inkless
hopeless,
towing a straight line
in a numbness of not knowing what to write
inspiration—like chasing a dream
though it's reality is me resting on a Writer's block street

no peace
no peace
no peace!

on knowing days before
I could write with such ease

In the tender years of my youth, at the age of sixteen, my prayers
soared high, burdened by doubts and fears, I yearned to remain
unseen - I recall the torrents of tears that cascaded when I was
merely ten, for it was in those fleeting moments that I unearthed
my strength within.  

I envisioned a future self, brimming with wisdom by twenty-one,  
a life meticulously charted, a race already won; I dreamt vividly of
a wedding by the age of twenty-three - as a spectacle to impress my
brothers, who loomed like giants to me.  

Once, the shadows were a terror from which I would swiftly flee,  
now they serve as a sanctuary where I sometimes crave to be free.  
I once believed friendship was a vast, bustling expanse, yet I find
solace in the few friendships, where I can truly take a chance.  

And my life remains still unfinished, unfinished as this poem…

You see, I’m naturally an introvert — quiet corners, deep
thoughts, the type to overthink a handshake. But life? Life
keeps putting me on stages, in conversations that feel like
marathons for my soul. So yeah, stepping out as an extrovert?
That’s not performance, that’s survival. A daily challenge
with no dress rehearsal.

I’m a softie — but not the breakable kind. No, this softness?
It’s pressure-cooked from hard times. It knows the weight of
silence, and how to turn pain into patience. I’m not here to
pretend to be hard — I’m here to show that being real is rarer.

Now, let’s talk love. I’m a full-blown lover boy — heart open,
arms wide, playlist ready. But don’t get it twisted — I’m not in
the business of having my love used as someone else’s stepping
stone. I’ve retired from being the emotional charity.

And my smile? Oh, it’s got layers. A whole palette of moods.
Bright for the world, but the darker shades? Those are reserved.
A private gallery. Only for the ones I cherish, the ones who earn
the right to see me unfiltered.

So if you meet me — don’t just notice the calm, or the kindness,
or the charm. Know there’s a storm I’ve already walked through
to be standing this still.

The path of life, has endless battles following;
Feet are in a steady, but their steps can rattle,
In it being tribulations; let yourself seek & find;
Gain new revelations; and the truths you'll find.

To perhaps go searching through ocean's deep;
Sitting and waiting by the edge of life. To then,

                                 Take a leap
                                        ....
         ­                               ....
                         ­               ....

All spirits long to seek; further than it's flesh,
Deeply in those questions; without the answers,
Ending physical form, beginning spiritual quests.

Always stuck inside a world
******* me over; loves
to fornicate
The mouths with nothing better
to say; just words forming hate
And their eyes filled with ******
violence; it's always focused hate

As I was close to meeting death's deadline,
not even given two weeks notice
They assumed I was too weak to notice
as the smell of death was red, like a
resting bed of roses; in a garden
grave I lay
But maybe nowadays I'd be seeing songs
about how graves turn into gardens
Still it's grave for me to say, I'm still on
that path of feeling saved
As I could probably count all my prayers,
and dig up that dusty Holy text in my drawer
that's like the book's final grave

I figure that the figures counting
out another day
Are what we figure gives us a little
hope of being figures to this world,
That still live to see tomorrow by
heaven's sake

Falling in love with you was not my intention,
Longing for someone like you couldn't come so soon.
A broken heart is just another lesson.
I guess I was never one who could learn his lesson,
Fell in love so many times to even count
But this time I hope love doesn't cut my heart out.

I'm in love,  O'yes indeed but not like these others times.
Quite strange isn't it, how new love always makes  our hearts the brightest of all shines.
Funny how love looks so old but feels so brand new,
And these strange feelings making me feel like this had to come, but I cannot stop them,  if only I knew.

Perhaps my heart wants what the mind says I cannot have,
But choosing who we fall in love with can never be done.
But then again I always found that's what makes love so much fun.
How love can be our strength and our greatest drug,
All the feelings and emotions all out for display can't be hidden,  not even under a rug.

