_

My skins are woven in verses; this lyrical matter
I may not blend in everywhere; but it doesn’t matter
Don’t anticipate a fragrance of always being blessed,
I’m not exactly a gift from the skies, or a heaven sent.
  
Even if I’m used, don’t brand me as useless,
just use me less. And if I appear distant from love,
don’t label me heartless, I’m just choosing to use
my heart less…

Constructing barriers along the streets of life
even though I doubt foundations as concrete,
Coming in to complete a sheet of my worth -
still finding the chords; I seem so incomplete.

What are my labels:
lost, confused, hopeless, & odd
But correctly said, "these labels aren't all
I'll be - still I be, yond a star, a beauty nestled
within the clouds, to know I must always look,

Beyond!

Wayfare angel,
Yonder the North Star shining beyond
A divine herald sent from the heavens above.

Oh, this night, a wondrous night unfolds,
A child is born from a pure and holy womb,
In a humble manger, the Saviour lies,
To all ye shepherds and wise men gathered here,
Follow this radiant star, and behold the light of the world.

Arise, ye who dwell in the realm of the living,
Come forth to witness this miraculous dawn,
For a child is born, the Christ,
The Lord of lords; oh, sweet infant,
Your birth and sacrifice hold profound meaning for our world.
Let us worship Him who has come to save us—
Christ, the Lord of lords.

Standing as objects in the mirror – do you still objectify the lessons
of your past, reflected in the rear-view? Words are unnecessary now;
your scars have been reopened – haunting illusions.

Resurrected from the place where you once buried your dreams –
down to earth, yes, yet stripped bare by the relentless erosion of
existence. We rise to the thunderous stillness, questioning our very existence, yet finding no answers in man—responding to the chaos
around us, colliding like two wayward planets in this small world.
One day, we shall encounter familiar strangers, yet it will feel
peculiar to label any of them as friends.

In certain moments, I feel as though I am crossing myself out beneath
the weight of the cross, feeling an emptiness within— "survivor's
guilt"?

No… that guilt placed upon me has been paid already, not by my own
cost – yet for the cost of something more profound. And I willingly
surrender myself to a purpose that transcended death, then to endure
a life filled with trivialities, only to feel nothing until the very end.

                         That profound purpose is… my faith.

We appear to love as captives, shackled by the relentless whispers
of our hearts. The places we seek solace may very well be our final
resting spots; our beds could transform into our tombs. We exist
only as long as He allows, wrapped in blessings and gifts, while
you continue to frolic in this world, surrendering yourself to
become its plaything.

And still, you laugh—gasping for air, straying down a treacherous
path, while within, you weep silently; suffocating as you struggle
for breath… a twisted obsession of despaired wet dreams.

Tell me, in our yearning for mercy, why does it elude us –
for the mercy we long for, why doesn’t our own exist?

To worship life, sadly means  learning how to laugh at your
worth. You present yourself as a lump of sugar, yet your
thoughts are like a lump of coal, consuming you as you stare
into the glow of your phone…

                                        Ah, I pen these lines for my own reflection.

Beyond my current state lies a distance
that feels even more distant than my
aspirations. A day of tranquility lives
solely in our daydreams,
beckoning the fragments of my being
to come back, urging my thoughts to
gather once more.

____

I am the void that lingers between the
stanzas of a flawless poem—words that
falter in their imperfection.
My voice is silent, with so much
to say - a paradox that leaves me frozen;
lingering moments before revealing your
vulnerabilities. Oh, the despair!
My faith lies fragmented and adrift—
these whispered prayers sway back
and forth, yearning to hold significance.

____

Do I hold any significance at all,
composed of the very essence of atoms
colliding in a chaotic dance?
"Dissolved," I melt into nothingness,
like ice under the sun, reshaping into
the visage of any soul that touches me,
flowing like water.

          Alas, I seem to be dead again!

