She says,

"Open up your eyes to me," while we were on a blind date.
Some opinions come a bit late; early remarks are great —
And there’s a fearful much of men, of that phrase,
"oh, I'm late."

But I fear when she's running late for our date,
And secretly isn't coming anyway.

So my eyes remain shut; as from first interactions,
It looks for us, this thing isn’t going anywhere!

I am man who wants a lot though – I hope I win the lotto! I hope
she didn't try to park her heart in my mind, "where did she park
her car though?" Depression rides passenger, like some useless
cargo – I've studied my drive for a loaned passion, keeping an eye
on that car note. But sometimes I wonder where this car goes;
and I haven’t met the kiss of peace, just like I never seen Chicago.

I have a lot of goals – but scores of hurt; from questions of self-worth.
Tell me the maker of mismatched hopes, and the creator of dreams
from their birth? Who first put a curse on the tongue, to speak a few
curse words – who went that under someone, to underestimate when
they show a few nerves?

Would someone show me the why to the end of one's poverty -
better yet, how to own your misfortunes as first steps to fortune,
and living your worth, as your own property.

I am man who wants a lot - a whole lot of answers, to the questions
about the script of my life story; to live up to its plot.

To hope and dream:
IS for us all to believe.
To search and find:
IS to know our desires.
To love and cherish:
IS being raised as such.

A laugh, isn't as loud as a smile-
Laugh in pain;
pain hidden in a smile.
A bellow in our thoughts:
IS  the roar of sorrow.
Feast on today's successes:
IS the regret of tomorrow.

IS a child; whose eyes learn a father,
IS a mouth; that builds a character,
but harsh tongue to destroy them.

IS a child; whose eyes love a mother,
IS a hand; that rests gentle love,
but sparing rod that spoils them.

IS what one man does;
IS so done to another.
And we are; IS to the present;
as IS the will of us all.

Is... it not?

Oh soul, my soul
where shall we go
At the crossroads; feels like
I have no other place to go

Oh soul, my soul
countless demons want this soul
As they count less of us, all out for someone's soul
—they want my soul, they want my soul
And I'm afraid I don't have the strength to say no

Oh soul, my soul
I don't want the world's gold;
just the means and tools to make my own
I don't want the entire world;
just a place I built on my own, and to call home
I don't want to feel alive with success;
just feeling some worth, and die peacefully alone

Oh soul, my soul
is it worth a soul
—is it worth our soul?

"I don't know, I don't know
I'm still waiting for a bad deal with the man
waiting for me at Death's crossroads"

Needless to say, I need less reasons
to feel threatened by you spitting
on my grave; my spirit would still
bloom out a beautiful rose.

You might picture me as a failure
in your mind—so allow me to pose
in front of you, with these charms,
for what you like to suppose.

You only know what you know;
what is revealed on the surface,
of what a person shows.

Yet, if we do not engage in profound
pieces of talk, you don’t know me,
for my ALL.

The azure of my skin – a shade reminiscent of the vast ocean,
melancholic as a distant horizon that forever eludes fulfilment;
it never seems complete. How can I compete with this solitude –
lying in a bed stripped of its warm embrace… Blue adorned my
pillowcase, where I dreamt of the crime of love; she stole my heart
in a blue-collar crime.

And blue was the only remnant she left behind, a sorrowful hue
that echoed my longing for a love that was never truly mine.

And as a tongue lifts,
The words in between lips form:
As for a moment; do our lies last,
In endurance of our forever,
Do all truthful lips reside:

As I did taste a sense of deceit,
At a touch of lips when we kissed:

Perhaps this is why our love was but a moment.

