My family is pretty tragic, and I don't fare well in any still
Just chasing a piece of magic for that taste of thrill
The amount of times I've done wrong, plays lyrics in
my head like a boring song

We grew impressed by curves saved in secret
vaults of our phone—it's a wonder how I can talk to girls
But it doesn't mean I was good at it before
A war inside of my eyes, I've been through a couple tours
With no resort to recreation, I'll resort to being bored
Life can feel a bourd, jesting kisses getting me hard like a board

Packing the load of weighing burdens
in the haul of dreams searching for a purpose
Penniless thoughts we grew up snatching from life's purses
And the only fear a teen had, was dying a ******

You could blame us being thirsty
always wanting to drown ourselves in success
Dancing swiftness in the crowd, but secretly depressed
I tell you my life before was such a mess
But you could never tease me enough to have that be the only
thing I confess

Thankfully the brokenness of my heart could be conditioned
to bring forth a new piece of a work of art
After every scar, the C of every cut becomes the T of time
for all my scars to become stars

My life is now the scars into stars!

Untouched moments, untouched skins,
An untouched moon under one night’s
Ocean blue, and it was just us two.

Beachside sights, toes stuck in salty sands,
Life is an offshore view of foreign lands,
And I threw a watch in the waters to wash off the
seconds. Where sun and moon both kiss the same sky,
Is the light to the open gates of Heaven.

Angels with their great wings; are a soaring escape,
But narrow did this paradise seem afar in my eyes,
Two thousand tears fall, in life's heavy grey rain,
As kingdom come reins, we hold onto all that we have,
Holding hands together to say our daily Lord’s prayer.

“Our father, who art in Heaven,” a place love resides,
And with it the many blessings.
“Thy Lord be thy name,” we call upon Him to be saved
By His grace, gracefully still stuck on Earth.
“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done," I hold tightly,
In a prayer with my imperfect love.

Time is lost in all of a man's final words in death,
A beachside prayer, I'm washed of a past in new tides,
If I drowned in all of my regrets, don't let the anchor of
Sin keep me down at the bottom; Oh Lord. Amen.

Try to buy you roses. Hoping you care.
"Knock, knock", by your Heart. Hope someone's there.

Liberty of freedom between hips.
Taste of Love between lips.

ATM withdrawals to have all my money for you in checks.
But I'd fear of it not being my own withdrawal in the latex.

And not all sweet words sound the same,
Try driving slow in a fast lane.

Hiding often wise behind the camera lens,
Just hate for the love to be for a season, like loving the current trends.

Hold up on the minute just to have a second gone.
So many love tracks on the radio, but not singing the same song.

Really just too scared to wake up all alone.
Birthday wishes all on my own.

Dear, don't you run away from me. Try to follow you behind at a slow pace.
Holding on the best memories for closure just in case.

Just wanna be all that I could be.
Just longing for the clearer pictures I could see.

It's suspenseful but what could I do.

—an echo sword cuts through the sounds,
time is made of glass. Fragile as the brokenness
in pass.

—a dagger tilt into the chest. The very part,
where all sores dawn. Rising until you see
the pain appearing as heavy breathe.

—sheath; putting away sharp ends of past hurt.
Piercing deeply as longing to be free. The battle
is plenty, as the many who feel so alone.
You aren't the first!

In these blade works, working hard to survive,
on the killing of time. To bat an eye; swinging on
the looks of acting out of pride.

—it cuts anyone deeply, fighting to survive,
fighting in the many struggles of this LIFE.

Is it to hold a knife in defence, or attack,
the question of every human being.

I

alone and happy on the 14th
i rise to the occasion; as it's
beautiful rose

II

roses that are red, and violence not so
new. sugar lips of a nightmarish diabetic kiss,
but what stops a love sick fool

               ..i sit back, and watch the view

III

a heart made of steel
someone stole your heart easily, cos you're
leaving the windows of your eyes so open;
there's going be a lot of robberies this
Valentine's day

IV

here's to a valentine red:

red as the flags of one you
should avoid with caution
red as the daring run of emotions
being chased by a bull
red as the tomato of a terrible first
kiss, causing acid reflux
red as the overdrawing of your account
all to prove you value someone for a day

V

"would you be my Valentine,"
he asked her on his knees

A chuckle she gave, "tis these only
few times I have a man on his knees,
afterwards spoiling me with dinner and
eating out"

                                               wink, wink.