So I've fallen in love once again as many times as I can even count,
Love indeed is the strangest thing I know.
But we all can't buy love we cannot afford this amount,
And even though I always try to run away from this love you always seem to find me,
In all the places I try to hide.
But I honestly I  don't think love is blind because lovers is always something you always see.

All of the misplaced places,
I can't help but misplace your name
As falling in love is almost as painful
as all of those times, falling from grace
At times saying a loud those lovely prayers,
as I'm hoping to give my thanks, saying my grace.

But as if I only wash my hands after,
these full meals of food for thought, is all awkward
As when you only get a joke late at night, with random laughter
I'm liken as a fool who smiles in the middle of the night,
in their bed and miniscule covering,
I still find it warms my heart, thinking about you
and treasuring a day with you, as if it were my only belonging.

But love honestly has to be something so funny;
I'm constantly laughing at myself
As we've all felt a little drunk on our very first love,
sipping on the smiles of its ****** mi tia
But of course you shake me up, till the recipe of
a disaster shakes away the ice cubes of my heart
My tears for you, are like syrup and concentrated upon
how I feel,— I hope you can ******* love.

I met the edge of death – her blade slicing through my very
skin; cutting me into pieces; a piece of me died inside, haunting
my dreams like a spectre. My bucket of tears had run dry, in
a futile attempt to fill this glass bottle of forever, though it remains
a daydream.

Pop a cherry, somehow the shattering of innocence – levitating
in a bubble of love, praying to God it doesn't pop. I lived the
omnipotent experience, danced with the spectre of death, a cruel
and merciless partner in this dark waltz.  While the heart sleeps,
my brain still thinks – I lament the vision of a nobler self, confined
to the realm of my dreams.

In my quest for paradise, I only discovered the relentless paradigm
of a life wrestling all time left on its mind. I was once a love warrior;
now merely a worrier of love – the winds of my spirit propel the
arrow of my aspirations, yet I still falter in my aim.

As your brows furrow, rising to confront the shadows of doubt,
I reflect on a life marred by fear, despair, and unfulfilled affection…
yet, we may die inside tonight, just to live tomorrow!

Tell me, would it be of wrong to have but an intelligent conversation with I myself.
Perhaps such of world standards you speak of a deteriorating of my own health.

And excuses to say, these are probably the many thoughts of Mind
Yet surely, with such open eyes I fall Blind.

From the deepest minds I told the many of white lies. To then a point   leaving a stain.
Despite though that of a different standard of the world's idea I stated aloud would place I insane.

Such though varies an empty space  trying to be a bit of full
And in the life of such my brain, I pick what I would use rightly as my next tool.
But yet. Am I the full box to have the rightful words to pick
Rather lately the words I've said left a density in the air. Rather too thick.

But I'm not a suspect to the prey that I'm  always seen upon a confused man .
I lack such words to place the understanding in you. Yet let I not be mistaken to no such a plan.

For I speak to self for some days I be the Intellectual Conversate
The words of my very tongue few, but thoughts of brain fill up such my plate.

So yes, I may be mistaken to be of the cousin of Insanity of the brainless  one .
But give me that of choice  to speak of what's my mind and shall I then do you such no harm.

Be of this my mind. Rather the deeps of something inside
A word of intelligence but shall not it be of my fallen pride.

Cuts of grass
leaves in the wind
   a moment to be free

Breathe, heavy sigh
a corpse of time
   death but long slept eyes

Oversharing life on feeds
overshadow foreshadowing needs
    it will all end in the usual tears

A love for I—selfish
a love undeserving—relish
   loving honestly, what is a blemish

Feast your eyes on food for thought
and with sweet nothings sought
   afterwards do keep their word

Life is a written poem
a river of those words flowing
  to know where we are, to keep on going

It’s like you plan to feed yourself with time
but never take any seconds. And I swear —
you could hear me second-guessing
myself over a plate full of food for thought,
just trying to feed a little of my ego. And it takes
a while to finish expressing myself — so let me take
the express train on any passing train of thought.
Cos it’s a full course — learning how to be well fed
in a world where everyone’s trying to make bread
while praying for that daily bread.