I owe you my attention
Jesus you owe me nothing
You can do all you can do
I'm tired of being restless
When I can't see myself
You can see me through and through

Caught up in my affection
No one loves me as you do
I come to you in repentance
I just owe you my attention
Giving every piece of my heart all to you

Nothing is as substantial
Jesus you're all that matters
In the questions of the world
I put you first, and trust your answers

You're a gold ring, and a rose
Covenants you've made—so beautiful
All the words you spoke, I'm in awe

Coming back for your bride
Let me make her pleasingly pure
Coming to fill my entire heart
Let me clear space in every room
Lord I need you now—I need you

I owe you my attention
I am so empty, being a vessel
Broken as I am, you still give blessing
I just owe you my attention

Lord you have all my attention

In Jesus name, Amen.

Drifting slow on a sinking boat,
Shallow waters still sinking my feet and soul.

In the feelings of being felt. Only feels closely good when I've left my innocence round a corner.
Don't hate me for the flesh taking control. I'm not fully around when it goes down.

Drunk in the lonely thoughts. It's a warm place I say but the world sees it cold.

And maybe perhaps I could be the stranger to this, like the new kid round the block.
Neighbors staring at you like I could rob your daughter's Heart with just a pick of the lock.

Just don't make the mistake that all good people couldn't have the bit of bad in the day,
When we go through the night crying on the pillow all the pain.

Be a shame

Thinking all cool kids were the ones driving cars so young and early,
Till current days thinking on it, I feel quite dumb and silly.

I mess things up,
Sometimes I wanna go back to the days of finding happiness at the bottom of this cup.

It kinda *****,
******* smarter than a fancy tux.

Riding solo in a world often chasing you behind. Guess it's my fault wanting to ride in front.

Try to catch up to me if you could,
Try to **** me, please I wish you would.

Rather die on the dirt a free slave,
Than a slave alive outside and a rotting corpse inside.

We rise, we fall
We fight for many just to lose it all.
I hold my gun for it's the only thing closest to me.
Seen so much blood that it's so hard to dream.
I'm going down, I caught a grenade.

We march, we follow
We fight these wars on courage we borrow.
I chew on bullets just to keep my strength.
My nose has gone dull from the smell of stench.
I'm going down, I caught a grenade.

We shoot, we ****,
They told us all winning the war would be thrill.
My eyes are shut upon darkness,
My soul dark and cold that it can't bloom flowers.
I'm going down, I caught a grenade.

We ducked for cover,
But the enemies found us and shot my brother.
We tried to fight back, but it was all for waste,
The grenade they threw blew half my face.
I'm going down, I caught a grenade.

We won the war,
But the victory cut through me like a saw.
Was once a man,
But only now the half of him.
I was going down, I caught a grenade.

Going down, I caught a grenade.

Incidents; I could of made a meal out
of myself, with the incidentals
I'm so usually full of myself,
so credit me for being prideful with proud credentials
And tell me what you care about most,
but please forgive me for saying, "yeah whatever"
So we can go make a bet on ourselves, but I'm
always betting on this time not fairing any better
Screaming at the walls so much, that a doctor is
rushing for a cure; but one of us is losing a reason to be patient

Bad mood 1

I stubbed my toe, but was too stubborn
to acknowledge any of the pain
And after I bit my inner cheek at supper,
I went to bed extra cheeky today
My vape ran out of steam, and I started to
evaporate from the crave,- I felt a bit like vapour to date
And there's a piece of bone stuck in my tooth,
now I've got a bone to pick with anything coming my way

Bad mood 2

I spilled my last sip under my bed,
great, no my unrest comes from down under
Chucking blundstones to your ankle length,
but it all ends with me admitting to another blunder
I'm not feeling so bright today; still I have faith in
the next day's sunlight- I hope we can warm up each other


Bad mood 3

Today I barked up the wrong tree,
and somebody got really *******
The week was a bit too hard to handle,
like a ******* girl by a ***** so soft
As I was trying to enter a course, like a game of life
playing a bit of golf; ***** deep in work, that ******* me off
I turned on a friendly smile I keep in my left pocket,
for the right of someone to be allowed to be angry
at me, as a one-off

                     I guess my mood from this piece is a bit off.