Under the stars,
when the morning already arose.
Under darkness, a new light grows.
Exposing itself. In the dark there is a rose.

All on my own,
penning the thoughts of my dome.
Angels calling me home,
demons not leaving me alone.
Questioning my livelihood and sanity.
If people knew the me real,
a lot of them wouldn't be proud of me.

What a tragedy!

Crossing through borders,
waiting for what lurks on the other side.
You don't know what you might face,
till the new battles are what you find.

But I've placed all of my worth in that rose.
I hope it's brave enough to grow,
and cuts down the darkness with it's thorns.
In reference to the first stanza,
each line is on it's feet. They stand out!
In the dark, I realize I'm not a kid anymore.
But a rose at times. I must develop,
and fully grow. The old petals die out,
and the new ones will show.

Solo fears, I fear less of them,
feeling less on my own.
The moonlight beckons. She calls.
Open my sights to hope,
to those fears, I close the doors.

Midnight, she calls.

I suppose, I can no longer ignore.
I suppose, I must go.
I suppose, all things call for your soul.
I suppose, for me, the darkness I fear it no more.

Midnight, she calls.

So loud that everything seems to be low.
At the lowest point of my life, my soul tends to glow.

Midnight, she calls.

So loud that it echoes in tiny corners, till it breaks. It has a lot to show us.

Still Midnight, she calls.

In the solo moments I have to listen
out for wisdom.
Feeling in the dark corners of myself, to know what is missing.

The solo Midnight, she always calls. But I'm not solo anymore.

9:15; a quarter mile away from truth.
Conversations are boring, all about what we've done for today.
Innocence of two kids before their moppet words find their youth.

Texts get a little deeper, a minute past ten.
All past experiences, and mistakes are; with heart and soul
expressed. Their companionship sees the other more than a friend.
"I like you," a quickly deleted message, but has been read.
Emoji eyes; "I seen what you wanted unseen," the eyes seemingly said.

Awkward silence, awkward silence; both sides typing and clearing
their response. Nobody presses send; while there's a slap on the
head exclaiming; "not like this, not the beginning of this
relationship's end"

"I didn't mean to make things weird with my emotions.
I'd like you as a lover, but I love how we are as friends in the
open," a brave text sent out of one still hoping.

"But I like you too," the next reply came around late.
Phew! What a relief; least for now. But what happens next,
I guess is the pending question of staying up this late.

It was best to go to bed by eight...

In a lonely room; walls feeling like mirrors
in every empty corner.
Reflecting, on cringey moments,
points for past arguments. And of course, enjoying
the benefits of being the casual loner.

Pulling myself to the self doubts for tomorrow,
"will I wake up in the morning," the question
I have before I rest my head. I say a silent prayer;
and maybe try not to focus on death.
But instead, my focus is the pretty petty moments
of life; soon to fade like a flower.

The greatest overthinker when I'm all alone,
balancing insecurities, pleasure, and life's pressures.
Music of past songs, still ringing in my buzzing ears.
Phone full of playlists setting the mood for what face
I'm sleeping with tonight.
And wondering which one of my dreams I'm living to
be leaving for a successor.

Yes sir!

My mind alone; takes me further from home,
when I'm all alone.
So quiet in there, that you could drop a stone and
it would echo down to my soul. Entertaining the
crowd of shadows peeping through the window.
Tree branches digging into the walls, with my bed
in the middle.

I think about love, I wonder about hope.
I yearn for calm, I search for control.
I fight battles alone, I set my life's next goal.
I motivate my soul, and I push myself into being whole.

All of which happens in the dark room,
sitting on my own.

To no fault of my own, the little I own
To the words that ask me to conform.
I feel so alone—in the deep chasms of a petrified soul.

An open door, shut by a closed mind to make a move.
Unwillingness of that to do.

Oh what a world to live in.
Searching, always seeking; in the depths be,
Of a tempestuous sea. I still can’t swim.

So comes that sinking feeling again. I’m sinking in
Deepest thought to the very END. My always sinking
HEAD. Especially when pride gave you a big head.

The curiosity of young; is the danger of creativity,
discovery, but at times ignorance.

The fat cat...

Is it curious of me to ask a favour with no return,
I owe the plenty of their time I wasted. Chasing the
clock round and round these late working hours.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat...

Is it curious of me to want what others have,
the happiness it brings them, I too want it's share.
Despite at the expense of my appreciation, I want it all for free.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat...

