She's XY beautiful,
but she'll be my ex,why?
Cos not all love is so beautiful."

"Her kisses were like ivy,
and our love sickness put me on an IV"

So said the lonely man who spoke,
"love used to lay besides me, now it
only wants everyone else, besides me"

my sweetest sanctuary
of wishful thinking, and
only to fulfil them, as without
my fears, insecurities and undesirable
lust under hidden eyelids

i can create worlds in materials
of imagination. destroyed by
the wakes of time

i am free, though a slave to
mind pictures not often in my control

i rehearse my life before the act
of playing into this reality

i find healing in the abstract pictures
fixed into the brokenness of life
experiences

i am lost in a comfort; the converting
characters i create from reality's former

for the day only allows me
a moment's daydream
—but the night has so much more
to offer

                               ...i am a dreamer

My emotions are trapped, reverberating
like a haunting echo bouncing back and forth.
In my youth, I read that wealth is in the mind;
does this imply that only contemplating
about riches can manifest all the fortune I want?

And am I in haze of indulgence – thinking
only about ****, whenever my responses
come out blunt?

Lest we wonder; who shall wonder for us, for with all
we know. We shall never know enough.

Lest we speak our mind; what more can we discuss,
speak of yourself. But also do have ears to hear.

Two unconstrained mouths; will heed nothing,
as are fools; in competition of being the most loud.

One paints a face with their spit; while making the other
a clown.

To the courters of love; pretending love is all lovely. You are
so hopelessly blind.

Behold love's beauty, she does bless your eye. Still often
a curse; to many who take her lightly.

Gain the most lessons; while still in your youth,
for what is a lesson, if you don't apply a use?

Still never pardon all mistakes because of youth;
rather live on honesty, and be well fed on truths.

and so began my mind diving; being
too sea deep – conscious thoughts
trying to swim underneath them; to see deep

and at its surface I had found…

us all being so beautiful – art in reflection
but we gaze at the bigger picture with ugly eyes,
an ugly gaze, with an ugly frame of mind

a tragic drowning picture, I could not see!

Two fools
argue amongst themselves,

Debating whosoever
is the biggest fool.

A blind man listens
with his silly smile,
thinking to himself:

what a bunch of fools.
I can see the two fools,
listening with my ears.

As a seeing man's eyes
focuses on the trio,

His heart says,
a fool listening in on fools.

And the one above exclaims,
my children can be so foolish.

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?

Empty in African terms,
is a "coca cola glass bottle."
Strange to some,
but never strange to us.
I grew up as a child,
riding long journeys in something called a "chicken bus."

I knew about robots,
far before TV screens would show it.
But in African terms,
those robots are just traffic lights.

Green to go,
red to stop.
Amber the colour of chance in between,
and only a few would get what I mean.

I grew up speaking our common slang,
calling things a lot, by using the words "a span"
Making jokes with friends,
calling each other bra, calling another a *****.
"The rents",
meant I was referring to mom and dad of the family.

It's a wonder how I didn't fail English,
with all the made-up words we said.

Playing games in the mud,
by 5 o'clock refusing to bath.
As kids we didn't know much;
or anything close to real love.
The silly games we played on the street was all but enough.

Thinking of it back now,
the scars on my legs tell many a story.
And when I have children of my own, the memories I had,
I hope becomes apart of their African legacy.

Kids under the African sun,
how the simple times of life are long gone.

Hopeless —only in the sense of my mind not putting enough
time to keep up with my hopes
Always like chasing a thought; overlapping you constantly
on a marathon of racing with life choices
Do I choose to give up on hope, giving into my own despairs,
or is it better for me to give hope a second try, giving myself
the necessary time to heal?

Who hasn’t once questioned themselves, questioned
by their morals; all while questioning their purpose
As I see myself as that white rabbit, hopping carelessly over
their problems
Though it’s easy for the creature to get trapped in the hole
That gaping hole to every scar; makes the land of your heart a block
of Swiss cheese. At times life stinks until you find maturity

Usually you’re the bunny hopping in freedom, or hoping to be free,
in amongst all of life’s snares, and the weakness of flesh being
tasty meat for others.

Does hope become a habit, or it falls into the hole
of the people’s Blanc De Hotot rabbit?