Lovers by the pen;
both in the love letters I wrote for you
and feeling so trapped inside my own head.

Our laughter –
is a yard for measuring out the depth of love
where you and I planted a garden of our scars.

But I’ll go chasing after you,
even now, like I never once owned you before
twisting all of my memories, like this doorknob.

I’m open to talk; but even more so to listen;
extra extras – alongside a good time of ecstasy
reading up on the all lessons of love, step by step
here I am, standing next to you, with extra feet.

As much, in every man’s eye- eroticism brings excitement,
the lines of wrinkled sheets are a retreat without restraint
Every one of our kisses tastes like they matter; we flatter
each other on playing it casual— until anticipated and complete
She is no less than a queen; she sits on my thrown, ruled by these
words- all the shells of the shots I’ve shot; whenever we're around
we stain the ground; inhaling a bit of hell, with every bad habit

Moisture: more so to the reply of, “yes sir”
her tears echo soothing rain, but these tired red eyes don't see
much love- but still when it comes to touch; I'm filled with ideas
by her flood. Words keeping on flowing; but my regards to any
authority, I've been living lawlessly - against her authority

Old habits can’t really die when they pass,
even as an *** shakes backwards, with all the regrets to take
me back to my past. You can still taste a lot of things much harder
to swallow than your pride— that burning heat of passion, from
your mouth’s chamber: an abode of sweet remembrance
Now, as we must, not discuss about the label of us- in a nutshell
the conversation changes tone after someone’s nut is bust
****, how rough is that- we played a role to work ourselves
out of lust. We call each other, our Devil’s assistant…

To give summer kisses, but they taste like winter.
Called her flower, but every time he's with her,
she will slowly wither.

In her eyes—overwhere it always burns.
But not of passions; just a feeling of her scorned
flesh. Ashamed, close enough to bruise.
Filthy fingers that are winter in June.

Under his toxic power—oh the death of a flower.

Blind to the subject of being blind in love –
does that mean I can see?

Do I believe in the belief; of love at first sight
isn’t faith believing in that you cannot see,
that which you hope to be?

But I could close my eyes to a better scene –
when we go out and it doesn’t go so well;
we should have made it a blind date!

            Now this love feels blind.

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?

the silence of your shadow is louder when you don’t watch it –
as the memory of someone in your mind, is just a fictional
character of them. this life: walking on the thin lines of what the
eyes have seen; the unseen waits for us at the great beyond.

the narrative of love still waits on loads of blank spaces –
empty smiles towards pretty faces. but until we find the one
that helps us smile in true depth, the ones we meet are truly
just strangers in the end.

and the days love to dash in sands of time – for no one really
has all the time in the world to live out a thousand lifetimes.
still, we’ve lived a thousand experiences of a thousand lives
in this one life. living as bodies, connected by familiar tears,
stranded or motivated by fears, the highs given by the touch
of two skins, we live as bodies, die from our bodies and will
live on as spirits in the end.

                                   and to that end, the end of this poem.

Young are fools,
Young is love with it’s gazing wet eyes,
Young is time,— of it you still have,
Young are dreams,
Young are fears,
Young are the first worries life burdens us with,
Young are we all,—only for a time.

You are never too young of all to do,
But old in the spirits of picking whichever's when,
To start off young, and end off old.
Though life is as short,— it feels too young nowadays.

~All is too young.~

the secret slip of underwear
he was caught off guard; unaware
widened mouth and could only stare
gazing at her pond of ten thousand sounds,
how easy could it be,— a bit too fishy
knowing he wasn't the first to go skipping a
few rocks

but as a rock in a hard place
between a devilishly charming smile on her face,
she was, "a good friend's friend"
and he thought that made them "just friends"

and not one to play cliches
"i don't want this," he made it as clear to say
in that room at night, he wasn't interested in her,
and it was clear as day

he came only to help pen down a study report
but perhaps the con of hoping there'd be much
concentrate; were the first letters
written by her, wanting to spill ink in a little *******

                        click!

that idea was well tucked away and hidden,
like the tip of his favourite silver pen.

