Heavy is the weapon that carries it’s victim’s blood –
Heavy is a ***** mind that eventually fills with mud;
Heavy are your eyes in a dream, like a sleeping prong,
Piercing your thoughts in the daylight; life lives short –
While the dreams we make of ourselves live long.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown,
Heavy is the crowd, hoping to see you down;
Heavy is the weight of love, to make your kids proud.

For by the blood of ourselves, the words of our tongue
Are the greatest weapons, to lift or bring others down,
Even as your dirtiest thoughts subtly attract so easily,
It comes from all being fully stained in our sin’s filth –
While your dreams are the length of your passions;
The measure you take to achieve them, lies in width.

Bearing the crown of responsibility; those below you,
Look you down, seeing your success without longevity.
Avoid the negativity, live in positivity, a life of wisdom,
Joy, & love – a legacy your young would be proud to be.

Forgotten traces of a pencil – I’ve been built
by words; public reputation is the means of
being good at your own public relations.
As love’s repetition is loving those you’ve
fallen in love with, off the pages of life rather
than the scripts of perfected fiction.

And to believe your love is perfect is to rival
God's – where you become your own judge;
biased as much, for the flesh desires to feed
only itself; the flesh isn’t the perfection of love.

For everyday of life is the day for all equal dogs,
moral or uncouth,  posterity rests its favour –
Still a dog must know not to bite the hand that
feeds it; as it seeks the hand’s favour – wouldn’t
we all like to find favour in the hands of our Creator,

What are dogs to their Creator?

Funny how it’s hard to explain the feeling of LOVE –
But easier explaining the loneliness; we don’t miss
As much, until we’re missing that familiar touch
Its not about the crush, it’s that rush – that hopeful
Romantics picture of them one day finding LOVE.

Where some are heart led, an ***** of compound LOVE–
In love sickness, we could be a lead compound, hoping
For the promise to treat such a disease; searching for LOVE
Is always easy said then done, and when we've gone
Through our hardships we say, “I’m so done with LOVE!”

But LOVE is never done with you, give it another round,
And you’ll start smiling that you’ve found the One
LOVE is a marathon of going round, and round, until
You can run this race of life with someone you truly,

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE - and their LOVE you want!

I went outside, and met a black queen that ruled over all of my
thoughts – hoping she wasn’t a bad dream. But she'd still love me
despite my arrogance; my pivoting thoughts that swing along my
many moods swings. Fair enough; she’d understand me better,
knowing I wasn’t treated fair enough, under the same sun that
makes her skin fair as much.

Still is there a woman of your dreams when you barely feel awake;
the grass is always greener from a distance, but your eyes can never
catch the green of their snakes. And whenever I tell a short girl
a good short joke, she looks at me to keep it brief – but if I said it in
short: a laugh from a girl, is a guy’s idea of knowing he can get a
taste of those lips. But wouldn’t we love to dream in sweet relief,
while I find it less attainable when someone has me losing sleep.

Please give me my peace that comes with my piece: a piece of mind,
a piece of spark to a piece of love. But when I met the queen, I never
thought it would come with love – but she never felt a spark, paying
no mind to me. We were just two strangers in town, walking on two
different paths, who happened to glance at each other, only once!

Cast forth a handful of these pro seeds;
a promise of potential – hoping the value of
them, proceeds the muck that clings to your spirit.
The filth of your mind you must strain per sieve;
being wise to carry a filter, for all the shadows that
your mind will perceive.

As I'm learning the art of resilience;
refusing to fret whenever life wears me down
– like a flower dressed by the whims of the seasons;
whether you like it out, life is full of these changes.
So gather a bouquet of flowers on top of your head,
to remind you of such a nature, and don them as
a regal crown.

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 *******!

Unmask your own façade – that veil of one’s significance over
meanings to a meaningless question. We are just consumers in
this monotony of existence, a mere statistic for our emotions
being manufactured for the world’s grand theatre of parading,
one’s weakness.