The horses aren't any stable,
as with good wood;-
but he ran out of trojans

Play with the words,
a game of lips and speech.
Given it's direct,
it could be a movie scene.
But given it's more of an act,
I'll just play into it,
Roll under it carelessly rather than to overact.

I'm just bored with my words
aboard that ship,
Thinking me being extra firm
keeps me crisp.
But maybe I'm too much of an air head
as I lay on my time eating a potato chip.
Though if I jumped out of my ship,
I could go for a little dip.

But I guess when you swim too long,
you're soon to sink.
Swimming too long becomes a drain,
Like when I fall over myself,
when I take life as a trip.
But I do wonder if I'm
heading in the right direction.
But excuse for me changing the very topic,
I just hope to drift from it, always on floatation.

Still I'm thinking way too unstable
while trying to have a little fun.
But pardon my horseplay, my mind
isn't to stable.
But I'll just go figure the destination,
pay for that cargo of my thoughts by a waybill.

"You lack a vision for your life,"
"You are drowning in your own ambitions,"
"Do you genuinely believe you will succeed?"
"I cannot see you going that far in this journey,"

"Is this truly your purpose?"

Careful of your words, for I may cast you
As an antagonist in one of my countless stories,
Being a narrative, the WHOLE world shall see –
For I am a Writer!

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?

SKINS made of wires;
as I ponder the essence of existence
amidst a symphony of aired out thoughts –
a diet of wind chimes echoing in my mind.

Ideas resonate within me,
drifting throughout the atmosphere;
sunbathing selfies, even when fragments
of my heart are encased in frost.
Tears, fierce as hurricane winds;
my aspirations gathering the courage
to ascend like a bird test driving its
newfound wings.

These wire-like skins signify my quest
to intertwine with the current of an
electrifying love – the Almighty above
knows that we all begin to fall in love
when we feel that initial spark.

That love spark!

My girlfriend turned to me, her eyes searching for clarity.
“When we first crossed paths, we were nothing but good friends.
Do we still share that bond, that genuine care for one another as true
friends do?”

With conviction, I replied,
             “Absolutely, yes.”

She paused, her expression shifting as she continued,
“Then perhaps it’s best we remain just friends. Even without the
romance, I could never bear to lose the precious connection we
forged at the beginning.

                                                                AS FRIENDS.”

_

In a fleeting moment
when one holds onto a rock,
they feel so invincible...

Yet, if one holds fiercely to their pride,
surely their emotional intelligence
is all but invisible?

                               Invisibly invincible.

You are the blossom flourishing within the confines of my heart's
garden – my unwavering anchor amidst the tempest of turmoil;
a guiding light that directs my gaze toward the distant end of this
dark passage.

I am but a letter resting at your final resting place, bearing secrets
that will guide you to paradise – I murmur your name with every
tear that falls for you in the place of my dreams; in the whispers
of the wind, the gentle caress of rain, and even in the desolation
of the moments we are separated.

Beloved, you are my heart's desire.

The atmosphere surrounding us after our first kiss, felt so heavy —
Her energy is thick, her smile is as smooth as the finest silk,
The desire of her eyes burns me, peering deeply into my eyes.

I'm blind in love...

Yet, I still hope to see our future together —
I hoped as much, but that hope has become a past pleasure;
I still treasure those dear moments we shared: it was fun to smile,
A joy to love, and a dream being lost in that enchanting fantasy,
Of hoping patiently, someone could be your potential future wife.

I'm no longer blind in love...

For she helped me find a piece of myself, reshaping the rhythm —
Of my heart, to remind me that I never once lost its spark,
Oh, the joy of having loved, the sorrow of having lost;
But the greatest gain, was holding onto the feeling of love itself.

Thank you, for it was you who opened my eyes!

I may be patient, but nothing close to love sick –
Mind my twisted thoughts, to the twist of my hand;
The handy character, still carrying their tender wrist –

My heart beats true, to the beat of being so tender –
But it’s so hard, learning to love those I long to hate,
And I always ask myself, “can I really do all of this”

Yet, I don’t expect the purest of love from a heart –
A wicked place; a hollow that can pompously say,
“I love you,” with deceitful lips.