A story of an edible piece,
food for thought to make you think.

I cut a pear in half,
and admittedly had a pair.
My two bananas friends broke up,
something I'd like to say was, "a banana split".
My peach friend proposed an idea,
but we don't listen to the peach pitch an idea.

Later on that day I chased
a man for being so annoying.
Told him to "go",
and boy did that mango.

I think his name was Barry,
told him it was the last straw.
So I yelled, "it's the last Strawberry".

Afterwards I was late,
for a romantic dinner with a fruit.
(It was a date).

Along the way,
I bumped into a  group of immature grapes,
funny because they were quick to wine.
I thought to myself, "what a bunch of sour grapes"

I noticed a doctor walking up to me,
and I felt really uncomfortable.
So I grabbed an apple and threw it at him,
to keep that doctor away today.
Next I noticed a pinning apple,
which had me thinking, "what a pineapple".

By the end of my story,
my date didn't go so well.
She ordered a coke. And I wanted to seem extra healthy,
So I ordered a fruit cocktail.

She left me alone, not before pouring out
her infatuations towards me.
To be honest, I thought that was just
a silly fruit crush.

That day I had enough of fruit.

I just pray she doesn't have an older brother,
he might beat me to a pulp.

somewhere out in the world, somebody’s child is dying –
we all should be crying, but being miles apart, you right
now could be smiling – knowing not a thing

life is often tragedy; in other times it’s the happier times
to make us smile. we are a billion diamonds reflecting
each other lights – we hope to live, we all know we’ll
die, some hope for peace, still we fight within this life
to try and survive  

we do our best to dream, even when sleep has other plans
so for some, they re-enact the scenes from dreams to make
them seem real. though the past is gone, some of the memories
of it don’t make a retreat; some hope for peace, still we fight
within this life to try and survive  
                seems we’ve always been bred to fight.

Only as the sun shines
Rising to the dawning of eyes—had I realise
we are then only seen beautiful, as like stars of night

The astrologer said to me, “the markings of your skin,
be as tiny dots of stars. Imperfectly perfect, as constellations
tell their stories”

I stored her knowledge,
upon the wisdom wrapped by lips—still with the
wondrous mind of child, we all want to discover

So as the child of the astrologer, I went out
into the world to discover, all not yet discovered.

Under tears of-
          rain;  
We're   all         the
        same.

No matter of
                    where
    you
           came. ..

We all take life-
       day by
                  day;
Sit,
  wait  and
                      pray. ..

What      stops 
                       God;
  doing  a    
 ­                miracle
       today?  

Sit,    
             wait,
and  
                      pray.

         Enjoy the-
kissing tears
                    of the
                        
                             Rain.

Glass tears dance on the lawn of dreams –
offered sweetness at hand; while the Beast
breathes fire over frost; black fur coiled in winter’s
chill, his warmth a lie dressed in comfort.

He offers blindness as a blessing, the bliss
of the thoughtless path. In the silence of white
winter, you take his claw, mistaking it for a hand.
“To die for”—a morbid metaphor— what is the gift
of a Beast meant for?

Around him, the dancing lich spins— leeches
birthed  from tombs of need. A cliff that clefts;
as a cleft lip cannot speak the truth, it only bleeds.
Closed eyes cannot paint the dark—
but they stay loyal  to its canvas.

Left bereft—travelers avoid certain subjects:
being sick of yourself, tasting your own *****.
But hush now— we’ll skip the topic. Change the
subject. And bury that scent.

As she was sent; and of all the objects she takes
from the Beast—he cures grief with a sugar-coated sting.
But bittersweet is still a shade of sweet, it rots your teeth,
and maybe he works with the tooth fairy to collect what
decay leaves behind.