And are we not taught how to measure worth by the measure
of things you acquire? We surrender to this illusion of perfect
love peddled on glowing screens; waiting on the glow of feelings,
to expect out hearts to glow by fire.

And I find control in this world an illusion; the tighter you hold
onto what you believe is yours, the more it slips through your
fingers – lest it be your own self-control; to tame your flesh that
leaks sin out of its pores. As time is an investment, but a currency
that only death can claim fully, when all our hours dwindle. Love
and hate are two sides of the same coin; as our capacity to love
fiercely, is matched only by our readiness to quickly hate when
the masses rally – though love is the stronger force to leave one
eager, or so fickle.

Life is simply everything and yet, paradoxically, nothing – as
nothing endures eternally, resting in the world. Life is sculpted
by the hand of a Creator, who calls his creations home as their
bones grows cold, and skins old.

Tis a poem on life.

A man without a purpose,
perceives himself as a failure,
even in the gaze of those who don't see him.

His thoughts spiral, envisioning the
hope of light at the end of the tunnel,
only as a receding spark, like a distant star,
as he plunges deeper into a hole.

These are his thoughts when he’s alone –
this is NOT a poem!

Tell me, when we kiss
is the feeling absolute –under
the vibrations of our skins;

Do tongues absolutely say
their words together, in a
perfect melody?

Are these the vibes, in our dreams –
where we hope to catch the
made-up songs, were singing
in our heads?

We’ll probably only know when
we’re truly in love, I guess!

You know what they say about men with big feet –
“the socks don’t fit so easily on the first try”
And by the series of events, the more you get to
know someone; the easier it is to relax together –
"Netflix and chill"

But a job not done so well has an obvious result –
“hit it, and quit it”
A few men put up so well with a woman’s
whole bag of *******; lets just blame –
“that good junk in the trunk”

Find someone to rest your worries on –
“some good pillow talk”
Have a kick out of extracurricular activities –
“with an *** to boot, in your boot knocking”

Still stand on your standards, but avoid living
on double standards – not everything works
so well with their – “double meanings”

Sleep always feels owed; one’s life
cannot be fully owned –
As we look for this complete rest, do you
rest your weariness on those you trust;

For even as sleep is the cousin of death;
would you still deny yourself true rest?

And do you deny the comfort of advice
from a true friend –
Or do you sleep on their words, under
the covers of your pride?

You grew out of my eyes – wild, and wet
you held the weight of my pain;

Carrying my tears after the rain
  the white lotus after my pain’s rain.

I “borrowed,”
a customer’s purple shirt
“okay, I stole that shirt”

It looked too good,
with an ironic phrase in white words

“dreams do come true”

Do I feel guilty
about “borrowing,” that purple shirt

“I don’t really know”

But I’ll let you know
later on tomorrow, as I’ve hung it out
with an outfit, ready to go to church.

You dig a hole deeper than what gravity can hold down;
put your phone down – making those comments just to
ring the crowd up.

You’ll never fly any higher than an ostrich; but you play
their popular myth, when you bury your head in the dirt –
to cover up your face, with false scales of makeup making
up your worth.

Maybe as I missed the translation of when someone says,
“bed” to the word bird – to believe you rest in the nest
of your fears; never to leave that habitat, to soar above
the world.

Seems a habit not to face your fears –
sitting on your wings!

Picture frame of ugliness – but not what the world sees,
when your paint yourself under your insecurities.
Does that make you a coward; or are their eyes
the cowards, too afraid to see the real picture of
themselves?

societal expectations, and passive judgments –
behold their critical gaze; yet so are the eyes that can’t
stare themselves in the face. so too, blinded by their
own fears, and personal insecurities.