Is it curious of me to want a love I can't afford,
this love for the things in this world. What fame can
get you, whether in the honest success, or the success
of selling your soul.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat...

Is it curious of me to get my eyes stuck on the sky,
I'm waiting for Heaven to fall onto this living hell.
How long will I have to wait longer, for the Lords return?

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat. She was battling with her
careless curiosity in daily combat.

Is it curious of me to wonder what exactly killed the cat,
so many lives wasted or not; dependent upon the right curiosity.
We're all curious beings; whether small or big. A question of
where you curiosity leads you to.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat. She was battling with her
careless curiosity in daily combat.

Ordered the bat online, it came with the vat. The bat was
black in matte, to go chase a rat all around their flat.  
She was a sort of brat; with an annoyance that flew around
like a gnat.  So inquisitive of people's affairs; and nobody
likes that.

In the end, curiosity did **** that cat.

Fantasy dream; caught in the between of reality
caught in these nets of generation’s imagination.
Desiring self *** appeal,—only the ones who’ve got
the guns for creation. Violence runs the streets;
a marathon of the fatherless kids brought into the world.
Tell them not to be bent out of shape if you dare, but
any blow of the wind causes them to fold.

Tender kisses of mama; spoiled a child:
Rotten as blackened teeth holes of the sweetest treats,
a long while since a tame domesticated the wild.
This child! Has only witnessed domestic violence all
of their life. Stepped on stepfather; beating the daylights
out of them every night.

Seeking approval; where the approved are only the kids
who break the rules. “There goes the youth,“
they’d often say. Unknowingly the same band of troubled
young mother’s go on their knees each night to pray.

But you’ll just bat an eye away from them;
ignore a present problem, still looking to a future’s gain.
Or take advantage of a youngster, then claim
their misconduct being only by an upbringing
as to blame. Where are the men?

To show a son how to love and respect,
a daughter a hand of gentle protection,
Teaching lessons of wisdom never to forget,
not of their words becoming a weapon.
To not settle for less when there’s always a best,
don’t let the shortest sad times become a deep long depression.

In the end what will our future be;
if we’re not being the future we’ll leave for
our young to follow,
Don’t glance at it with wallow,
build yourself strong,—build that strong
tomorrow.

The ocean brings in and takes
away,
Today becomes yesterday,
yesterday another old day.
Tomorrow could really be any other day
dependent on the tides of change,
Brought our way.

Who knows what to expect
in ever changing tides,
We only find out what's brought to us
once the ocean subsides
And from the pieces we pick from the mess,
we've come to be wise.

New tides of water
you're all praying will be fresh,
Maybe this time around things could hurt a little less.
But what can you expect,
life is always like a mess.
Sometimes feeling like a wreck,
still from it we've come to survive,
Strive!
Pushing forward till we arrive
to perhaps better tides where sunrises arise.

So in these new tides
keep your feet to the ground
Finding your balance even when
standing in the mud.

These are the tides of change
the periodic change of levels.
Be brave even when everything is looking so strange.

I hunger for time—
more of which I don't have,
Thirst for love;
but not all would quench it,
Seek a purpose
that isn't labelled at first sight,
Dream of greatest—
in the confines of being simple,
Sin in the several;
seven times a day- consciously

I've done it all-
but in an all still not complete,
I'm incomplete.

I said goodbye to my baby tooth; it went away
with all my youth. Goodbye—bye, bye, bye.
In my mouth for too many years, and now it all
tastes like tears. Goodbye—bye, bye, bye.

You know were gone to soon, and you've always
been my favourite tooth. And then you went to
steal my youth. Oh my—my, my, my. Goodbye—bye,
bye, bye.

You've inspired,—despite. Despised,—you were mine.
At your prime,—inside. Outside,—you were mine.
Goodbye—bye, bye, bye.

And I could never get you out my mind; even if I
pulled and tired. Oh my—my, my, my. Goodbye—bye,
bye, bye.

Goodbye—bye, bye, bye.