But in the cold, no one heals— they run to the hills,
as their heels are clicking in panic of snow-bitten ground.
Perhaps this time, Little Red took the wrong road—
and the wolf she met, has grown hungrier from
feasting quietly on empty bones.

      ....there's no-one to save her at all.

The hardships of a man are his silent battles –
“you ought to open up more,” which opens
his worth to being diminished.

We only cry when the world is asleep, painting
smiles on our faces to render our outer walls
somewhat pleasing to your gaze.  

We fight private wars, striving to shield those
we love from the fallout – yet the scars we bear
are somehow unsightly in your view.

We’ll conform to your contradictions, offering
our utmost to project an image of strength for
the women, while our brothers are the only ones  
who truly understand our weaknesses.  

The hardships of a man are his silent battles –
and it is only his fellow men who can truly
witness their tears.

Falling in love; well at least falling for the person- the narrative
of our love, a romance narrated from a distance — seen in third
person. You’re the third person I find myself whispering, “I love
you,” sharing so much about myself, sharing so much that it
aches to be so personal.

Sometimes my words disappear under your breath; I’m fading
away, and not feeling as myself; no longer existing as a person-
impersonal.

I catch glimpses of uncertainty in your eyes, and I sense that my
many personalities can be overwhelming- please don’t take it so
personal. You sometimes feel diminished in their presence, as if
you’re non-personal

Yet, as the day draws to a close, my greatest desire remains:
to know you deeply and to call you, my person.

Words… are lost by touch; perhaps I am talking too much… that
much is clear – a tongue testing its own fortune. The moment I beheld
your visage, a weight settled upon my skin, while the fragrance of
your skin dug tremors through my heart – a quiver igniting up to the
nerves at my fingertips. Our hands met with a less than firm embrace – yet deep down, I yearned for a hug, to ascend the staircase of your
neck and find sanctuary in the chamber of your lips.

Like a swarm of bees drawn to a blossom, seeking the sweet nectar of
connection – our fleeting moments together ignited thoughts of
seizing the flower of time, “she’ll love me, she loves me now,” believing it’s merely a matter of time.

I hear you summon my name; it resonates like a hymn of adoration –
your celestial presence beckoning me into the realm of your words.
And so, we embark once more, at the crossroads of language where I
find myself either bereft of expression or talking too much … you
know what, let’s abandon the chatter and kiss instead, for our hearts
speak a language far more profound. I’ve been overthinking too much.

I am a hanging thread, hanging onto life,
in this delicate fabric of existence; concealed in a shirt.
The fibres strain, so be gentle, for a harsh tug may
unravel my very depth.

Sewn together by dreams, woven with the strands
of hope, my soft cotton faith absorbs the anguish
that surrounds me.

I am a hanging thread, hanging on for dear life –
with a singular, poignant message to impart:

Hang in there!

I was sitting by the mailbox waiting on love,  stiff as
a recently washed shirt- sitting on an ironing board
I’m sorry if you catch me in a sour mood, there’s this moody
spirit that let me fall in love with the echoes hitting the wall-
While my voice was shouting at the wind; I could hardly breathe
My lover played a tune with my beard, as if they were guitar strings-
But I couldn’t complain to this lioness, for she’s the roar of a
mistress’s hungry temper

But I still love her so, still from the days of our courtship- and every
night she opens up to me as a suitcase, and I bare the luggage of her
nightly sores, with these bags hanging under my eyes-
I still love her so, as her chatter mouth is like a tap running,
and I’m her sink catching all that gossiping spit-

I still love her so, even as she’s an office desk covered in endless
papers, when she starts to feel like a piece of work-
I still love her so, cos she firstly showed me all of her flaws,
so nothing she does surprises me at all; still she was pleasantly
surprised that I still chose her, to be my wife

Black as fair,
a tone to your dark skin.
Many pieces of joy entwined in your curly hair.