But as you start to peel away at the metaphoric picture
frame, retracing their hidden layers of drawn over
strokes of new paint - embracing vulnerability;

I'm between finding myself in my inner self-criticism,
and external judgments – I could be the picture of the
prettiest flowers, and hoping one day I learn to paint
myself under the brushstrokes of security, and
vulnerability!

my picture is finally complete!

I am a poetic heart that wants to speak in prose – about the pros
and cons about being in love, or being alone. But don't you go
tripping on your words; you might just fall in love tonight. And
I know her girlfriend is going to preach to me tonight, and I might
just listen to avoid another fight.

She knows I've got a contraband of controversial thoughts, and I
wonder if I ever manage to cross the border, will I find my mouth?
While closing my eyes to the sun— the horizon never felt so dark!
But if we cross swords to spar, could we eventually make a spark?

But when your tears are burning in my hands; which blisters do I
call my scars, while losing the bite for time; like all the missing teeth
you find on the floor of popular bars.

I look in the mirror, and it still asks me who I am; whether or not
I'll choose to follow old plans — should the white in my eyes look
at all the things I like, and conquer those lands? But my black dots
are still slaved to themselves; when we seem to be strangers to
ourselves. I still shut my eyes when I look at myself!

Whistle your thoughts into my ear –
inside the shadow of your fine fire;
it burns me close to almost dying

When two lips kiss in a perfect song
a rhythmic crescendo – to build the
feeling of love so pure, and never felt

While you melt my tears like ice drops,
that waters a flower in a garden of pristine
let’s wait upon our dreams; until the place
they become so real…

When we’re out by the sea,
as far as we can see!

Our bodies will die as stone; buried beneath the earth –
We’re resting days, until the end of days is unearthed
For all our own sins have fallen from Adam’s curse
And perhaps when we fall in love,
It too is a curse…
When all the effort we give, just never works

Yet, as somebody’s child is probably crying
Would the sky truly wipe their tears –
Our skies are dying…
As the winds blow in mystery; never telling us
Where they’ll go – we hope to dream, we dream
For hope, but is hope worth your dreams dying

We are only but a strange paradise
Praying up to Heaven, for a means to survive
We love, we hope, we hate, we cry, we try
And all will die – question is, what do you choose
To do with what you have left of this life?

Tell me;

when does the suffering end, when does the weight lift up,
of waiting on unanswered prayers? Who else is out there to
place all the blame on, when your self-blamed self blames
you right back?  

who do you believe in less, firstly - God or yourself?
When facing all of the four walls, whose pinned up walls
stand much stronger? Who is fed firstly – an empty stomach,
or your poverty’s hunger?

For I am beginning to rest myself on canine sugars – a mutt
chasing after the sweetness of biting their own tail. Whereas
your daily bread seems to have gone a bit stale!

I’m not ready to die; but then again – I’m not so willing
to stay. And that makes for this to be… a scary prayer!

Must I tell you about her locs,
That dance with the rhythm of her hips,
Watching their twist, and turn – a testament
To the tangled thoughts in every strand, a reflection
Of the tender care she donates upon her hair.

And would I love to keep a lock, and key
To her locs, being a LONG story in itself—
Free, vibrant, and unapologetically bold
The sunlight catches the rich hues of her hair;
Tales of her heritage, struggles, and her triumphs.

I swear, I promise; I must say...
Her locs are the echoes of the laughter
And tears that have shaped her journey.

"Let’s circle back,” said the square to a circle of friends –
a bit offensive, when you tell two skeletons to have
some skin in the game – that’s your own bone to pick.

But tell me, what’s a bed of roses without a sheet; the
two get tangled in the sheets when they’ve tied the knot.
But what really trips me up is, "falling head over heels,"
I’ve got two left feet, so how badly will this affect me?

Cliché much…

Yes, I do say – when I’m bit under the weather of a Perfect
storm; but even as the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,
someone picking out your own pride in your children, is
low-hanging fruit. And how long it takes you to understand
my humour; others would name the seconds it takes them to
get my jokes, in the Nick of time.