On a dark and stormy night,
I was born out of a place without any lights
A nurse and doctor looked at me less
More than they'd expect a child to fix a world—yet being a mess
The clouds were heavy, heaven was empty
And I tricked myself that it was because the Lord had sent me
An angel was with me, but still with a devil within me
Question of sin by a seed, growing like a black willow tree
I was born a writer; with no right to be inspiring
In spite of things, my desire is to speak all the right things

To say you'd stack your success in columns
Sort of feels common; knowledge to mind
All your steps, like you have mind powers
Less successful in the things I did, all uneventful
Quite dreadful, of a sucky life with a hint of menthol
These opinions put over my head all affect my mental
Deep pressed, feeling the pressures of always being depressed
So hard to wear your heart on sleeves, when you wear a vest

With this self opposition, and man's superiority competition
Sometimes forgetting you're Christian, and it's composition
With all the respect for all our women, their first time christen
And with the guidance of someone else's wisdom
To avoid all those mistakes, and repetition

Who else do I need to show respect, for respect back
For being young comes with baggage your adult self will
have to unpack. Getting kicked in your past,
For wanting to kickback and relax;
As you've never completed a difficult task
That an adult never had the time to ask or surpass

That was my childhood, putting me in a foul mood
And life's birds of prey looked at me as child food
Still growing in a pretty beating moment, and it empowers
Because I wouldn't be me without reminiscing on my
hearts and flowers.

The soft tears
not of sky
but of
a flower'
will to
survive

      Tears do echo;

Tear' sorrows,
joys, pains
and hope
no matter
when,
crying because
I'm still
here and
          
          Pretty alive.

Silent things
Silent sins, and it's silent king

Silence in all but once perfect dreams
Silence the lambs of their bleeding sheep

Silent are the hills of the new mountains & their peaks
Silent pauses; a man wondering if still good in the sheets

Silence is the violence of a mind without any peace
Silence in the times of a writer's block searching for a piece

Silent responses for a lover begging on their knees
Silent witness to the crime of love scripted on life's t.v. screens

All wanting of a silent death;
in the end—death comes much closer in every breath
Pain hurts more in silence, but it's voice often remains silent

Shape of figure;
strength, courage, love,
Curved into masterpiece; a fiery heart,
fiercely burns my eyes in the wake of desires.

A dream? I hope not, for angels don't
belong in such a place. I'd choose not to wake.
Wishful thinking. I wish to have that I cannot,
that perhaps all do not. That I can't truly love.

Anguished; underfed passion, yearning the taste of tears.
Beautifully falling like rain that has blessed the grounds.
I'm on the grounds under your weight, the weight of your
desire has to my heart.

Sigh! I'm tearful at night; pillows that hold oceans,
drowning. Drowning in my vivid imaginings spent
with you.

A paint brush,—wet as lips shaking from a kiss,
it must have outlined you with I in mind.
All things I like; to experience them into love.
A clutch pencil,—clutching my heart, piercing through
my paper thin weakness towards you.
A tablespoon,—sprinkled into a dish, baked in
a maturity's time in the oven of growth.

Funny how I've kissed a thousand times those
skins of savoury lips. But wailfully, woefully,
wretchedly, and painfully you don't exist.

Just an imaginary Miss.

Where  dreams  are
  under the tears of stars,
   my eyes  brittle brightsome;
    child-like manner-aforetime adult scars.

"And as I look above,
  cleared of thoughts-vile of ourselves
   wrestling the mind in mud;
     think of your God, for as His purity
        ...shall I too think in His ways"

So did she say;
  torn out title cover of her bible at hand.
   Sunday school teachers taught my
      infanthood lessons, still in adulthood.

Building up my anger,
      brick by brick.
Laying a wicked heart upon
the cement of hurt I feel;
And if I were a street— everyone would
now be correct to walk all over me,
      brick by brick.

A bridge, to gap two parties as the
middle ground to all their arguments
—an abandoned apartment, filled with
all the tenants, of memories well lived,
      brick by brick.

A madhouse, for all of the creativity;
to out there for the world to even understand
So brick by brick, they lay
Day by day, I try not to build a
wall around my constructed smile,
      brick by brick.

Valleys turn into hills, hills into mountains
Life into time, time into sands we from,
drifting oceans of waves—waters of before,
clouds at first.

Crush into love, first kiss into memories,
memories become experience.
Experiences into story—stories into legend,
and those new legends to be born.

Loneliness into depression, expression out
of hurt. Hurt into echoing words, words immortal.

Must life be like the butterfly;
birth, caterpillar that grows,
cocoon~ hidden in the dark.
And of course the beauty at the end.

                                Life is transformation

Roses are red, violence is you,
Your love is bitter sweet, but why do I love you?

Your heart is wild, my heart is tame,
I played my heart, but still love this game.

Envy is purple, sadness is blue,
I desire love, but not someone like you.

I stopped breaking hearts,
hated to see those pieces getting lost.
I won't buy myself love,
and definitely don't know the cost.  