I swear,
by the promises I make to self,
I'll long for something as you, ever so rare.

Tender and care,
for you I must. I probably will I swear.
Loving a black queen in so deep,
by the love of her depth

My love, seems to be ferocious.
Towards you, it could go unkind.
Best be wise.
The comparison of my love in your eyes, is much more than it's true size.

More of it lies!

Within my heart,
a battleground like no other.
The scars I've burdened, many I'm scared to show.
A grenade of emotions, counting down five
seconds away till they explode.
What more does it ask me for? A cost of interest I can't ignore.

I'm going round again for another tour!

Words are a weapon, you load with a tongue.
Lips the after fire. A gun powder of words I've spoken.
And I'm hoping my relentless love, won't leave one to be broken.
Love left me with many wounds, a few of which are still open.

Nowadays I'm just coping!

I'll fight for you, as much as you fight for me.
Give my all, as much as you've given all to me.

Don't give up on me!

Love you as much as you love the much of me.
Be all as you want, as the want you are to me.

All that I am is you. All that you are is me.

Till the end of a battle knife,
you've carved a piece of you in my skin.
And to think,
at a time I questioned this all being a dream.

But what is real!?

A war for love asks for blood. We bleed for the one we love.

That's real!

Making love to each other. Two sides coming to make peace out of their conflicts.

That's real!

We've made accords to each other. Two parties coming to terms in the end.

That's real!

We spit fire at each other. Arguing till one admits the other is right.

That's real!

We'll fight for love, and tear a few hearts down.
The smoke all clears. And we hope the result in the end is, true love found.

A true war to love.

This is war!

Not with guns, not with flags, but with myself. Every scar,
every voice in my head is an enemy line I’ve crossed. I fight
with silence, I fight with scars, I fight with the version of me
that swore I’d never get this far.

From being a punching bag to punching back. But it’s hard
not to fall back—into old habits; retreating from myself,
and telling my reflection to fall back...

Headlights slice the black, brief flashes through the dark.
Shut my eyes over myself, let their auras pass like thanks.
To all who hurt me: I’ve grown from you all, see my thanks
and my exhaustion. I’m too tired of you all, to carry your
remarks, too deaf to listen to people who say you owe them all.

Between myself and a tertiary exterior: a third self waits—
the superior version of me, complete, unbroken.
Body, mind, and soul to show off to the outside world...
still searching. Thankfully, I’m on the right road.

…don't give an F to the world, as it will only play you out so flat. it's a
place where young men are taught from a tender age to think with a
D, as if that's the major key to success – we desperately need some
minor adjustments in all our mindset's metronome

life:

the stark black and white hues, like the keys on a piano, as
everyone tries to ascend their scale of freedom. so often, I find myself
pondering what melodies, the piano man in the sky composes as he
watches over us, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the celestial
keys – harmonies to echo through the universe

our heart’s compositions reflect a symphony of your own human
emotions, those blending notes of joy, sorrow, love, and hope – a
beautiful crescendo of one’s life journey. but we live as a fleeting
chord in the vast symphony of the cosmos, hoping to play each note
with delicate precision and purpose

the music within and around you, could guide you through the
harmonies and dissonances of life. fighting the silent chaos in your
head – or being the distracting sound of chaos from all your worries
                             this grand life piano.

Lift my eyes inside my skull'
Searching for the words I;
Can quickly pen down:
Write a Poetic piece,
And for a moment feel proud.

You can hear the violence in the silence
Even when the rain washes your tears –
  some pain still reigns; man sailing thru

These clouds, and their tears galore; wouldn’t
You know every tomorrow comes too late –
  exorcisms to clear those who’ve ghosted you

The past hangs on an arm’s annexation
Holding the reigns of your mind’s territory –
  we wake as soldiers, ready to fight today

Winning small battles means nothing to war  
A world of peace could exist, en route to God –
   we could go as far, by how long we pray

I could have seen you yesterday,
Recalling a lover’s patch of kisses –
signing that love pact. War over love,
though when is love enough
for all wars to be done?