I’ve given these cliches their love.

And to a sinking story; desperately trying to find its depth –
when two people walk together in love, would they at least
share their story with others, of those important first steps?
But would you build shopping carts in the market place of love –
going round, and round, till we crash into the boundary walls
like excited go-karts?

Wouldn’t you make good butter kisses, that slip off the cheek –
telling me that you fight to speak up for yourself; owning up
to that bruised lip. I’ve heard pots, and pans being hit all over
town; those shelving love, and hoping shame doesn’t fall down.
But the pots have gone cold; like no one has been around – but
when your glass eyes fall down, would you hear their emptiness
in that cold sound?

Of course, she tells all her friends that she still keeps in touch,
and never that she misses his touch. They don’t talk that much;
but find it in good taste to ask about the other’s mum. “I hope she’s
not doing too much. Does she still think about me being her son?”

****, love can be really much, breakups a bit too rough –
but in the growing pains of it, we learn to finally grow up!

Would you let the wind pass through you from behind – you blew
out your back! Chasing after your body that looks so instrumental;
it plays that performance in my mind, of what we could do later– and
I guess for us, that’s instrumental. As my skin are these labours; on
the peak of the twelve days I had displayed all my love for you. I was
your Hercules! Falling into your silver shinning eyes, that weighs the
atomic number of love – darling, around you I feel closest to the sun –
I was your Mercury.

There were those murky waters; of questioning when it was best to
tell you I had fallen in love – I didn't want to seem too deep at the
very start; but even in the shallowest of conversations, the depth
of their length, was close enough to make me drown.

But would we both know the taste of love, the more we speak of it,
running the word off our tongues, escaping out of our mouth? I may
mouth you sometimes when you get on my nerves – I say some
things in vain, hoping to give those words their success. But even in
the pain of it all, you still remain the breath under my veins. Without
you, this version of me wouldn’t be the same.

“hey, let’s just try to start it all again”

I know we push each other's button, but together in love, we can
instead, push this reset button.

Two lips are foreign before a kiss; we speak as friends,
laughing together as lovers – and hoping to finally kiss
as the latter.

But it takes time climbing up that ladder; taking each slow
step, to lead up to your matter meeting my matter; making
it really matter.

The sting of cheeks, the first time you taste something
so sweet; a flower on my lips by the scent of perfect
dreams – I’d shut my eyes each time we'd kiss; it’s just
a natural response, and one I hope lasts us both so long.

I haven’t kiss someone for so long, that it’s a taste I long.

My biggest fear:

Is someone knowing all of my biggest fears,
just to use them all against me.

When a little boy cries, we hold him and tell him,
“it’s okay”
But when he becomes a man, we push him away,
“hey now, don’t be ga..”

Yet you’re happy to be everything to everyone, even if it
gives the impression that it benefits you the most – bend
a bone to break yourself, to prove you belong.

But if a man breaks down being honest; be honest, he has
to prove himself – that his tears really belong to his struggles,
to fully showcase everything that is so wrong, to leave an
impression on everyone.

The darkness has counted and held most of my tears, along
with my fears that one day they’ll all be revealed.

Truth is…

I am a private man who tries his best at showing public love;
chromed heart, leather lungs – aiming to avoid a plastic love.
When I fall in love, you’d know, when my words are so tied
up; stringed lips, blurry eyes, and a sponged mind – praying
I don’t easily absorb everything that’s noxious in my life…

And like when your WIFI is low; in desperate times, is when
I start to use my resources so well – resorting to digging away
at my pride, digging to find those quenching waters; a demure
self from a humble well; I find it hard to be well with my own
character development; for as you reveal on all your personal
struggles, some wish you well, and the rest just goes, oh well…

As for right now, I am a man with every decision being made
with a good prayer in mind; respecting all of the days at heart;
it’s through His love I’m still alive, despite these various odds,

I still have this life, thank God!