A man does all that he can for himself, before he
even says Amen! And all men are expected
to have themselves in order — but never given
the time of day to order the meal that fills their worth.
Because most of that time gets spent spending on
somebody else’s worth.

And sometimes, I wonder if it’s really worth it at all.
There’s a man who regrets giving it all to a girl
who became somebody else’s girl…that sentiment,
doesn’t only apply to him giving his all to girls.

—He gave everything to a seemingly self-fulfilled
world! And that meal is always so cold...

My thoughts stagger, trying to carry hopes heavy as heartbeats.
Two lovers, chest to chest, whispering, “let’s talk soul to soul,”
trying to make sense of a love story that hasn’t been written yet
—a heart-to-heart moment, I keep dreaming of.

I tell myself: stay focused. But I’ve been tiptoeing through
daydreams, because chasing love too fast leaves you breathless
when it runs the other way. Cos everyone wants the highs of love,
but no one talks about the problems on the down low — the quiet
exits, the silent tears, the way loneliness can sneak in even when
someone’s lying right beside you.

Maybe it’s a late-night phone call — a sleepy “goodnight, baby”
before the line cuts out. Or a “good morning” text just to fold into
my memory like a note tucked beneath my pillow. Maybe it’s
wanting to tell you everything — not just the good, but the messy
middle parts too. Like you’re both my friend and my fire. Like you’re
the one who fits the empty spaces between the soft notes of this wild
birdsong my thoughts keep singing.

I want that kind of love. But I know relationships get complicated.
And honestly, I don’t miss perfect — I miss partnership. I miss
the “we got this” when life gets heavy, the “I’m here,” even when
we don’t have the answers. It’s not a complicated thing — just
someone to solve life with me. To laugh when things crack. To stay
when the flaws start showing.

I want skin I can breathe in — not just touch. Someone who sees
my silence as depth, not distance. Who holds my flaws like fragile
truths, not defects to be fixed.

But maybe that’s too much to ask. Maybe that kind of love only exists
somewhere between sleep and memory. I’m awake now — and I
don’t want to fall too deep just to find the woman of my dreams.

Oh carry on, or
be carried off by time
Carry your warm heart, or
it will carry a chill in it's spine
All as revenge served on
a cold dish; is dishing out poison
to your own soul

Oh spare yourself the waste, of
sparingly been used as a fool
Working on yourself, or
being worked off as a tool

really you're the one to choose;
choices all dependant on you

Burning,
yearning passionate love
tows, and tows of flame
sparks fly in the sky—I've been too
high to realise I'm still scared of heights
Being too sweetly subtle
and so good to waste time around a belt buckle

Oily hair, and ideas slipping off
a random thought before a thought
Mileage of the tongue speaking covered
and affectionate words
Going around tour on your morals,
floral arrangements in the scent of love
Could be sweet, but bitterly sour
not every pretty sight, is a nice smelling flower

            ...all voices of poetic prowess

Dreaming in colour; but I can't help thinking
in black and white — the anxieties that weigh heavily
on my plate, it's no wonder I occasionally savour
their bitter taste. Why should I rely solely on fate,
when it starts to feel a bit devoid of faith?

And some might argue I let them down, but
what if that low point was my decision to elevate
others — would you still have faith in me, or is
it simply your own fate that keeps me anchored
in this low place?

squeezed into existence by the head – coughing out
my first words, with lungs choked with dust;
a body rhyming; to the rhythm of heartbeats against
a mother’s *****— eyes nourished by the vibrant
hues of this bewildering new realm.

in those nascent moments, my existence began shrouded
in shadows—the tunnel’s end merely a flicker; the stars ached
the skies cried their rain; on that eve, the wind exhaled the
essence of creation into my very skin.

so my skin ignited like a volcano, each limb ablaze with
fervour, the heat layering upon itself—yet still, the tantalizing
urge to step out caressed my feet.

Every sensation was a revelation; each experience felt like
a debut, devouring time as if it were the first taste of life—
longing for love swirling above me, a fire igniting my desire
for a pen, spiralling into infinity, as if it were all happening
for the very first time.