So I'll save my time from any ugly love.

Oh, those sixteen seconds; —
schoolings we learnt, stories on the
sixteen streets, where a few flowers
  Would be daring enough to grow.

YOU!
Bystander to the narrative of six teens,
learning about life, through every twist
and curve. Take part in such an account,
for you too, to be flourished in what
  Truths we learned.

I was sixteen; though that made
you feel like eighty-four in a concrete
jungle, where you heard stories of
its corruption, as it scarily roars.

The novel days, but with a broken
system of old. From feeling broke;
covering holes with holes,

— You could only tap into success by
the connections of who you know, and
they know; prior sixteen years. Henceforth
  Why we all sensed being so old.

Or was it, "owed"
—dang, what youth could know?
But to be honest though, the feeling of it,
was so cold: a degree less than sixteen, for
  Any flower to be frightened to grow.

As if the promise of an improved
tomorrow would never really show,
To say—"you head in your own way
and I'll be a head, ahead of you; thinking
up sixteen likely ways of where to go,
  And how to go.

I was told a story by so and so,
who knew so and so, —that said,
So and so, about so and so, that a man
claimed this was the right time to sow.

He threw out his seeds; some that hit the
emotionless ground as cold sixteen stones.
Others were pierced by the cold’s thorns.

He spoke a lot of brave words and
eccentric quotes, that held with them
great wisdom and growth.

Some hard to swallow, some fell on
deaf ears, the rest gnawed by birds.
These teachings didn’t speak of being
owed, as we were told; but were
secrets he seemed to own,
  That shone out of his soul.

I was sixteen, a nervous teen,
who gave this story sixteen seconds.
We were careless and obviously reckless
—a wonder of which gods ever forgave us.

Feeling cold as snow, in a place where,
it gets colder as the rain pours.
The man gave us sixteen of the most
profound words:


“Sixteen seconds of the Word,
your spirit grows, — sixteen
seconds of rain, and life will show.”

I was termed a flower in that story,
given sixteen words of advice
from a stranger I didn't really know.
And it was by age sixteen, the bud
  Had started to grow.

I guess flowers are
the boldest of us all.
—on where, and through which
situation they choose to grow.

Your eyes so sharp; hint at a piercing yellow in the air-
beyond measure beyond what we lose reasons to care for.
Therefore, you shall find me down a path to the honeyed
days, when all we try to hold on to, tilts and drifts away.
While my feelings for you left me all sun-washed and
golden, now downsizing myself, inches into days.

Forever being the promise of a storm; a cause of havoc in my
heart- we meet, we fall in, fall out of love and finally depart.
Still, I’ll remain searching for the sweetness of your yellow
nectar- the tenderness we both shared. Still steeped in your
honey comb lips; as every kiss was a promise, dripping with
sweet promises, and its amber glow.

                I… remain as the one still chasing after you
                                                   -an eternal hunter bee.

Behind the clouds, the sun still shines,
Behind the pains, my sunshine still shines.

Just give it time, the clouds will go away,
Just give it time, it's going to be okay.

Be the sunshine, you always are today.

how i know i can't swim,
we somehow drifted apart
and i could have taken the advise of Moses,
and split the waters in between us in two,
-but tell me if love wasn't made for two
while i butter you up with sweet words
to have you as a spread
still feeling anxious as two ticks of
a message, still unread.

.....tying, tying,
i still doubt i'm your type,
that sort of guy you like cos
he liked you first,- you must call me cute
and i feel myself trapped in an  unwelcome
phenomenon -really feeling acute
but if you could feast on my eyes, you'd
fall prey to your hunger, if i gave the right look.

maybe i should tattoo my words
for their intentions to stick
but even a subtle taste, bite and a lick,
can at times overstep the tingles rushing
down to your feet. so i do prefer to kiss
but before the kiss, tell me if we'll be
trading skin for skin, or shedding skin off skin
cos we both know kiss will always
rhyme with hiss.

In every kiss,
I forget why I'm sad,
the memory of hurt fades,
by unspoken words on lips.
   Ignorance is truly bliss.