Cradle nights and rocking thoughts-
tears stained in star dust, rising breaths shot by
the rockets burning at your throat. You had a smoke
before you’ll come and go- who could have known
the worry pressed against your heart, after that hovering
press of your thumb to send that message on your phone.

“Hey could you pick me up, I didn’t sleep at home,”
you slept over at the place you shouldn’t have- you
usually sleep alone; but how he kept an open mind and
open conversation; being the best intention and attention
someone could give you to keep you close.

It felt so good to be heard, for someone to put you
on top while he slept on the floor- but you grow jaded,
knowing that its going to be really awkward between you
both; spending the night with your best friend’s crush
The one you couldn’t tell her you had known long before;
having a bit of a fling before- but hoping no one would
actually know.

But as soon as she comes around to pick you up,
to take you back home- oh she’ll certainly know.

We are a poem,
written on life's
page;

The words;
daily lyrics of
feelings;
emotions,
experiences;

As creation,
was the pen;
and God the poet.

Complacent; my life experiences are
anew, of all unfamiliar places
Faces are pretty; but pretty much
the same —recalling them more than
their person's name

Maddening; in a maiden voyage
tis an odyssey of this craze, writing about love
Though I'm always so far from it
As I wonder whose dreams I'm tip toeing
in their head, as a memory

Care for me; as I'd care to not overstep
myself, while I'm running on your mind
We're both blind,
blinded in love, blinded by love,
blinded by what we'd hope is love

still we haven't met;
just being two beings, connected by
dreams —trapped in each other's heads

A heart that crumbles with time,
Gradually fading into that familiar abyss
As my thoughts silently fade away;
Eroded by the chemistry of love- a love lost.
In a manner of desiring to express myself; it seems
Causing its own demise- words soon ignite.

And they become like embers,
Scorning a fire of anger, I kept hidden
Deep within my soul's depths.

The flames dance freely, without a care,
Like a child with matches, unaware.
I watch in silence, filled with dread,
Praying they don't consume my heart, turning it to lead.

the taste of your smile
in this crowded room
hearts of ocean—I am blue
party next door, shut down by appearance
so real, resilience—I caught myself before
catching feelings. to have a seal on the upper
interior of my heart; high up to the ceiling

this crush is a mile
a crushing journey over you
unwisely along time—tragic fool
cleanse my teary eyes in a memory rinse
a con, convince me not to be sore
a press thumb to thump down a number
in love with the right person, but she hangs
with the worst of people dealing

Your life feels shallow,
or are you waiting for depth in empty pools?

Oh the unease
        My heart is green: to be
A vessel filled with the envy of a sea without
       A land to conquer
My words are dry; as of a tongue itchy and ****
      My excessive indulgence of an activity of lonely
Before the groin pain I had  to fasten my *****
      I am the poem—of the words unsung: that of which
The lyrics come from my God above, and strong

But I’m so weak
      To please her of a valuable love
She’s young as of having heart in her large *******
I am old—to be a man carrying his pride
     She’s warm inside; as under a blanket of a cold night
A warmest embrace of a kiss so personal to face
     She was chased by her beauty; feeling unnatural to this world
An angel now disgraced
      Or a ghost haunting tears each time she appears

It’s clear to me now
     That a love sweet as ecstasy dreamt on my pillow
Is as it seems—only a dream!
               Therefore: is anything in my life as so real?

"To be, or not to be" (William Shakespeare from Hamlet)
As it's been asked. I question the choice to choose or
Not to choose, in the fitting affairs of what would
You do in someone else's shoes (Walking their mile)

Place yourself in another;
The life of a sister or a brother. Racial barriers:
What are they, but one's blind hatred for another colour?
If you lived the life they do, how would their
Discrimination leave an affect on you?
When the same of the world, isn't the same in your
Sphere,– a harsh word said publicly neither sheds a tear.
But you identify yourself in the identity of what
You've been told; in a world where the new is just
A reincarnation of an old.

I guess,
The hate of back then is just a new,
Coming back around all over again. On repeat:
The hurt on ourselves; repeated on children's grandchildren.
High expectations we've set get so taller and taller,
While the worth of ourselves gets so belittled by a former.

What's change with yesterday's chains,
Shame that replaces a familiar name;
Those who don't give a **** are ******
In a nation under your nose; vaguely it understands.
What do you stand for on the stands of your life,
And who do stand with,– be it your God, your family
Your friends, a husband or a wife?