Actions speak louder than words; as your actions
All carry their own intentions, that you choose not
To whisper them all – only the heart knows!

A party of my mind,
plugged in.
Closed curtains, echoes inside,
in my room private dancing.
For the past ten,
minutes I've been lip syncing
Once again
my gritty voice attempts at singing.

Is the door shut,
still up in these late hours.
Don't intend to cause my parents a fuss.
Singing in the dark,
dancing with my many shadows
These four walls of house
are a crowd. Surfing on music in a wave.
Don't know when I'll go to bed,
the sleep lately hasn't been my friend.

Plugged in,
volume up, bleeding my ears.
Deep playlist causes a flood of tears.

But as I'm listening,
something becomes a turn off
Music I hear isn't as loud.
Playing inside of one ear,
the other side without a sound.
Another pair of earphones,
no longer work.
Can't listen to music in private,
now, that's the worst.

Without my music,
left to listen to my thoughts
Problem is they have me thinking I'm alone.

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.

But if I cannot place my faith in love,
how can I trust in myself?

But you can’t spell the word Love
without experiencing an L, pursing it.

As we adorn our hearts with L plates;
forever students in the school of love.

Every first kiss is like a cup of yeast;
raising our hopes for what is to come.

Yet, to yearn for more while offering
less in a relationship, is merely a recipe
for disappointment – a yeast infection.

There’s an imbalance when it comes to
your love life…

Bent butterfly wings, a tepid moment;- waiting, craving,
as the yearning burns for the poet who lit a joint.
Burning so brightly was a passion, it burnt all night—
as like a taste of words, so forgotten in the lips of those
that I had kissed long before.

Still, it’s as dead as the scent of old gravestones- in
the blood of their veins, that feels like the suicidal
resting in pain. For I had buried my heart in a place,
-since life points out moments of feeling worthless,
my pen becomes pointless; - This poet is like a loner,
writing only for himself, like warmish water- that you
can only bare for a moment. Alas, I don’t deserve to be
called a poet; for right now that poet feels so hopeless.

               I can’t soar any higher; my wings are bent.

Tell me,
what do you choose to live by –
Life’s script, or by Scripture?

A larger friendship circle: the terror of making yourself new friends,
looms larger when it feels you’re just making yourself new problems.
It’s haunting to hear others revel in tales of passion, people
boasting about making love, but never mentions on making up.

Ah, the daily charade of donning a flawless smile – the reluctant
application of makeup. And here’s the most piercing question in the
air heavy: “When was the last time you felt a gentle touch?”

The deafening silence that responds back, “Does the touch of
sadness still count?”

Fear not, dear child – you have blossomed into adulthood, you’re all
grown up, and have grown enough to know how to count. Count on
knowing things WILL one day work out. Stop yourself from counting
yourself out…

                                  A personal mantra I whisper to myself.

Mountains high,
dreams once resting on the peaks.
Too fast asleep,
in this wake of chaotic peace.
How much so,
must I love to contradict?

Winds blow together,
tickling underneath my feet
Brushed away in thought,
deep enough to sweep.
Taking a risk,
to stand by the edge.
If I fall before hitting the ground,
will I somehow be dead?

Where do I even stand?

By the ledge of a mountain,
I'm soon too drop.
The high tensions that built this rock,
are all the things I've lost.

A Lover, a friend, reasons,
many things closet to my heart
But down as I am,
I need to stay strong

Before I even drop.

It feels so great that We met –
Even despite we’ve come now to
Meet in a place of found Regret;
Today is the day that you finally left

That scent you left, is your Skin’s
Bloom of morning Flowers – where
We rest, is a Place you left a piece
Of your Rose

My heart still Stops at every Roadblock
Where our love was a crime of Two stolen
Hearts – in a place of liking, became a Crush
In place of a crush became that first Rush
In place of that first rush was the word Love
And in place of love, is regrettably Loss –

You are long-gone, Long-distance relationships –
Do they really work; when you’re Gone to study
Abroad, and I’m just a Local still looking for
A decent paying job.
            