                              ...birth of a poet.

Heavy engines, barely keep down my own weight.
Crooked eyes. What's a world if not being seen anywhere straight.

Fate a blanket covering my insecurities,
Twisted thoughts as the whole world is ******* with me.

Like fools gold it's nothing of worth,
When everything you try to do has nothing of your own labours of work.

Faith is time waiting on something to happen.
Finding a route to the solution without any of the mapping.

Love is game with complicated rules,
Doing loads of work, acting like complete tools.
Love sicken people looking only like fools.

Reality is an arrow to the chest,
A point of what is really happening in the world, leaving your soul distressed.

Like drinking on a drink stronger than chlorine,
Drunk men wishing to wipe the memory of life all away. Completely clean.

Heavy engines, trying to hold down the weight.
What is love without any of the fate.
What is looking at faith when everything seen is constantly not looking straight.

And what is reality without it not making a sharp point through your soul.

Black thoughts of a mind dying out like an old lump of coal.

The ear bends to sound–
as does the ground, to the man
in the weeds; tangled by their doubts.
Wet eyes, as the sea; stained cheeks
I follow an emptiness with the fullness
of hope; to the bending sounds of knees

click, click!

My body starts to feel like wet pavement –
a couple slip ups, for the mind to easily recall
Anxious slow breaths, exhaling and inhaling
I cry out, “I don’t want to do this life anymore”

Taking a moment to clear out that sound,
bending backwards; but why for them, at all
These inner voices, are all so FREAKING loud  

Wait no, my insecure self, is just talking to itself.

Thus, I might find myself falling in love
with the sweetness of a tongue,
the tender expressions that I've never known.
The assurances remain unverified, unvoiced.
I will pour my heart into a symphony of syllables,
but they remain as nothing more than silent echoes,
yearning to be heard.

The tears of yesterday
have become the air of today;
-memories gone in the wind
Maybe you forgot how to breathe
taking so much of yourself out;
-you must of forgot how to take things in

Don't worry- you'll cry a lot,
just to live a little.

Many of these tears passing by
They ain't too shy
Just wishing you goodbye.

Slept well on moonlight kisses
Awoke upon rays of day
Building upon the morning on a few pieces.

Guess I'm feeling a little better today.

Cries so long wishing me near
Like Death's cold kiss, I'd rather lose my own lips.
For the ticking time close to sorrow is that close to fear.

Take a load of life's bitter drink in a couple of her sips.

Life's gunning down on me with hollow bullets
Shells of her heavy shotgun
Till she's fulfilled on my despair but she won't be the fullest.

Guessing still, if I threw myself to the world who would surely catch me
A stylish life but I can't speak that fancy.

Her pretty tears, rivers of waters trying to drown me
Fighting waves of chaos trying my best to at least break free.

Pretty weeper, are you not my pretty little weeper.

Pretty weeper, pretty little weeper
Life don't be a another deceiver.

a sound of loneliness
—the single man in the other room
listening to peer's ***
the heavy eyes of knowing you'll
only see your tears every night
sigh; he's empty, much more than
the room of air and empty thoughts
his comfort is only his words, a lowly
dimmed phone, penning his thoughts
into notes—a sad poem

so unfortunate that he has to start
his new year alone

                             @the sad poet

Emptiness—
filled in the the echoes of loved ones prayers in this void

First a handshake with Death;
a firm grip of arm wrestling between her and Life

A tightening chest, running a marathon of a racing heart
Twas I, chasing after a lost final breath

And drawing a line in the sands of time;
a flatline, revive, and a second try
                
                     "How it feels to die"

She was just a little girl who only wanted the world,
but you were too great to hold on,
So she took her pain and wrote a song.

She was just a child who wanted it all to herself,
but everyone else refused her beauty,
So she looked in the mirror and made herself a cutie.
She entrusted the lies she was told so many times,
but those lies were so unholy to the ear,
That it became her greatest fear.