Be not kind in just for appearance and status.
Trade good from the bad given, the love you have
To dilute the hate. "I know they hate us,
But it was never the hate that created us"

It was love...

So to be, or not to be: Do you be the not
Of what they want be,– or rather not to be,
Of all the world's faults, that is the question.

The life of a lonely poet...

A product of the moving circus,
a round of games in endless circles;
I'm still searching for purpose with a pocket
full of dreams, and old family curses.

That's me; like the tree of my family;
quick to leave when there's no options after plan B.
On a money diet; counting ribs of poverty,
in these busy restaurants; dreaming to swipe for meals
with my eyes closed honestly.
It's been so long; since I've been in a space of thought
were I actually belong.
Been a minute since I've written for so long; that the words
flow into a song.

The life of a lonely poet...

The skies of his life; turns a different shade of blue,
as he sees everything so beautiful in a different view.
The oceans must have kissed the tips of the sky;
all of which happens inside of his mind.
"I've got sometime to write," he tries to make the most of it,
over some work wi-fi.

Writing about a wife with his talented hand;
a love, a tradegy, a dream; mostly writing about
the things he kind of has or had.
Past tense; into future tense, but the present tense;
are all things being so intense.

The best painters of love, are those not in love,
just a picture in their head of love's sort of.
"I kind of; know how it feels,"
but a lonely poet is just writing to the audience's appeals.

Is anything real?

The life of a lonely poet...

So vicious; like the bites of those rough
kisses. That sinking bite on the lips, of a longest kiss.
So wet as two sinking ships; as the kisses are so deep.
He wishes he was writing for a physical Miss,
and having her straight after; and the taste of her lips.

Oh what a life of a lonely poet...

In the whispers of dreams
behind the cracks of time—dipping feet
in a sea of tears
A cusp of fears in the year's transition
I have this constant thought of you;
painted in vision

As like the kisses of young
wrestling tongues for an excuse to say we're not
in love. But are we not?
To no fault of our hearts; beats away from me—
darling it hurts being so apart
Frozen in my mind, as when my side is cold
I've never spoken such a feeling
before; as after I fell...I fell deeply in love with
YOU

And like you, IT was all so beautiful

Kissing under the gaze of the twinkling stars,
with the moon softly illuminating our embrace,
a tender melody whispered through the night air,
its notes a gentle serenade to our budding love
—reminiscent of innocent children joyfully
chanting a prayer.

In that timeless moment,
as we became lost in each other's presence,
I found myself wishing fervently for this
enchanting connection to linger for eternity,
to be relived over and over. Nostalgia filled
my heart as I envisioned our souls intertwined
in a dance of everlasting affection, painting
our future with hues of passion and devotion.

Yet, the quiet whisper of reality began
to seep through the soft night,
reminding me that all enchantments must
eventually yield to the break of dawn.

With a wistful sigh and a sense of acceptance,
I held onto this fleeting interlude of happiness,
drawing strength from the memory of
celestial magic that had woven us together in
a cocoon of love and longing.

And so, as the first light of morning peeked
over the horizon, signaling the end of us, and
timeless embrace, I embraced the bittersweet
beauty of impermanence, cherishing the
ephemeral bliss before the rising sun
dissipated our shared moment in the
gentle embrace of the day.

And so, around pretty women, one must put their mind on their
hip — and also keep their heart on their mind, for when they think
about those feelings. You can get crushed by a crush, yet it is you
alone who bears the burden of its sting— intuition, should be carried
like a sickness, and should you cough, let it out on the world as a bit
of wisdom.

Cos love ensnares us all, yet we remain oblivious to the means of an
escape from it – until the moment arrives when the sweetness of affection turns sour; a love tainted... when you both become so sick of
each other, that every kiss tastes a bit like *****.


                                            A bitter aftertaste that lingers of regret.

I face fatigue each time I breathe,
praying on my knees until they bleed,
Facing another stressful day I’ve got to live,
I wish I could leave, if I believe enough in all of
my dreams; I’d close my eyes just to relive, and sigh
heavily for my relief.

Oh grief, is sentiment cement on memory streets;
walking on for long, towards that unfamiliar dawn,
Listening to unfamiliar songs, hoping I never forget
where the heck I came from.

When I get famous, and lost in the crowd’s
empty praises; the quietest moments are so loud.
I hope I make my family proud, and buy my mother
that house, she’d live in happily, even if it was for a couple
hours. Really beats the days I was just borrowing flowers.