Chapter 1: Evening

Your attire is a thin veil; underneath the silk
is a reach within my arms, to grace a warm touch
passion's burning flame, that can make snowflakes
melt away so fast

Romance, over all parts of your attractiveness
tall, shapely, and sturdy— as my presence is in
the presence of a jungle, for an Amazon queen
Once warmed, from head to toes, fingertips,
to lips galore; quiet conversations that eyes speak
of love so deep and fulfilling

Eager breaths thrown back in my face, also, the love
I keep safe, so carefully, cautiously; secretly locked
away in a heart cuddle you warm, wrap you as a blanket
that provides the body’s heat

Chapter 2: Morning

How would you shepherd a tongue into speaking
the heart’s deepest secrets— at early morn underneath
the rainy skies; I will wake you. As the clouds grow
heavy, and heavier; the slightest sunlight parts them
open, as perfect affections open you wide.

Sprung out perfectly; an inviting posture, there
where you reside— kisses that fall like the rain
Downward falling; your love a juicy fruit, that will
eventually fall- ripen my eyes to feast on your desires
As we’re both lost in the warming memories of this
blanket’s sun

Chapter 3: Afternoon

I think about the rain that fell on your hair,
those tiny bouncing raindrops on your coat-
Coating the memory in such a raging joy;
as the gaze of noon, painted your honest form
A man formulating his words to a first meet;
hoping it may not be short lived

A tongue ensnared by its own words, trying to
savour the novelty of my excitement, all the
pleasures and first feeling— that sensual honey
of our first moment, alone together

The eve is looming over our eyes, for this day
do not chase it, as I’ll catch you by your skin
Gain that glance of a climactic prelude into
another restful resolution of a long night
As the stars are dressed with light; and I sit
with these thoughts on my mind, of how you’ll
choose to dress yourself tonight…

Wipe my eyes, melting away the wax
of unrighteousness; to see into your grace,
and all it’s wisdom.

I’ve been blinded,— to not see the value of my
worth. In dusty mirrors, only seeing the worst.
A slave, a sinner, and being so undeserving of
your love.

Oh Father,—

Boys will be boys, but not rarely are the
men baptised in wisdom. Washed of their
former selves.

Spirit filled,— isn’t of the religious talk your lips
could exclaim. But of what really resides inside;
of you and your relationship with God, alone.

Voices are many, only in the quietest moments
of heading into sin. But it’s but a whisper of what
true righteousness speaks of.

Know that it is Him,— the King of kings,
Lord of all, as Jesus is and remains the one
true King.

So this is for the King—the one who died for my sin, and also
for putting fresh breath inside of me. As an adolescent teen, I
was trying to put together all the useless things that I believe.
I was just being a human being; with not a lot of things to give,
still I do have this thing, called his Holy spirit within. This is for
the King.

I was so tired of lunch dates—deep fakes. So I had to pray for the things that aren’t as straight. With love, and grace shall I give of myself;
I am in His control. I give of my soul, and with it my all. The Lord who still cares for the lesser, giver of all  things in endless blessings. I am restless, relying on a man of this world. It’s always so cold, as the longest winter within my bones. But he told me of my self worth. Goodness deemed upon me, that renders me free. I'll sing praises to him. This is for the King.

I was born, baring the many of life’s struggles. Wasn't good to
mix in with others. Or to get along with a few cousins. What have
they made of me now? An older boy, not feeling too proud. Wow!
As fit, I’m not built to take on the entire weight of the world, I've often been told. But I'm rejoicing in those sufferings, knowing my heart gains great endurance. That my praises to Him be amongst the purest. I’ve surely endured my life’s greatest struggles, into this character. So to me, this struggles don't really matter. By they own; it has given me hope, so hopeful to be what the Creator has made me to be. This is for the King.

The devil tries to make my God seem small. But he doesn't know
anything of my God that he is to me—he's my all. What are peddles to a rock, rocks to a mountain, and mountains to a King, Greater is he that has Christ who lives in him. So shall your faith in Him; move all the mountains that you see. This is for the King.

This is for the King, it's all for the King. The King of kings
who resides in me. I am part of His royalty. He taught loyalty,
as I know all enemies are against me—but the the Lord is always
there for me.

I'm too full of a fool; (in love)
death do us part, love you to death,
That's a coffin built for two,— some of me, some of you.
Why cry like an ocean; when your favourite
colour is blue?

There's a shade of yellow; particularly
in the back of your eye... so bright knowing; thinking
about you; (my brightest idea)

I'm alive; in a live performance of watching you
move my heart in motions. Motion pictures;
you fill with films of your story.

But if only...

I wasn't a writer of my imaginative;
a painter in the mind of what if's.
Being good at writing about love out of love;
this is poetic madness.