But don’t you try to wipe your tears with your dry skin –
Wearing the look of sorrow; your eyes standing mannequin
Could we be like a white lotus; holding the waters of life
Waiting to come out from the womb of the world?

My bones are a pacing cold, under the warmth of the sun
The city runs dark; watching tired dogs chasing after cars
I’m counting all of my scars; pulling weeds from my yard –
I spat a seed into the ground, waiting on a feast to grow

Where I was a Rose…with

Spores of thorns, to push away those who hurt me before
Placing most of our dreams high above – we own the skies
We owe the world none of our tears, but it loves to see us cry
And at times it feels better, just being silent most of the time
To watch all that happens, to learn, and then advise …

But I too, must learn to take up my own advice.

I know death calls me so many times, like I owe it too many favours
But I won’t answer that call – until much, much later
And they might rush you to live your life; but child
Don’t you know Death waits for you, with great patience?

And all these girls on my feed with curves, all start to feel
So shapeless!
Love nowadays is so baseless – when you place your faith
On beauty; do you know that one day it will all betray you?

But when we drift, do our tears dry under the sun of
Our daydreams –
In place of all our streams; your teeth could still sink in my skin
But even those that had a bite of love; are still searching for their
Own piece.

I miss the sleep of our daydreams when we had the few times
To dream, and not going to look for love in sheets –
When love was paved on the streets; not these things
That belong to THE STREETS!
Where we could be dancing in the waves of the sea;
Surfing all of your best ideas, when kids dared to dream
Never too afraid to swim, when we had each other to pick
Us up, whenever we start to sink.
                                                when we were kids.

Spread joy in your smile; be it contagious! As when you see a man
raging outside in public, it begs the question to the eyes; “he's a bit
outrageous?" And even as you get too good at your ***** talk; leaving
a stain after every kiss – do remember, when you take the hand of a
man’s princess; you'd be wise to make her a queen.

As any fault in a man’s armour, becomes the perfect aim to his heart
and on his path, he walks with the info he has to better chart. And as
you try to do your part, to show honest, and non-faulted love; it can
feel short sometimes –

still... don’t cut yourself short, when the world hates to see you stand
tall. Won't you hold onto the assurance that your Creator stands taller
and always above it all.

The market crashed in my eyes – I can't afford buying a love that’s
blind. But maybe I’m a fool; and do fools in love, eventually wise
up without having to break apart? A mirage on my lips, making it an
illusion when I sometimes express how I really feel. Love’s decisions
so deep in your eyes; can be varying, but also along the lines of being
beautifully deceiving.

While waiting patiently under the moss; lacking the true roots to dig
deeper for the nourishment of love – oversaturated; growing in damp
habitats, and still trying to pretend being grass. To pretend love…
is it not a sin?

Some look for comfort in skin, other’s skin is the momentary comfort
to a nightly lover. When you hide yourself under their covers, do you
not know that we still see the shape of your shame – two bodies that
shake when they're in trouble.

I pray as a witness, that those who are in love, fully bare the weight
of love – the good, the bad, and hidden ugly. But more importantly,
that they bare the weight together; looking out for each other.

I'm top heavy; my thoughts are resting at the brim – no cap! Often
my lips leak their thoughts at the brim; and I’m a cup with so
much to spit. I'm words on a spit – burning away time, in these fires
of life. Always the unannounced guests, coming to visit your home;
to make it feel like a show, making sure everything is in order – the
house is live. Also, as you live with a drive, those around you hope
you’re a responsible driver, to arrive with you alive.

I'm the tip of a scent towards destiny – hoping the path where my
soul goes, my heart also knows; I shoot my shot with aims to shoot
goals. I hold the script of a child's life, and my younger self looks at
me, to play all of those roles.

But when the model falls, and rolls over on their stage, do you still
look at them as your role model. At times I know why my self relates
so well to a bottle – all of those emotions a man tries to keep bottled.
While life feeds you time; a man still finds it a bit hard, for that piece
of pride he has to swallow.