Forgetting when Mother’s day actually falls,
let me recheck my calendar to make sure.

From having bosses smile politely at me,
but refer to me by the worst of words.
I’m just nodding my head for an empty pay cheque,
spending it on necessities. But ****, that swiping
hurts!

Waiting for a day to be closing my eyes at every swipe,
no need to add, and calculate the final price,
Without all of the wants, but enough money to afford
all of my needs in life.

Let them remember me by all of these
experiences I enjoy to write.

I truly love to write...

I found myself immersed in a profound contemplation of the future,
Embarking on a mysterious journey into the unknown,
Witnessing the passage of time, transcending my youthful self,
Facing the fleeting nature of existence, like a fallen leaf,
Unprepared to depart from this earthly realm,
Ultimately, destined to become mere dust,
reunited with the very ground from which I emerged.

I've seen a colourful world,
in her tie dye eyes

Around someone's neck; holding onto her,
my hand being like a neck tie

Her ears were full of bullets,
of so many shoot your shot pickup lines

Only kissing a few; but some wet kisses
are just lips licked so well, to lubricate their lies

As we've all wanted to say we've been in love- once,
even if we loved someone for only a time

From the trenches of our many past hurts,
digging into each's heart, to say they were once mine

To the friendly hugs with foes, we try to forgive,
seeing all those we've loved before; giving a public smile

Many times sending out advances; not always delivered,
learning that the quiet ones attract a lot of attention- a high profile

In this curious scent of love always in the air,
I wonder if we still feel like floating aimlessly in the meanwhile

    I mean,

I've seen so much before, heard it all, felt the after of a fall
said so much I can't recall, and it all stank like a stinkball

                                         ...when I was in love five years ago.

My two cents on the matter,
I just want the world to change.

Ignite within me the feeling of love –
a bulb warming up in its own radiance; I need that idea
behind me falling in love – peace of mind, yet we still
kiss behind the chaos of what we always had –
                                                a long time crush.

Don’t you dare crush my heart – swear to me, cross your
heart and hope not to die, or would you choose to double
cross me, transforming that sacred mark into a bitter X…

I suppose for me, this would be the third strike.

                                   ***

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.

The long fights,
Worth in winning the small battles
The long nights,
Shine together through the lonely shadows.

Life's battleground
where you stand,
Upon each battle we've won,
come out of them smiling glad.

Remember, you're not the only one.

This pen is feeling heavy;
Writing out this weighing letter.

Writing my lyrics to the Heavens;
wondering if they'll get the message.
I won't waste on pretending. It feels
Like you've blocked the entrance.
Often you seem to forget us, as the
Devil is always out to get us.

Given a shorthand,
As it feels little for change.
And it's so sad, what you have left
Is out for game. As we're out for
Gain, straight after we call your name.

My off thoughts, in odds of
Dreaming, screaming in my head;
While battling it's demons. Deep
Thoughts, and their sunken eyes
Inside my hollow pit in my skull.
Trying my best to seem calm, stuck
In the depth of my head, as I won't try
To pretend. In it's dark abyss, a rose
Inside a grave feels more like a
                                Pretty death.

Chest beating, my emotions themselves
Could be bleeding, or leaking.
On this paper I pen wrinkles,
And leave so many stains.

I'm a tyre swing, tired of it.
Rolling over to a newest trend;
Spinning in the wheel of life, going
Round in it's constant circles, as
Everything in it tries to hurt us.

Could you point me out to a purpose.
Showing interest in my life. Truly
You could make a prophet. And let's,
Word out our blessings, instead of
Counting our losses.

I do hope you get this message.

Sincerely signed;

A child down on Earth,
Looking up to Heaven.

The glass of my eye, has your face in view. A bed by nights;
scented in myrrh. Fresh in the kisses of love's two. Once in
chambers of conceived room. A fairest children blessed
of a spirited mother. Destined to love while in those mother's
womb.