Treat as royalty with my broken crown,
pull away veils, could I not see your open
love,

Your heart amongst empty chests in the
crowd,
would you only notice me when I'm not
around,
Wish to hear me when there’s not a single
sound,
you only seemed lost when there was nothing you
found,

Act high on your thrills in a lifestyle so upside
down,
a pound of flesh, a pack of thoughts, and a bag of
****,

Every time you sleep, you’re taking that leap,
another risk; whether this time to wake up from
that dream,

Eyes wet, waking up from ocean dreams,
I hope your parents taught you well how to
swim,

In so deep, in murky waters,
as all you’re doing is looking for surface under
your feet.

But the sands also sink,
trying not to shut your eyes, so you constantly
blink.

Insomnia is keen to grinning,
smiling on all the chances of stealing your
sleep.

I’m so weak; for not being your shore
inside of all those tempestuous dreams.

Heavy day shifts,
and comes the lonely night shifts.
Breathe the pheromones, the body tones,
ashes in a cloud—before we experience yesterday's rain.
Purest skins, and innocent eyes of the dirtiest brains,
thinking I'll do in myself, soon after doing you in.
Love has you sore in the chest; swept you swiftly with the
bruises on your knees.

Love is the air,
in the atmosphere of what we breathe daily.
Carelessly blowing in the wind; pieces stuck in your hair.
Like written messages on the wall, surrounding the
room's resting memories in crayon. You could count them all.
In deep chasms of emotions—I'm not only falling in love,
but also floating in the air. Love is the air.

It grips me by a click,
pointing at the sounds of my mouth without words.
Without too many girls, to express how I feel.
Or the dues to pay for new love experiences of someone
who could fit the bill.

She's in the air, along with the Heavens,
the birds and the bees. The mountain views, and the
closet reach I have to my dreams. Love is in the air,
but I wonder how far I'll have to jump to reach her,
(kiss her) My love remains stuck in the air.

I wouldn’t find a reason to smoke again.

Even though she always wants a piece of my heart, that’s like a piece of my lungs for a piece of a smoke—while trying to get comfortable around me, searching for some peace just to smoke.

And even as I gave her a piece of my soul, that came with a few shatters of love from my broken heart, — I could neither find a reason as to why I still love her, while trying to piece together a reason at all.

Still as it cracks me up, with a broken smile each time we lie; to each; and together—baby I must have the crack you’ve been itching for.

Let me ignore all of the sounds that you’re no good to me, and share resources for our love as a drought filled community. Especially when our love feels so dry, that my eyes burn with sands trying to cry for my own sanity. You cursed my heart, and before then I promised I wouldn’t let that happen again—I swore.

                       I swore for all, searching for some peace
                       just to smoke— I wouldn’t find a reason
                                               to smoke again.

                               Guess it was just a smoke break!

Cobwebs in my eyes;
how to see the world- old and dusty
My love is bit rusty, to even attempt
to steal a heart- a metal mouth speaking,
I spoke of how it felt to be made of gold,
well at least in the eyes of calling something mine

But yes I dug those many trenches,
and stuck a pole that stood as a reminder to it all
And I eventually gained the skill to write out what's
on my mind in secret- a constant mental note

In a distance so far away from myself,
striking a deal with the covers over my heart
A wet blanket; crying under the fabric
of it, to hide away those many tears from the world
I must have been a rose; well at least once before,
but sometimes the roses are still trying to find themselves,
a meaning, an identity, a cause, and a reason to grow

Tell me if you've ever felt like a beautiful flower,
though none of their eyes seem to see such beauty
In an unclear sight; overlooked by those you love,
                  -a story of all the world' blurry flowers

Soles of white dusty red shoes,
Old laces, and pieces of plastic on the tips,
Newspapers to add space in a mediocre label,
Fake Vans, that ironically says, ‘Original’
In place of that brand’s tag.

Red, and reliable like the last piece of value,
In a house of not many valuable things.
Except the memories of the places I’ve walked,
Bruising my ******* jamming my back heel,
Into a rather than tight new pair.

“These are supposed to be size nines”

As like the age my foot grew longer than I did,
Taking every corner before I did. Indicating loudly,
Which next turn I’m going to take.

Truly shy of my foot without the covering protection,
Of a common shoe. Don’t judge how far I’ve been,
By the measure of the state of my shoes.

I haven’t been that far...

Though I would like to have,
To foreign places like the land I bought my shoes.

Today I had to throw them away,
Which felt like I threw away...