Love with the right person BUT the wrong time.

She’s sweeter than a grapevine – she only whines around flavours
of great wine. Her body is feminine divine; you could title her
as a song – still too hard to define. Would I deny, the place she
lingers, in the thoughts of an artist’s ***** mind?

But maybe I’m just too down to earth – less than down bad, but
searching deep to hold your flower at a hand’s worth. Right next
to me, the heat of your body gives out such warmth. And in place
of new words, ones I never shared with old girls – your sweet
honey lips make mine appear as bees, that have you swarmed.

Alley hearts; we're two pieces of love on such a narrow path. I should
narrow it down; the many times I seen your tears running down your
cheeks, as if life was running you a bath. But I have you by the hand,
to walk into the future, with the past’s lessons and where love began.

The journey begins right here!

Gas chambers,
Puffing on a breath of exhale.
Heavy lungs made of black acres.
Ashy gases surely want to do me the betrayal.

Pulling ******* a heavy gas,
High time smokers annoy me the most.
Puffing hard, pulling strong and then pass.

Burning a couple papers
Cigarette's ashy body holds no hope nor does me any favors.

Inhale a little more,
Lungs feel heavy, enough to carry the weight of the world.
A blanket of black smoke easily covers my deepest core.

Lit cigarette,
Smoke it well to fill these lungs with regret.

Except, I'm not the smoker in this story.
Heavy lungs of cigarette's air feels highly predatory.

Heavy lungs, Heavy lungs, it's a heavy heart.
Left myself from buying at the corner mart.
Just to walk out of the store to at least feel smart.

Darkest places I know,
the corner end of my soul
Depression, anxiety and fears
is all I even known.
Amongst all peers,
the loudest kid in the silence of being alone.
Guess I was on my own,
with these negative feelings I own.

It's a dark place
that shadows have another.
Growing up, not shown
how to fight my demons by my father.
Seemed foolish for loving everybody,
giving all I had and I am.
Tell me is that why I feel like Mr Nobody?

There's a dark place,
much darker than the empty nights
Beyond death or feeling alive,
not even safer to be inside.

Your greatest enemy,
is all the thoughts on your mind.
I've only seen the brim of light
as the shadow left behind.
Friends,
are people I feel don't know me,
they must ignore me.
Those who overlook me,
but I know it's really just me.
For all the problems I have,
I tend not to see.

All the dark places I've made
the foreshadows forming out my brain.
Never one to be plain,
but also the one who wasn't the same.
Out of the bunch,
the dark kid with a light heart.

Just like art,
by the tormented artist's craft.
I seem to be raised in the dark,
the dark is really just my past.

There's a story in my head, of a guy I'd like to call Joey. I don't know Joey that much, he's always been like a stranger. A stranger who happened to ask me to loan him a dollar. And somehow that meant we were now best friends,—and like all best friends, they start to invite you into every part of their life.

He invited me to his rehab sessions, those talks about his drug abuse. He invited me to his birthday party, a party of so few people. He invited me to get his haircut, which he desperately needed. He invited me to his first job interview, seeking moral support and encouragement.

As I reflected on everything that had transpired, I couldn't help but think, "all of this because I loaned him a dollar."

He invited me to his celebration of working for a full year, knowing that he had struggled to maintain employment in the past. He invited me on his church searching journey, never pausing to inquire about my own beliefs or religious inclinations. He invited me to accompany him on his first date, although all I did was drop him off at the restaurant.

And still, I couldn't help but ponder, "all of this because I loaned him a dollar."

He extended an invitation for me to join him in celebrating his first promotion after two years of hard work. He invited me to accompany him on his first business trip, assuming I would readily accept the idea of traveling with someone I barely knew. He even invited me to the hospital to bid farewell to his dying mother, whose battle with cancer had taken its toll. And of course, I was invited to attend her funeral, where I silently promised myself to remain strong and composed.