These days feel like too many moments of regrets, questioning what
to do next – like the morning after ***. The two sit up, deciding who
will go and buy the morning after; *** can be like sleeping with
your regrets – it's an uncomfortable bed, but the one that you made.
There's no shame in admitting your mess; just clean it up with your
responsibility, before looking to hire a maid.

That's enough overthinking for today.

By the odds of life; tell me what are the odds
you’ll know the rhythm of a bee’s heartbeat –
And as you skip a stone across the water's surface,
would the river’s heart skip a beat?

know that all of creation are alive too…

I am alive too, as my skin feels beat; self-discipline
is no easy feat – for the flesh is weak, but has the
strength to torment your mind the entire week.

But we are more than skins; capable of beating
the odds, of giving to our skins.

Took a bite out of you, and I chipped my tooth –
haven't seen the place of your heart; it feels a bit loose
Hung my fears of losing you, what words to say;
they’re stuck by my neck – you had me in a noose.

I’m just a cigarette burning at your lips when we kiss;
and I grew five months’ pregnant in my ears – when
you first said you love me; it sounded like great news…

Push my buttons – feels so long that my heart has spoken
to you; all the ocean's tears in my eyes; I hope you don’t
cry when you see me so blue?  

I’m so sorry…

it’s my own fault,
this is something I’m not so accustomed to, but I hope
you’ll always know – I still regret not telling you,
“darling I love you too”

All of your curves, how do we walk in straight lines;
how do we dance so sublime – how are you the weight
on my mind in my wet dreams, from tears that flow?
You drown out my pride!

Had I ****** you that much, to want to change bladders;
though sleeping alone is it’s own song, would you be
the song bird singing in my dawn?

As the sands of time flow down your hourglass figure,
how are the days of our lives, any less worth, when we
get to spend the night… together!

But as you rest your thoughts on my chest, there’s a deep
pressure, when you take your time to say you love me –
it’s a slow pleasure, when I try to rule out the space that
should be between our breaths, it’s a small measure…

I must be murmuring your name under my breath

An atheist might not believe in God or angels, but maybe
around you, he could believe in being around a person that
feels like a place close to a heaven.

There’s an apocalypse in my eyes – but I’ll only get to see it when
I die; for the moment of my demise. Bring back the day; for I am
acutely aware that time runs its course, on an endless mile – an
infinite stretch. It pains me to don a fake smile, yet it appears
simpler when they insist, I haven’t worn it in a while.

I’m a lot happier inside!

I have a few events scripted, priming my heart for people’s let-downs,
and my disappointments – when you’re ready to face a torrent of
hurt, you find yourself anchored, awaiting their appointments.

Pain is faceless!

The past lingers with a relentless patience, ever eager to unveil how
you did it wrong – in the garden of life, regrets sprout like stubborn
weeds. Do tend to your plot, and sow the seeds of every lesson
learned, and hope wisdom grows.

You’ve been the prettiest flower all along!

It’s funny how I let you carry all my baggage – give it a few pennies
for thought; that’s your allowance to call me a scumbag.

And I might just sip fine wine, with tears pouring, while she makes
a fine whine – but I don’t know which one she wears the best, when
our smiles start to feel stretched out, as a ***** line.

But I should fill my heart, even when I don’t feel love at all; and does
gravity welcome us with open arms, when we start to fall in love –
who will catch us when we fall? And I don’t guarantee as much, the
guarantee of brakes, to stop someone from having another broken
heart.

Yet there’s falling in love, and falling apart – to having an encounter
with love; while making a count of all the times you though it was
true love.

There’s an account to the heart; the interest of heart, the sum of love –
how would you count yourself to be loved, if you only love to count
yourself out? Make your love count!

Life is just the façade of plastic – plastic money; currency crafted
from synthetic dreams, one's plastic love; affections moulded in
artificial forms. Too much of the latter; a toxic one's greatest trait.