And see that your the Devil she sees when you tossed her away,
like the cigarette you drained the life out of,
Claiming it was all out of love.
Would you still look at her when all the beauty is lost in her eyes,
when the world has left her bare with only the secrets and lies.

She was a girl left to bleed out while we all watched,
we seen nothing in her but just a pile of rags full of pity.
But I remember when she was so pretty.

So shall I pass her by like you do,
Or shall I be the one to show her love like the many few.

The solid dreams on a liquid mind,
My sober thoughts captive me into change
I'm no far better than my past self, and my current
self grows jealous of it's future self
Still,- I'd like the in between of my life,
To find the very peace of mind, to piece together
the achievements I hope for:

1. To build my life on a better foundation;
as found on the steps of what it takes to start afresh

2. To work at a better job, while I get to use
such that are my talents
Whether employed or self employed;
clearing all my deafening debts, and always the
dream of my poetry being published.

I'm ready to start self publishing my work.

3. I want to take better care of my parents,
and be able to get them on medical aid, and a
funeral policy and in a good old age home. For from
the life that they gave me, a fulfilling life for them is
what I will return.


4. I want to find my partner that will one day be my wife.
But I want to be the right person for the right person I need.
For we seek often many times something we do not have.
Still find that still unfound, and wait as it attracts
what you need.

The blessings of peace, are of course
written in these comforting words.
And to all, I speak a blessing of peace to you.

|a raised prophet but without a million, a steel heart
easy for the stealing|

|a t-shirt stain of a tattooed wrinkled affair, a preferred
only of what his Mistress wears|

|and a sin of flesh, as that of both seem not to care
a joyous celebration of knowing its an affair|

Darling you a candy store, you a candy store,
And sometimes feel insecure, I feel insecure,
But I want you more, yes I want you more.
And you make me cry again, you make me cry again,
So I have to dry my eyes once more ,
Because darling you a perfect ten, yes a perfect ten.

You are shining star, yes that's who you are,
Your a happy dream, yes a happy dream, take my heart so far.
And I'll love you more, make you feel secure,
Hold you close to me, feel your heart with richness so you never poor, no you never poor.

And you are a shooting star, lighting up my skies like a colour dream,
So come sit right next to me, we'll both pray up to him.
And will lose the time, but I'm glad you mine,
You make my heart feel more than fine..

So I bless you now, let Lord the bless you now,
May he count your days just to add more  time, never have to ask him how.
Because I  love you like this, yes love you like this,
And surely your the first one I miss, the first one I miss....

Life,
the black and white feature.
No grey lines between,
seems to be a set picture
The grey is what we force within.

Life,
a roulette of choices
Revolving days in a revolver gun,
tormented by many voices
Those wishing us to be down.

Life,
a hanging force of time
Ticks away at us, and soon to tock
no easy directions, neither a sign  
Yet we haven't come to be lost.

The life within
is guided by life above
As will it seem,
many are guided by love.
But never forget the love that is the man up above.

Skipping stones, and skipping rope
while skipping past all the cringy memories
All from the days of skipping a few classes,
sometimes skipping ahead in movies to the exciting scenes
As all the time feels like it's skipping away at the pace of
these days,

—Death in the end, has nobody in this life to skip

Self aware,
seems the site of you can force a stare.
Life ain't too fair,
searching for love,
Haven't found you anywhere.
I'm much to square,
trapped in my own box.

How to be in love,
must be like falling from above
Those hitting ground, falling in love,
hold down your words, hold onto your heart.

Must I say,
the feeling grows old like yesterday.
So into play,
acting out what seems to stay.
Feelings of today,
are moments I want to treasure

Love has much pressure,
can't rest for love, nor find time for leisure.
I guess for love, I'm just a stranger.

Still can we meet,
though it feels Heavens away.
It would be heavenly nice
if love and I could finally meet one day.

Feeling imperfect, I am constantly striving to perfect the
way I look into your captivating eyes. It's like skipping
rocks on the symphony of tears that sometimes grace your eyes,
patiently waiting for the melody of your beauty to
reverberate back in the echoes of your love.
Your essence envelopes me like a sanctuary of celestial beings
each time our lips meet in a kiss. The moment you lashed out at
me with a bat aimed at my knees, I found myself unable to bat an
eye, at the sudden weakness that overcame them.