A world of peace could exist,
but it would mean we all don’t exist.

Lyrics without thought, in this mind quick
to thwart what is an innocent thought

And to reminisce every mistake and fault
ostentatiously, by means to flaunt

There's that familiar sinner in my heart
for the dear me—a red poetic of the hart

I'm so quick in my faith to quickly doubt
despite the flaming desires I have of so much
will to display; but the fears are quick to dout

As the longing to be close to a cost
that of which my purpose is enough the amount
To mount in the fixed place of this mysterious world
lest must I spin my head countless times, and be whirled

As liken to a devilish smile; cheery of guilty cares
must I be trained to despise my lies
And be washed of immortality by a birthed virtues
****** bathed with necessary lyes

I thank Christ for such a sacrifice of an enemy
hoping joyously that he dies
His risen story has imparted a new colour to my
life; a permanent impact as it comes to dyes

As two words can sound and look the same—
steadfast is the love of God to allow me to be
saved by grace. As I often gaze at the words of
how His love remains the same

Unlike the lyrics in my head,
so quick to change

This language of love—

how do I express it without the words...

where do I place it without the touch...

when do I show it without my eyes...  

what do I have without the heart...

who do I love without the reason...

and why do I fall in without the love?

                  My love language...

This soft heart I say, can feel like a curse,  
For all the times it soaks up the hate, oh, how it hurts!
As with each tear that I shed,  
It all feels heavy, heavy like lead,  
Till the floodgates burst forth in a verse.  

And I must tell you,

A soft heart is like a sponge, it takes every cut,  
An open heart: a vibrant marketplace; so never to shut!
But it was once vibrant and bright,  
Now it feels so dilapidated from fight,  
Yet still it beats on, as a true work of art.

Falling…
into place, of everything we yearn to do;
-falling in love as the rain falls down
From every crevice of your most secret and private parts
heavy cravings to be touched, yearning for the warmth
and intimacy that only you and I can share.

The weather outside seems cold
as you lay upon a bed soft as a cloud,
inviting us to sink into its comforting embrace
There’s a succulent wetness, a shiver of anticipation
that races down your spine.

You are a mesmerizing portrait of ephemeral beauty
that dazzles my senses and leaves me breathless
Your image lingers in my thoughts
as we exhale the heat from our mouth’s chamber
the pleasure to my yearning lips upon yours;
In such a thought: smiling, knowing all is falling into place.

Floating dreams upon this barren mattress –
Attempting to revive their hues, painting a vivid live caption
Sinking into the glow of a smile; I hope my faith will catch me
The drum roars of a heartbeat, anxious- still my soul is dancing
Two skins caught in themselves- kissing in a moment’s magic
Allow me to wish upon a star my love, that this sensation is everlasting.

Our purest laughs are in our dreams —
Laughing lungs out, sounding a bit psychotic;
Who's there to judge how ugly they really sound?

I am a riddle;
  (only a few understand)

An unspoken poem;
      (few will find)

As shall by the gates,
do wisdom and I meet.

A riddle of purpose, &
the answer we all seek.

A body to face fatigue
All in a world of make believe
As love makes me weak in the knees
Also blowing my mind like leaves off a tree
Always missing the misfortune of someone's glee
As it seems common paying a fee to be free
And the R is really the real realness of all of we
As rhyming is easy, but the rhythm not as peasy
A little melted cheddar on a ****—all for anyone
calling my writing corny and cheesy

Be as it may, in my non constructive mysterious ways
Best believe I woke up today with some talent to display
Better to tell it as it is, maybe on the course of wordplay
Besides, life always feels like a game; to only be called strange
—to we all say oh, before an okay