Amidst it all, I found myself repeating, "all of this because I loaned him a dollar."

He invited me over to share in his sorrow following the devastating break-up with the woman he loved, even though I couldn't fully empathize with his pain. He invited me back to his rehab sessions, sadly revealing that he had relapsed. He invited me to the hospital when a doctor called to inform me that he had attempted to take his own life. Upon his discharge, he invited me to his home, where I watched and supported him throughout his journey of recovery. And when he lost his job, he invited me out for drinks, though I wound up footing the bill.

Inevitably, I couldn't help but contemplate, "all of this because I loaned him a dollar."

Ultimately, he invited me to what would be his final event—his funeral. The demons that haunted him had ultimately taken hold, or so I was told. And there I stood, delivering his eulogy, my words resonating with genuine emotion and heartfelt sentiment.

I spoke of how I had unexpectedly become intertwined in this man's life—a relationship that began with two strangers. I recounted how I had been there for him in virtually every significant moment and milestone. And as a single tear escaped my eye, the overarching sentiment was clear: "I became a part of this stranger's life, all because I loaned him a dollar."

Darling, you are the trail of salty cheeks and all the sin that reeks.
You cried after your very first kiss—the kind that tasted like lies,
the kind that convinced you it might last. But lust? Lust is just
deceit in disguise— a beautiful trick of the mouth. You tried to
overstep the world, but stubbed your toe against life’s edge,
pushing harder than you were ever meant to move. And still,
no matter how many nightmares rip through your sleep, the
bed stays soft. And indifferent.

You wrapped all your dreams in an old cloth, thinking maybe
passion—true passion—could burn hotter than any of them. Your
love is precious, nearly pure. But the purest intent rarely carries
you far. It only cuts deeper. And the purest scars are always the
ones left by trying to love right— and too hard.

The days vanish too quickly beneath passion’s flame. The lame
try to stand tall. The insomniac finds the courage to dream again.
And I— I wear my faith like a badge, only to have it thrown back
in my face.

Still, we do what we must. We put on that brave face. We face
the morning. We press on. Because that’s what love leaves behind—
something unfinished, something heavy, something we wear like
the skin on our face.

Count the years, last I had a girlfriend –
not the same count since I last kissed a girl
but I could name the bunch I kissed (not a lot)
no grand numbers to express a body count;
though I’VE met a lot of people, but still haven’t
been around. Cried a little more this year, then what
I plan to begin with every year – tasted a drop of lust,
swallowed every piece of a tear (cut my tongue)
acted worse than my young- ****** up (a lot)

Thought of suicide more times than the reasons I had to
**** myself- did a bit of exercise for about a month
not for my health; my stomach was sticking out.
Fed myself a taste of lips, lost my tongue in the sound
of their hiss, got to hold onto someone’s hips- still never
found the appeal of calling a girl your ***** (isn’t that
an ick)

Been called out by those whose ears could never hear
a ring; tried to delete my Google when I though the search
for love was over- now I laugh instead, while using Bing.

I’ve had my full of this year, don’t expect me to be hopeful
for the next, I’ll just take it all as it is. Even if I don’t have all
that it takes, I hope I never lose what it takes to give…
my heart.

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.

if I swallowed a piece of fire to light up these lungs, and spoke life
into another’s life with the fire in these words; how wonderful would
that be? even now as I am – the echo of bones waiting to grow old;
feeling like the silence of an empty channel in a car radio – my heart
is often static when it rubs against another; in these electrifying
feelings of love

and much like a tyre running a track – sometimes I need to find a
place to rest, to try and reinflate myself. my lips have become a
clutch, of knowing when to shift conversations when they start to feel
a bit too awkward for me. and my means of a first impression, is one
to impress well enough for them to say, “that’s a man who I deserve,”
yet ironically, I can sing how beautiful I am, feeling so ugly inside –
and hoping I never lose myself to myself

still, look at me, I am unique – such words I must speak for a piece of
peace; knowing that I’m sometimes torn, yet I wear the attire of my
heart. being distant in the humming silence, praying for a mindful
heart, to remember what’s it beating for. for even in the less of myself,
I was created, to be more.