In April; was it made to be your name. As the windows of my
eyes are on gaze. For your kiss of sweet lilies is greatest gain.
Oldest together; in the wrinkles of time

To all the boys, we're going out for a night,
Toss a coin to say we're just chasing tail tonight
But we always have to keep a heads up, for when
You probably get denied by a dime, twice this night

As we’re drinking like it's the end of a movie scene-
Waiting for our eyes to fall to black, we could barely see

Unfortunately, I caught my teeth in the skin of heat,
And I tell you- it wasn't that wise to try and dance;
Hoping to give all my intentions to her eyes chance-
But by a glance, I seen all her friends having a good
Laugh behind my back, all because of my two left feet

As I stand — in the stillness of the night, buried in
contemplation, a tombstone looms above my head piercing
into an idea, with these horns; to charge directly at vivid
imagination. Shrouded in the night’s dead darkness; the
only colours that dance around are the deep, dark hues
that cling to my black horns – tainted.

Formless creatures haunting the silhouettes of all dreams
their fragmented forms concealing hidden depths and
buried truths — echoes of old traumas from the days of
youth, a troubled youth, long neglected – abused.

The more these horns are trimmed, the longer they seem
to stretch – spiralling directly into my vision; all I
perceive is darkness.

On an open road, to open a world of a stranger's eyes
as the light in mine had lost its shine.
And what once was love or desire had been
thrown in time and consumed by it's fire

I was searching for something,
searching for someone...

I met an old man who wasn't okay- he said out of a
hanging cigarette, "son I'm doing drugs to **** the pain today
While lying to my family and pushing friends away,
as I'm nothing **** perfect, but I'm perfectly imperfect.
I never knew purpose, and maybe God did it on purpose"

He jumped of the edge of his dreams inside of his head,
in a colourless world —all passions were dead
in the grey smoke of cigarettes; he said, "son don't you see
I haven't prayed in awhile and can't crack a smile
I've been living on the line, but it's not drawing me still
I got children to feed, a nagging wife to satisfy and a house
of unpaid bills. I got ash in my lungs and a chimney throat,
I cough like a **** exhaust, and I'm exhausted beyond"

He didn't trust any man, or listen to gods,
his face was kind of odd, as his problems were round
Going in circles; he said, "son don't just believe a
beautiful title to a scene- you'd best **** believe that
there's more things hidden between. While praying on
your needs, some are embarrassed to pray on their knees
It's a deaf kind of silence before a man's defeat,
but you still have some time to deal with your grief
And life may take it from you, but it can't take all you
have to give. Son you best believe"

"Let your imaginations take you to places unseen
and don't let them trouble you of youth
Or let them tie you down in your shoes,
you've got nothing to prove- lest you proving how to lose
And don't lose yourself in this broken world, else you'll
end up searching for yourself. Don't look at me as a
stranger- I'm a reflection of yourself"

"We're not strangers in this this world
we're just living in a strange world"

Black mirror tears; crying in the dark—
reflecting on things about life, throughout late nights,
Buried talk with an assortment of people nowadays;
enduring their dead conversations; also texts feeling so late.

Overbearing much— bearing on regrets that weigh heavy
on a heart; a heart only heavy by weights you choose to carry.

So, do you carry on carrying that weight; the baggage
of your eyes, carries around judgments as more court cases.

“Just in case, I need some old evidence to prove
my worth,” you say, just in case.

Afterwards cracking that mirror in the dark—how do you
really see yourself any better, if you keep hiding in the dark?

As Zim life-
forces you to survive;

Swallow some pride
close your eyes;

Be close to alright
with a bright African smile;

And never forget;


                   The Lord does provide.

Surely I’d ask; that do the stars not play witness to a love’s beauty:
the belief in  the power of love that runs deep, like the air
we rely on to survive.

It feels like a faith in the unseen forces that sustain us; we have faith in our connections— a testament to the unwavering trust we have, even when faced with the unknown.

Oh, how each passing day can either divide or bring us much closer; seemingly creating a somewhat perfect balance between us—  two halves of a whole, each complementing the other in the ways no else can.

Seems to be a task; navigating through the seasons of every new found relationship; the weight of both parties’ mistakes, all serves as a reminder of the lessons we’ve learnt. Or rather the reminder of our human side. For our present self in thought, faces the future with sometimes a renewed sense of hope, and a determination to cherish and protect that we’ve now built.  

Brick by brick; I lay the depth of my soul, as I yearn for that deeper understanding of the purpose behind any love. — Searching for meaning and clarity, so too, seeking for guidance from a higher power.

Still, I must quarrel with myself.

For the seconds you’d spend with a lover, are as fleeting as a shooting star across the night sky; effortlessly slipping away— quietly turning into the short minutes we try to weave together in the hopes of making it the story of our lives.