Casually writing, and easily rhyming
Could be a next word of each line I'm deciding
Coarsely the can do spirit of striking another form of style, yet
we don't know if it's the same place of this twice striking lightening

Duality done by the dues of a dualing two
Doesn't make much sense in fighting a battle you're
always meant to lose

Excess mentality of my supposed masculinity
Exactly what it takes of a world to belittle me

For the focus of an unfocused mind lacks the right sight
Fixed enlightenment could mean being honoured on
the bright side

Galloping choices aren't the ones to remain stable
Goodnight kisses are of course a lover's choice,
of having butterflies by their naval

Hurry home to be whole on a homely manner
Homemade appearances don't share enough
experiences, even if being the best planner

I know my greatest faults, and I must admit
It is the hardest thing to speak out your failures,
even just a bit

Juggling time is liken to throwing it all for the air
Just don't be surprised when you don't catch it all,
and want to complain about life being so unfair

Kindness in modern times has become a self taboo
Knowing that you could give a hand, but they'd
always want something more from you

Laziness is all any one of us can share at a given
Lazarus could have laid in his tomb a little longer, but the call
of Jesus wasn't lazy, and both weren't too lazy to be risen

Money is the root of all evil
—perhaps to those buried in wealth
More as with selfish intent, only taking you to think
about yourself

None is greater than another if ever told
Neither can escape getting old, at once being owed,
and being owned by their own contradicting words of bold

Opposites do attract
Oppositions do want to settle things in a match
Opportunity is open to all hands; just learn early
on how to catch

Passive thought delays passion
Past mistakes tied to the mind, delays you massive
in doing an action

Quiet thoughts are a quiet night of all beautiful stars
Quality is the above all of quantity, when showing
exactly who you are

Rarely do you know your destination at the beginning
Revel in the journey, it's self discovery, and all the
lessons in your proceeding

Somewhat of our being wants to be something
Someone out there has it all, yet feels like nothing

Teeth help frame out a pretty smile
The same of which can frame out a disguise to
tell a pretty lie, once in a while

Under the skin of a sinner, is the skin of guilt felt
Unfortunately the guilt of some is all in vein,
to not have those sins swiftly dealt

Variety isn't always a guarantee of various options
Various people have their varies, but all depending
on various costings

Wailing about life is a life size whale in your mouth
Watch the words you say; you could drown people
with the pointless spit all coming out

X-Ray train your wisdom to see through deceit
Xylophone train your ears to hear the scale of hidden
meanings behind one's proud speech

Young were we all at a time
You yourself are the one to decide the end of your prime

Zero tolerance to those who say you don't matter
Zealous character is in high demand; no matter your
age, ***, upbringing, religion, and personality—you
are here for a reason, and not to be cut off from life
like a cancer

...as from A to Z, we are all special deep in our DNA,
                                                     both you and me

Knitted together by colours,
Thread by all experiences.
And through God's Love needle;

I'm stitched with his image.
Living in a material world;

But in an the after-life,
No longer in its texture.

the tiny flower,
that grows quietly by my window seal-

still has her appeal to live;
as i water her daily,
to keep both her's and my dream.

for even when...

we grow through the toughest of times;
our deepest roots help us survive.

so shall we both grow-
tiny quiet flower; with the strongest of will.

You're only as strong
knowing your greatest weakness
If man knows not what they fight for,
why must he fight at all?

An open palm to aid the people,
closed one to protect things most cherished.

To force another to fight their battles,
shouldn't be as so.
One who cannot fight battles within them,
cannot fight the many more battles outwards.
If man knows not what they fight for,
why must he fight at all?

But if by any chance
one could win a war without fighting
and spilling blood
He'd be a fool not to take it.

One must know the worth
of what they fight for
to truly value it of it's all.

Be it,
family, integrity, ambitions or cause.
One fights with all that he has.
And only gives up
if they no longer have the strength of Lord.