Our love story isn't the picture-perfect fairy tale, but nevertheless,
let's endeavor to make it extraordinary. Whenever weariness
overtakes you, I will be the place where you can seek solace and
reprieve. Even in the wetness of our shared kisses, there is
a power that could extinguish flames, yet not the passionate fire
that blazes fervently in the silent yearnings of our intertwined hearts.
And when we do dare to verbalize these desires, our words
take on the cryptic language of love, whispered in the secret
lexicon of our shared passion. Embracing each other, the space
between us is transformed into a warm cocoon of affection.

Struggling to contain myself, clutching onto the tautness of
my pants, these garments serve as a vessel to bring vitality to
the depths of your being. With every fiber of my being,
I seek to erase any remnants of you from all fabrics, so that I
may intimately discover you within the confines of your very pores.

Sing to me that serenade of love, a melody tailored for our
intertwined souls. Even if the lyrics slip from my memory,
the everlasting chorus echoes loud and clear, proclaiming,
"My darling, I am profoundly in love with you."

I guess now, the night we met is just a memory—
    a self-portrait without ****** features,
Only streaks where tears once ran, as the image
   is so blurry, but I still see myself
Running back to you… too easily.

It’s such a sad picture— an enigma, half-painted
   with eager thoughts quietly bleeding
Into the ink of doubt, each brushstroke pulling me
   further from the truth I never wanted to name
Now it just hangs… so awkwardly crooked

You left me walking alone in this gallery
           of only terrible memories.

The chances of not remembering a night are alarming,
leaving behind a void in the memory that can be quite unsettling. Sometimes, in the darkest moments, we become our own worst enemies, constantly battling with overwhelming emotions and an overwhelming urge to cry, even wishing for an escape from this overwhelming pain.

These feelings can intensify to the point that we find ourselves lingering on the edge, contemplating the unthinkable.

It's during these dark moments that we may find ourselves crafting an unsent suicide note, a testament to the despair and longing for release.
In a surreal twist, it can be disheartening to realize that the absence of a simple Wi-Fi code becomes the barrier between us and expressing our profound pain.

It's not that we're not willing to make an effort
to break free from the turmoil.
In fact, there are times when we muster the courage
to push forward, willing to endure the agony
for just a little longer.

The pressure we feel can reach a boiling point, as if we're seated
on a hot seat, where our entire existence teeters on the brink.
The weight of our entire life bears down on us, the uncertainty of our journey amplified by not truly knowing where we originated from.
Our confusion adds to the complexity, raising questions about our purpose and destination.

In the grand scheme of things, it becomes abundantly clear
that our path forward remains unknown.
Without a firm grasp on our origins, it becomes even more challenging to navigate the ambiguity of life's direction.
Despite this uncertainty, we continue to search for meaning,
hoping to find solace and purpose in the chaos that surrounds us.

Go on airing out people's-
***** laundry;
Could expose your yellow sheets:
Only gets worse when the mattress comes out.
                 You won't sleep.

In the realm of dreams, where magic resides,
Lies a tale of love, where desire abides.
With purple wings, untouched by time's kiss,
A fairy's enchantment, a man couldn't resist.
Whispers of an enchanted forest, they say,
Tell the story of a love, so small yet so fey.

He succumbed to the enchantment of a fairy's charm,
As their love, though seemingly insignificant to the world,
Was a flame that burned brightly in their hearts.
It was a love so pure and genuine, yet confined
to the realms of fantasy.

And as we live;
we've lived under the warmth of Sun.
Those at the bottom;
despite lowest moments, light stays above.

You only seem to focus on the top;
for it be where you long. (To belong)
Top of the morning,
midst on top of your sorrow
But the way to get there;
knowing bottoms and their light,
For the dark is but a moment;
compared to goodness of light in your life.

Be bright as a smile,
easy to define as a light.
A star, in the darkest of nights.

