or overflowing,
with the cares of the world, or whether
the Holy Spirit?

A question, only with the answer from
within; and as I ask from Him.

Draw out all of your dreams;
the picture of it is much bigger than
it seems,
Could you give up that pen,
an addict to words that describe yourself?

Daily confessions; d on the words I'll
scribe;
Probably on the lines of a paper to my life,
burning the old ways of myself,
The pen being the lighter.

I drew a dream in pen;
to last me forever,
Coloured the edges in bold,
just to feed my desires of pleasure.

A pleasure to be brave enough to
hold onto a dream, than onto guilt,
hold onto my heart, than onto a grudge,
hold onto my spirit, than onto empty pieces.

Pen out the picture;
words can't describe. In the spirit of giving;
giving myself the joy of a pen's reason-

To keep writing; when the words are short,
To keep scheming; when it feels pointless thinking,
To keep at it; when you feel so hopeless.

A spirited writer only dies,
when they decide to give up the pen.

Leaving texts on unread,
the mistake of replying in your head,
those silly little comments I tend to ignore,
Wasting myself; with my eyes on the phone.

'Why don't you come out tonight,'
they'll ask you when you're broke.
I scrapped a couple dollars last month,
just to find myself drinking all alone at home.

The inner introvert in me.

Thinks it's a waste,
to drink all night with shots to the face.

The outer extrovert in me.

Wouldn't want to seem antisocial,
but would probably order a coke though.

Just to dilute as a heavy chaser,
chasing the nights; while racing away
from yesterday's problems.
We've all got them?

Right?

Or is it just me; sitting on the floor in my
room at night,
Questioning things about life.
Trying to keep focus in the chaos,
telling myself, 'humbleness is being quiet.'

I'm really shy.

To anything knew,
I instinctively know I won't like,
balancing the worries of life,
With the constant reminders of finding myself
a wife.

I'm not that old.

Only to those who point it out,
who've done more at my age,
'I was a year away from marriage,'
           someone once said.

'Well good for them,' you've learnt
your difference; but still expect our lives
to be the same.

But I guess for this night,
I'm the introvert doing in my head,
up late; writing poems on my bed,
Hoping one of them becomes a trend.

But just for tonight,
I'm battling the thoughts in my head.

Again!

Perfect!

is the world in someone else's head,
perfect would any be- only after
death.
still! we'd all love to pretend,
till we'll realize the truth when we ascend.

those who only know, have reached their end,
those who only know, know only in death.

Only they are-
Perfect!

soon,
all will outgrow fairy tales;
soon,
you'll lose a love; gladly for having something
to have once loved,
soon,
the music fades to the joys we once had,
and soon,
would my eyes dry to show I was once sad.

soon it would all be, but soon would never be-
soon enough.

i love you-
knowing more than I should;
more than myself would,
of all past loves— that I could,
      ...so what's more of me to prove,
            with only less of myself to lose?

i've tasted doom—
of heartbreak in it's gloom;
i've been swept by love— and broke it's broom,
      ...so what's more of me to prove,
            with only less of myself to lose?

do as you'd like to assume—
dress for the occasion; in fakest love's costumes,
it won't do you good— the sweet scent; dims of it's perfume,
      ...so what's more of me to prove,
            with only less of myself to lose.

for shall we gain—
all the sweetest nothing’s sooth;
be passionate of two youths,
go dancing in the rain— without shoes,
     ...i'll have nothing to prove, less to lose,
           but in truth.. i shall always have you.

Hitchhiking at night, caught a lift with
the sun. Riding around the many of stars.
The heavens close at hand, hell conspiring;
while the world was burning.

I must of been roaming around
Judgment Day. At the edge of oblivion;
wondering which place I should go.

Limbo it was; uncertain like the ghosts
of their incomplete dues.
Two extremes, of the crowded silence;
and emptiness of all their screams.

                   Was it only a dream?

While my eyes were still open;
but blinded in their tears.
Bare hands that hold onto the heaviest
of all my greatest sins.

Cold and paralysed; I came back to life.
Soon to return back to earth.

                        Oh what a trip!