My biggest fear:

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

Tucked away smile;
biting cheek, and a little cheeky gaze

"we can still be friends"
he bravely chose to say

Benefitting mostly from your company,
just to have somebody, but not a someone
just to have something, but from it nothing...

.

Them: How do you know that you've finally gotten over your ex?

Me: When the drunk version of me laughed at the idea of texting them
late at night!

I'm happy
burning fiery joy in a chest
Light hearted; ready for the day
"bring on the pain," we only grow through hurt
Human nature is a rose;— sometimes sharp words
of our heart's thorns.

Growing pains through the sores,
"I love the hurt," to feel my worth
a jewel indeed, jubilant as any could believe
Filled with glee, and like a tree blowing carelessly
in the wind —I feel free, and so happy to be free

As the sun rising; feeling on top of the world
kissing summer for her pretty girl
My smiles are bright; outside, outside, out side
out sigh— sigh, here comes the night



...setting day,
I'm upset, "I don't know why"
my heavy eyes, without a load of reason to cry

starring at a wall,
the curtains creeping cracks, excessively
kicked to the side, now it's kicking in; my OCD

everybody hates me,
..I hate myself, corrections to say I underrate myself
overrate my existence,— feel like a disappointment of a Christian



Ugh, growl, and a bark
my mind is stuck, angry and frustrated
What the duck! Flying words, and saying
a few foul words. I'm ******, but *******
by the wrong tree. Tried to mark my territory
warning myself in the shouting silent voices,
     "they should fear my bite over the unheard bark"

Nobody is listening, only the fiery demons poking
the fireplace of my anger. Life is an unbalance to find balance
No-one explained the rules, no-one gave me the chances or
explained the answers. I'm being tested; ****** are
testosterone filled. Ugh, clicking my fingers, clenching
jaw and fists. To many outward thoughts, might not breath in.
                   "about to explode in this imploding anger poking"

Eyes rolled back; cocking back my words
About to shoot down heaven with some harsh speak
A prayers afterwards, without feeling any peace
I'm pisssed, I'm ******, I'm ******; please don't try a
piece of me. Piece me together as a parton of war,
physics of battle, guns and aiming to blow
            "so **** angry, but not enough words"


But wait, I'll be happy by the morning.

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”

Our fresh starts are merely ancient tales played out in new
roles… Drop me off at the edge of time— with the subtle
notes to the steps of love; alas, it's only a footnote. Bearing
heavy thoughts as the wearer of this crown— wear me
down; preoccupied with the relentless question of,
'where do we stand now?'

Torn in two; we are the wounds that stitched us together,
only to fall in love. I'm still scarred, only this time I chose to
bring it all on myself. Sympathized symphonies— where
all these falling tears don't fall from your eyes, but from
the heavens crying out at night.

Though time grows wise the longer it runs; why do I persist
on chasing time, as if there exists a finish line... In hopes that
loving you would grant me wisdom on how to love you better;
spending more time in this chase - or how the story goes.

The boy who chases after a wife, often neglects to transform
the title to HIS wife. Fresh starts that are merely ancient tales
played out in new roles. But who really owns up to their role
at all?

My love for you is a mile
a journey
a long road
an odyssey
an adventure
but I'm yet to find
the footing
the first step
of telling you
"I like you"

And,

As is the assumption for more to follow,
To compliment myself with a comma,

And?

Who expects more of me in the larger world?
Perhaps as it's addition to their cause?

And!

I exclaim to those demanding me of more!
Aren't I enough! As enough as the very word!

And...

I'll omit my contribution of...
Why even finish the sentence if all parts of myself aren't...

And:

I then quote: They want more of who we are,
but as just a word demanding more.
                                                         :End quote.


And,
be it more of me,
and that possibility,
I'll go on to find it on my own.