Night time, play time, hate crime,
Riding the waves in my mind to sink an island ,
Pass out to fall asleep in a woken dream and try to find it.
Slipping through the shadows grips, shadowless nights and alone time in a crowded room,
Drug addict to the night, need to clean it up, sweep it up, where's my broom.

Moon riding and star surfing through a nocturnal night of prey,
I kissed a comet, waiting for her to kiss me back, I'll tell her loving words to let me stay.
I stayed an extra night on a short period of that time,
I made a broken craft and made funds out of it but never kept the money as mine.

Nocturnal night, play time, hate crime, my time and more time,
Slapped a high five and got ten back, that's still quite fine.
So look at this Nocturnal King, ruler of his night and time,
Degreed something not yet ordered, but that was still mine

Truth is…

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

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

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

I still have this life, thank God!

It's often such a strain
Trying to keep up positive thoughts —
To strain my mind, hoping to get rid
Of negative thoughts; sometimes,
It just strains me more…

Life boils me over.
Some days, I get too steamed to even try
And move on forward... feeling so stuck —
Sitting still, too hot to handle,
And being too heavy to pour it all out.

I feel like white rice —

Plain, overcooked, forgotten, and just
Sitting there, cooling off in an unattractive
Bowl, that no one really reaches for…
Sometimes  I am the metaphor, the idea,
The hope, the dream; or nothing at all —
Yet I’ll give everything of myself, every
Last drop… even up to tiniest piece of rice
In that open rice bowl.

There lies a straight and narrow life, visioned in my crooked eyes,
as I dream of a thought, but never thought much of the dream.
It's a constant struggle to grasp the concept of common sense,
trying to make sense of the world around me.
Sometimes though, I feel the need to find a few commas, not only
to improve the flow of my writing but also to make a little more
of the common cents, to bring more financial stability and
understanding around me.

I cannot; would not, still I can knot the lies on a
twisted tongue, but I've come to realize that like wood,
which doesn't break as easily within a knot, I too have my own
strength amidst the tangled web of dishonesty.
A reminder that we all have the power to resist falsehoods
and maintain our integrity.

Amidst the chaos and uncertainty,
I still hold onto my thoughts of the present, cherishing it as gift
in the moment and treasuring the lessons and experiences that
shaped me. I understand that these present moments are
the building blocks for my future. Each choice and action I take
today has a ripple effect on what lies ahead of me.

In this fleeting existence, we are faced with two paths — either
we cautiously tread on thin ice, carefully navigating the dangers
and risks, or we seize the opportunity and run as quickly as we
can towards our goals.

Regardless of which path we choose, we must always remain
cautious. Life is fragile and transient, and ultimately leads
us to the inevitable destination of death.
Try your best to enjoy all that you have in the moment.

I strive to maintain balance, embracing the straight and narrow,
in the complexity and uniqueness within my own perspective.
Like tranquil waters patiently awaiting the refreshing touch of rain,
it is wiser for me not to resist the natural order of the world;
instead, I rely on my God to serve as my powerful weapon.

We live under tears,
of a spirit' paradise,
in the force of darkness,

a cloud above of all fears,
tiny thoughts in history,

the past changed by present,
as it decides the futures to reside.

We are the dreams undreamed,
believers of things unseen,

great beings in our spirit,
only trapped in earthy skins,

Fallen short at our birth,
a black vein of sins,
but we're all redeemed.

We are strangers of this world,
visitors into it' reigns,
footsteps for children that follow,

As we walk in the todays;
for all our young,
to have a better tomorrow.

As we are more than skins,
bones, hearts, and brains;
in spirit, we are more.

As within soul,
there's a vigour of joyous growth,

though we feel less in this world,

In the realms far ahead,
we're all beings of endless more.