Sigh, another love lived, serves as another love that will eventually leave, — and so, another chapter in the story of one’s life.

Find myself, find myself- trying to find something to write about;
the words arrive as if they owe me a debt for the reflections
I’ve already invested. If you could loan me a few phrases,
to bank on crafting something that’s truly worth your time.

We shared a moment, you pouring out your thoughts while
I absorbed every word, my voice trapped in a writer’s block.
Kissing by that corner, parked in my feelings- we took a neutral
agreement that our first kiss would remain a secret between us.
But we had shifting ideas; you preferred discretion, while I
yearned to shout from the rooftops about finally kissing a girl.

But I… had this imagination of being able to read your mind
by your eyes spelling of tears- each time you cried out what
your first relationship should be. But could it be just me,
thinking that you were hinting at something, when you
spoke those words, to maybe pass a hint at me?

And I’m like a folding chair for the memory of you, sitting
on my mind- folding into myself; collapsing inward, delicate
as paper ready to be transformed into paper planes- the again,
I was just a guy flying around your head.

                                  A fly by night crush.

Let my memory forever be etched upon your arm,
like an exquisite tattoo that tells our story.
As you gently brush away those tears that
bear the weight of our shared moments,
know that a part of them will forever remain
imprinted on your delicate skin.

Wouldn’t you like to know, the kind of dreams we could have
been — beneath the depths of the sea; cherished hopes drifting
away, swallowed by the relentless tide of time, as we strain to
glimpse the farthest reaches of eternity?

As tears cascade like a territorial downpour, your mind unravels,
as you lose the mind to all your ideas. You yearn for a peace that
brings you to your knees, a surrender so profound it echoes in
the silence.

With your eyes shut tight, you invite your heart to unveil its truths,
allowing your innermost feelings to emerge, unshackled and raw.
Yet here I stand, feeling unworthy of love’s embrace, grappling
with the remnants of healing from the scars it has left behind.

I’m trapped in a dream that's impaired – both lovely and blind.
An uncanny Eden, where beauty and confinement intertwine
in a haunting embrace.

Okay, so I guess this is how it all works,
I tell you all my problems and you add it up just to tell me **** my worth."

Well to me, seems like my own heart locks itself in the slammers,
Maybe cause when I seen a pretty girl walk down the street I'm indulged by her Curves and her Angles.

And how I'm an own addict to myself.
My biggest fear is that my greatest addictions is slowing what's killing my own health.

Been missing a couple of my own old birthdays
But I tell myself "meeting new people could add happiness in some kind of more ways."
Cause it's really sad when you celebrating everyone's birthday but not even your own.
At my house blowing Birthday candles all on my own. Sometimes I feel so alone.

Yet I sometimes do find myself thinking all about of my Ex
Maybe cause the new girl I have I'd be calling her "My new best."

In this mind it feels like a running TV show but I'm still flipping through channels
And people say "I'm a nice guy," but some days it feels like I loss a piece of my manners.

And really sometimes my own Dad and I could feel too closely like the brand new guy
Deep down I really hate when we really don't show each love "Daddy in the silence could you hear me cry."

And somehow I'm supposed to Christian.
But sometimes the things I do make me feel like I'm lacking in the knowledge of wisdom

And how much I love my girl but I pray not to disappoint her,
Maybe if I were pure of heart, I would wash her feet with oil so I could just go and anoint her.

She has my thinking of kids
I love the fact but I don't want our own children to be part of the weirds.
And how I fear for my own son.
My biggest fear is that I don't be the father he needs.
And die saying "well I guess my jobs all done."

But these are the thoughts of rest
Not the perfect of men, but I try to give them my best.

And maybe this could be your theme song,
Maybe you could be singing through your troubles just to carry you along.

So to Doctor Therapy, to whoevers out there, I hope that you listening.
Cause these are the things I had to say. Hoping surely that there's nothing of some sort that you probably missing.

Just don't forget that I am Christian.
Yet still a human being, so just to know that some of these sins are so hard to be resisting.

But still tell the world of this man's story
And tell them that he tried to his best under his Glory.

And this a story for us or maybe a story only for you.
But, I'm hoping that all the words I said you find them but a bit of word of being a True

Just for practice, I'll test out my bars
to girls inside of my words. Written on paper,
pencil scribbling sonnets with a close eraser.