Plastic taste; threads of regret cling to my teeth – my palate’s
insides churns; the words of people made of plastic bullets; still
their weight hurts.

Gazes of a select few friends resemble patient crows, observing
the burdens you bear in a plastic bag of your baggage. A course of
those processed foods; processed natural flavours – sprinkle a little
more sugar to add weight to that plastic container.

“You don’t really match my flavour,” I wouldn’t know how it
really tastes – my heart; I’d love to give you a taste, but it’s often
filled with so much hate. And as I try not to break what holds my
food for thought; I keep my dreams on a plastic plate.

But even plastic breaks, just with the right weight.

So tell me, why are you trying to carry the weight of the world?

Maybe I’m a wind-up toy robot, blindly walking down this path,
maybe I’m a pullback toy car, moving forward by taking a few
steps back. Maybe I’m a box of random Lego pieces, building up
a life, without an instruction manual, maybe I’m just a firecracker,
exploding with less passion – so I sometimes add fuel.

Maybe I’m the one trapped in the castle; quietly hoping the world
doesn’t see a man battling his own dragons, as a damsel, maybe I
don’t know how to fight for myself, cos I was shown that fighting
as a believer isn’t a good example.

Maybe I’m looking for love, just because everyone seems to be  
falling in love, maybe I’m trying to fit my hand in everything,
to protect myself from failure – wearing all the title gloves.

Maybe, maybe, maybe – but all the maybes aren’t always the
possibilities we want. So maybe I should instead be more definite
on all the needs I want.

How We Must Bear With Those,
Possessing An
Origami Mouth;

Folding Their Hate Talk,
Into Decorative Speech

Tell Me, Even As Their
Mouth Speaks,
Does A Chef,
&

Their Own
Recipe Of Lies,

Taste The Deceit On
Their Own Lips;

What More
Their Kiss?

Even a flat girl can say things with her chest,
Any man can say a lot – but have their heart
Broken in a sec; a lot of us think about ***,
Before identifying your worth in the right
Headspace...

To catch a floating dream with a sky hook,
Picking the empty book, with the cover that had
Good looks – don’t read that line about a story;

But just the story of your life, where you dated
A few ugly hearted dudes; maybe I should apologize
For all the Apollos with the good hooks

“Plenty fish in the see,”
But one bad fisher, spoils the catch of another,
He catches, just to toss away – on two different
Boats, distances away; but hey,

“All fishermen are just the same”

We are the blind faith of birds believing
In these empty sightless winds,
Sugar-spun cotton candy clouds; two kites
With trailing long strings.

We require no advice on the art of how
To fly, tangled traffic threads of candy cane
Lines of the clouds of yesteryears –
Our drive is sometimes a descent down
A mountain, make the time to embrace the sky;
Glide!

I gave up on my possession of love, to make
Peace with those demons; tears cascade like
Contemporary storms, running rivulets; craters
Upon our skin as the ache of hurt deepens...

Stinging like the creases of a well-worn shirt;
Lessons etched in the fabric of new wrinkles –
Still to remain as the silhouettes of the horizon.

Consider this:

to your past, your present,  
or your future self –  
each one perceives their own
reality as their present moment.

you have gained more wisdom
beyond your past self; you will
always feel just a day away from
encountering your future self –  

so cherish the essence of
your present self, for to it,
this moment is their present
moment.

Blinds descend upon the windows of my soul,
protecting my thoughts that are delicate as glass
Behind me, beyond myself – I gazed beyond
My façade.

I ventured past the exterior— the interior,
yearning to be recognized as a blossom,
and not merely as a
Stubborn ****.

Would someone kiss me, and not make believe –
to make me believe, that their touch won’t
Last me that long.

I’ve known a version of myself
one that’s been way too sad
For long.

To what end,
do we keep
Looking for hope
In empty songs?

"Singing to myself"