The self delusion, of inclusion
I skip a few steps to a conclusion
Being walked over; what's the conclusion
With just a hint of acceptance,- still a bit clueless
And a bit full of myself, but mostly foolish
Trying to live life twice, with a bucket list full of ice;
There's always that cold stare in my eyes; all jokes aside,
Society is always just a ride, and a few nights before,
I had lost my license for having a drive, still putting
All the many, many leftovers of my mind to the side
An appetite for destruction; a self destructive path,
All walks of life, and a few steps into showing my wrath
Sometimes a bit too dark; forgetting the oil in my lamp
But I get too comfortable in loneliness,- on depression's lap
I sold all of my wounds, but wound up feeling a loss,
At every cost of being too holy, as the holes in old socks
A really stinky attitude, stingy for showing any form of love,
I held on my arm, armed with a crude remark, just for who you are
And like this piece, everything seems to be happening far too long
////
////
////
For the old me and for us both, it's time to stop!

Don’t close your eyes on your dreams—
you’ll lose sight of what you believe.
The will of your work is measured by
the work you’re willing to put in.
As I live in a house of emotions,
courting words to plead my case—
bleeding through a see-through face.
A quiet ache, always on trial.

Knowing that the high-and-mighty
Christian is the easiest target to bring down.
Careers cut short— because in short, they
never really knew the Lord.

And me?

I live like the world’s greatest plot twist,
my mind a tornado of thoughts—
every turn unexpected,
every breeze loud with questions.
I’ve known the chill of a cold finger turned
trigger. And felt the weight of a sharp tongue
used as a silencer. As it’s easy to shoot yourself
down the same way you shoot others—whether
whispered or screamed out loud.

But those who follow their worth,
instead of searching for it in the crowd—
those are the ones who stand out.
Aloud.

Falling quietly into your arms,
still the loudest echo of falling love
Swept of the ground;
as closely to my steady feet, I can't brush off feelings
Or find a reason not place volumes of my pride,
announcing who you are to me
But I often feel as a selfish sinner to say,
"you should belong to me"
And I am like a mirror in your room,
reflecting on your beauty, as the first to see it in the morning,

To be a night-gown that covers you in warmth and comfort,
a resting pillow to the dreams still twined in your hair
And you being a thought resting on my head, of a brain chair;
feeling rude to stare, as you climb into my eye's sight
of your beauty step by step, of your glorious stairs,

Despite you not seeing me, above all those others chasing,
their desires of power they wish they could own, to own you
To enthrone you; those who once sat on their own thrones,
they have polished themselves, for you to sit on top of their heads
I doubt you care; as like a child with someone else to worry
responsibly for their younger's responsibilities,

Still would you ever consider to indulge in me,
with the dews of my eyes and sheering shy smile
I do try and try, till my tired is tired of being tired,
and my spark dies out for the night- lit again by seeing
you another day, and I continue on being fired,

But in the eyes of a looker-on, I'm fried;
spared no sympathy for showing such a simp in me
In the pits of my emotions, falling deeper and deeper,
and I pray in the end that someone would pity me.

Slippery conversation, just to slide into their DM's;
it's like tiptoeing on a seesaw, balancing the desire to initiate
a flirtatious exchange while maintaining a careful distance.
And yet, there's an itch of curiosity in our fingertips, wondering
if their summer eyes hold the warmth that can melt away our
winter hearts. It's that morning look they give, an invitation to
dance in the sun-kissed moments that follow the sunrise.

Calling me like I owe you something, as if the world were a
collection of IOUs waiting to be redeemed. It's as if you're calling
in favors in an attempt to earn love, unaware that love cannot be
bought or borrowed. Love is a delicate, genuine connection that
isn't measured by material debts, but by the authenticity of
emotions shared.

There's a certain beauty in the sight of lovers holding onto each
other till the end, their love intertwining like the perfect fit of a glove.
It's in those moments of subtle touches and gentle caresses that we witness the power of love's embrace. It's a symbol of unity
and tenderness, reminding us that love, at its core, is about
supporting and cherishing one another.

To truly embrace life and love, we must find our groove, our
own unique rhythm that resonates with our soul. It's in this
harmony that we experience the true essence of being free, like
the wind blowing through our hair with untamed bliss.
Time, like an ephemeral gust, sweeps past us, reminding us that it
treats us all equally. So let us seize the precious moments,
cherishing every second as a gift to be treasured.