To fall in love; only in fiction,
is it fact; that I'd be a love guru to all women?
I doubt the fact; but the idea I'm in love with that.
Overly kind; for the hints of girls going over my head,
I take too long to make a move, and we end being just
friends.

My kindness mistaken for flirtatious manner,
attentive of every detail, the stories, experiences
wrapped in life's scandals. Cracking crude jokes,
and quick wits. Through juicy looking lips.

So I was told; but cocky as it sounds, you're talking
to someone taking years to be yesterday's bold.

The best of words only at their prime out of love,
out watching couples, and still someone awkward
at long hugs. Who loves referring to past scars.

Speaks the best sweet nothings to nobody listening,
Positive eyes towards love; dwindling, in the limiting
facts of love's feelings often being sickening.

A hopeless romantic writing hopeful pieces on love.

Not a fan of long hugs.
I naturally walk fast,
so it's hard for me to take slow
walks in a romantic park.

Awkward at love sometimes

Not one to give romantic kisses,
at times a hopeless romantic.
One who won't argue when it comes to dishes,
but when you ask me why I love you, I may panic.

Awkward at love sometimes

Not someone to hit the dance floor,
I have two left feet.
Don't go out a lot of times, being at home alone is my norm.
Feel shy at times when I have to greet, and overthinking a lot of things.
At times I sell myself short,
but I try not to sell you dreams.

Awkward at love sometimes

Not one to easily click with your friends,
give me sometime to get to know them.
Never had the experience of having so many girlfriends.
Feel like a five when I'm dating a ten;
and express my emotions better with a pen.

Don't cry a lot, but when I do it's not a pretty sight,
Don't get angry a lot, but when I do it even gives me a fright.
Dressing formal isn't my kind of suit,
shorts and long sleeve shirts rolled, is my signature look.
Don't like to think too much about the future,
and at times don't like being called cute.  

I'm awkward at love sometimes,
so much so it's hard to disguise.

So can I least find someone to be awkward with me too.

I rest in self-misery, as the pride of a mirror - to only see
It as I alone, suffering through these trials. My successes are
Mere private congratulations; pats on the back, aspirations relying
On the weight of the estimation theory. As are my days: random
Components, wholly in the degree of alteration

Days alternate between good or bad; often the latter- a newer
Taste of bitterness, to an unreasonable resentment; a sad struggle
Against the Diarrhoea of Complaints- for yes indeed, life can be
So full of ****, and almost in that same mirror, you sadly see
The very crap you’re forced to be seated in,- daily

As a man is the master in his own fantasies; to have dreams
In which they live as gods- their truths all taking a deformed shape
The shape of life being abstract; as what hurt you today, becomes
The foundation to build tomorrow’s strength. So don’t give into
What pain rests on your plate- feeding into its lies; as where there is
One’s fate, lies the fuel of faith. So ask yourself; where on that tank’s
Needle, does your faith tend to want to sit on

THE LAST WORDS in the taste of love –
As I summon the sweetness to wash my palate
My skin can never find much rest in the day;
A makeshift bed; my body feels like a pallet.
Growing old, means having a mix of colours
Inside of my beard; making it a face palette.

But wouldn’t I love to own a palace –
To French kiss someone in Paris,
And to be loved by both her parents.

Find me a love that is apparent;
Stealing a lingering kiss, like stealing the time
But let’s not clock in the times you tick me off –
Just tick off my check-boxes, of being the one.

And let our love be a beautiful love ballet.

The ocean blueness—fades further into the deep
A naked eye—in the needle hole,
threading old skins of past; to sew away
The present self being a stowaway.

Sheds of tears—falling from time to time
The grounds washed—drenched in eroding thought,
as the tears of an experience's memory
I've experienced so many things.

Beauty that is glorious—beauty my eyes attestor to
So seen is life—tasting all bitter sweet,
heeding the stories; touched by them all
Scented by intentions: to vocalize beauty we'd recall.

Swivel politeness—coupled by lessons from progenitor
Wisdom must be kept—holding immense value,
spoken in tongue; lips impart to succesor
Should it flow naturally in life: to your success sir.

Our youth-
seemed to be all careless
So age finds and grows a child.

Peer pressured by our habits;
living in them like a habitat.
Stuck in a hole of teen depression;
as it looks to be a grey rabbit.