From the ***** where a child is fed – the essence of their identity
woven by what a father has said; I carry the faith of my mother,
often shadowed by my father's scepticism. I find myself gazing into
the reflective gaze of a taxi driver, contemplating the tapestry of my
past—insecurities gnawing at my resolve as clasped hands rest in the
back seat. I catch fleeting glimpses of my youthful, innocent laughter
—frozen in time, a testament to pure love captured in a photograph;
a reminder of the paths we trod in pursuit of our dreams.

My creator had named me a rare and radiant pearl, a pearl growing
in the oyster womb of a mother — His love mirrored in that precious
gem as I navigate a crowded life, where strangers step on your toes.

Upon my shoulders, the weight of the world is not meant to rest—
where attempts to quench my thirst yield only the bitterness of ash.
Yet, the fire of my aspirations flickers brightly in my gaze—do I dare
to pursue love with courage?

Indeed, that spark ignites into a flame, and that flame transforms
into an all-consuming love— His love, an all-consuming love.

                                                        ­I am loved.

But is dying merely a rebirth within the echoes
Of another's memory, in another's mind
Forever lingering in another’s heart –
Being this forever last touch?

Death, is far from silent, loudly resonating
Within the echoing tears of the living,
Not so cold; those cherished memories
Of you, ignites smiles that envelop us in warmth.

Though, as much as we know you now
We realize we never truly knew you at all!
Even in death, the narrative of your once
Existence, is living in another’s memories –
As a depth far beyond what we could even hold.

Shadows of formless flames –
silhouettes piercing my vision, through their gaze
of a relentless light. A horn of fire in my hand, I feel the
gusts of smoke-laden, blowing away my once air
filled lungs.

Tender lips brush against my heart,
awakening the remnants of darkness and chill; my spirit
resembles a mere lump of coal. I am the embodiment of love,
inspired by someone else’s dream. I toss a handful of coins
into life's faulty machine—yet another excuse to invest in
faulty dreams.

Battles yield no victors, when wars try to be won
by other wars; love cannot nourish itself if both souls
stand with open arms; one must yield; to surrender —
for even in doing nothing, lies a semblance of peace.

Individual actions act as a lifeline for those around us—
who never know how to love. The flames have scorched
my flesh, leaving blisters, woven into pain— nurse me
with the balm of patience, as every old man confronts
the inevitability of death. The question that haunts us all
is,

when?

Soulless bound
Caught in the world yet still lost and found.

Lord almighty tells me not to envy
Yet still other people's high fortunes leaves my heart down and heavy.

Soulless bound.
Caught in a world of trouble.
Of a long need amongst my cries of pleas.
Tripping on missteps to fall and tumble.

With my people inside singing
I was young outside probably dreaming,
While the world was scheming
As we to find a social healing.

O'lord  that idea was so misleading.

Soudless bound
Where good trouble lies.
Amongst all the disgust I taste in the air brought forth from the thousands of flies.

In the cold corners of my heart
With the many fallen pieces from each falling apart.

Who says my creative torture couldn't be a work of art.

And my days feel longer and longer
But my own strength to make it through grows less stronger and stronger.

Upside down smiles to bare a frowner.

Where my good trouble lies I wish to be there to rest.
Say I be depressed

I know it's my fault
But hear me trying to find a way out.

Say it be
That's it's all a dream not of me.

But we,
So **** blind to see.

Smiling so bright but only on small ounces of glee.

So I ask, where good trouble lies pull me there a little closer.

Do I feel that down, probably yes but really I don't know Sir.

these tears welling up in my eyes, seem to rise up like yeast –
fluctuating changes accordingly to life circumstances; the circumference
of love appears diminished, hiding deep within the confines of a
bottle. that sanctuary of liquid comfort –
                                           a quiet solace, in a fleeting
sense of bravado that comes with embracing an intoxicating high.

bred amidst the layers of plump cushions of anxiety and worry –
here again, those tears once again threaten to surface like yeast, but
a persistent sense of restraint lingers. a barrier obstructs the natural
flow of my tears –

                                                  a yeast infection!

I loved you, you loved me – as our hearts danced in unison;
and when we broke up, I broke a piece of myself forever tethered to
you – where I languished in the seat of butterflies caught in the nets
of my being; now, each passing day, I find myself sinking deeper into
the embrace of that couch.

I thought as much, yet no essence of our love could ever truly be
lost – even in the absence of what we once shared, the echoes of our
past fill me with a bittersweet pride. For you rekindled within me the
essence of love, the warmth of trust, the joy of spontaneous laughter,
the blush ignited by a mere text – not merely crafting imaginary
verses, but living the poetry woven into every word exchanged.

I thought as much, like a relentless storm, yet I have emerged
stronger than the facade I wore in my youth. And for that, I owe you
a debt of gratitude, for you have nurtured a part of me that has a
reason to grow up.

            It never was break up, I just had to grow up!

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!

At level best; degress, it's a little more stress
Swallowed my words into an opinionated self digest
Throwing out my heart, throwing pride off my chest
I'm about to throw up—ugh I'm so depressed

My usual visual suicide; thoughts about dying young
I could never afford the cost, from the tears of my mom
And the fears of my dad thinking he never did enough
Searching deep in my insides, for the guts to commit
to that first cut. My fingers ticking from anxiety;
at random times of a pendulum clock
Swinging, and swinging, in deep thoughts swimming
And I wasn't that holy type; not as much as my mom
—unless you consider the holes in my socks
Social degenerate; a little too generous: careless giving
Seasoned professional of a winter heart, with a homely
fire place of love

But let me check my mental state,
Territory of all my made up states,
Stating an expression of his face; or so he said
So many questions on my mental state:

How is your mental state,
             "oh not so great"

Thinking about suicide today,
 "yeah; it's basically everyday"

Do you trust yourself around a knife,
  "a sharp pen makes me think twice"

Did their joking words hurt you again,
    "always; especially my close friends"

Is it all green emeralds, or a pink diamond life,
         "just the envy, and blushing over suicide"

Had you cut yourself at least once before,
"close I got, was scraping myself with a
                                bathroom stone"

Yeah that's not right...

But the words cut me to explain this pain,
I have a ****** tongue; stuck at just another fullstop
Round the corner of a fool's stop; perhaps on the run
Heading nowhere, from places I never knew I'd come
—to these terms of agreement; writing realistically
of feeling fearless. Might of misjudged my feelings

Drinking over until the night is over,
Alcohol bravery to say things I can never say being sober
At home going all out with friends; woke up naked in my bed
Couldn't remember a thing, still it feels good to pretend.
Prayed a hot sweat; couldn't asked for forgiveness out of breath
Not as good as having ***—I wouldn't know how, trying to explain
those kind of past events. Still it feels good to pretend

Lord don't save me from myself,
Save those around me, from dealing with another
version of myself. My secret multiple personality traits
                                  ...Jesus; forgive my mental state

Impromptu,
Finding many answers in few scriptures.
"Do as you told", by a world's control.
"Don't stray from the crowd", I were told. "Stay on target if you wish to reach a goal".

Blood pressure is rising. Where to.
Breaking through scales, passed the limits. Hoping for some Love to come through.

Liars lie in between the sheets.  It's a roose.
An already lost game with people who refuse to lose.

It's abuse.

Perusing through channels of regret with a glitchy remote,
Stuck on old memories I'd hate to stay by as a resort.

Motion pictures, showing  scenes of my life I'd  hate to lose.
I'd  hate my next steps to lead me to a life led by the *****.

Why though, be populating unpopulated areas of all hate, less Love.
While the last time feels like the first I once fell in love.

Still the many questions of what may be TRUE Love, rather than us teens smash  and pass.
I'd long for the real, that would last.  Alas.

Impromptu. Make up these words as they randomly come.
Life is not always a game but still finding ways to have fun.