A piece of a memory,
A piece of my wealth,
A piece of myself,
A piece of favourite clothing,

Worn so proudly on my feet.
Farewell to my reliable old red shoes...Sigh!

Dear darling.

I'm staring at the sun, with the light
in between your eyes; and this feeling inside
of your bright smile. Summer kisses, caught inside of
it's denial. And the filled cases of your love; trying not to
lose this trial.

It's those lips that shapes that smile; those last skins giving
depth to those thighs. And writing about you; that helps
me with these rhymes. I'm in the directions towards love;
I'll meet you by all of the signs. I'm found; but it's a new love
I still need to find.

So by the end of this short letter line,
my penned down emotions are red signed.

Sighed,

A red love you and I will find.

Oh- falling to the floor
falling off the bat; a swing at love, again
It's not all the same, indifferent but still
the clueless cliché. Anyways what could
I say to not seem the clingy type
a softie sometimes, knowing he'll marry
a strong wife

A dragon, fierce fiery breath
she speaks a word of fantasy, and unlike
the rest- she has a tougher flesh, and presses away
my insecurities with an impressive hug pressing
on me with an impressive chest

Self control out of the handle of my reflection
perhaps my emotional side is never-ending
Cherished by a face that could never disguise a smile;
my awkward smile, belonging to Mr always nice guy
Confidently shy, shying away from being a razor
of cutting words to chat up a girl
My mistake to chat sensibly after a little rude talk,
mixed in those silly jokes. I choke on my physical words,
a silent face and volumes of confidence only in these poems

Club scenes are meaningless to me
meaning less of me would be less active than seen
I'm falling in between an introvert, and a little
extrovert trying to creep out a bit
It's always a risk, and amidst in the mist of dispersion
of a stretched out imagination of a ******
Told always, "you really need a girlfriend"
good at making conversation with just a girl friend
Till feelings are involved, it sort of does in my head

Spares to a secondary nature of testosterone
spiking at a random
Making passes of being a little passive- my confidence
isn't so massive, although my caring eyes and heart
are at times attractive

But I still have the eyes of a jealous man; possessive
to means if I find you as a potential. Potentially pointing
out my heart's gun to shoot around your lines
I'll still be a little awkward saying my hie, and wanting
long hugs goodbyes

I'm just so sorry for being this constant shy guy

As the stars aligned, in constant of a Moon.
The dancing oceans; twirling and twirling in circles.
Eyes focused—on the horizons of waking under new Sun.
Warm as the lips that kissed me with it's light.

I did have a question of...there being a life in between;
Settling on the grey areas that are non existent?

The answer...

Life is simple as black and white, darkness and light,
As there's only good and bad. We fall only on one side.

To fall in love: would it be a good, or a bad experience,
To fall into depression: to inspire courage, or fears of dark,
To fall back: avoiding rebellious conflict, or being too comfortable,
To fall asleep: in the rest of hard labour, or sleeping on our dreams,
To fall out: of those pulling us down, or those who value us,

We fall only on one side. Which side do I choose to fall?

"It's just another guy"
so you say; still you're spoken for
But who's to say a guy won't at least try

"It's just another guy"
so you say, that cracks you up by
a glass of fragile jokes cutting me by your response,
We'd both be jealous of the other making you smile

"It's just another guy"
so you say, when he licks his lips
Lubricating his lies, like I did to convince you
I wasn't jealous,- you still noticed something was amiss

"It's just another guy"
so you say, as you pretend to be friends
It all starts like that, a friendly compliment here
and there, the same way I said it when we started as friends

"It's just another guy"
so you say, till I also become just another guy
I'm told I'm overdramatic, in over my head,
but when you fall in love with someone else
Would you ask him or me why

"It's just another guy"
so you say, and I'm just a dog acting ******
Still a dog marks his territory, and if I marked
you with my heart; I did so with aim, to not miss
on making you my Miss

"It's just another guy"
so you say, but you can still treat a day like ****
Wasting your time talking about him,
as I fake a ****** smile that makes me feel like ****

The truth is,
I was once just another guy that stole
you first, from just another guy
And karma is a mistress that works in a cycle,
and I'm forced to comply to her this second time

Tasting your lips; is so close to sipping on wine, I tasted your
maturity, the finest savoring of your very worth- after every
kiss, I’m left so lost for words.

Lost in the loud colour of your lips; a crimson night- where I had
very well kissed a dream. You were sleeping below my chin, resting
on my chest, and I slowly kissed your forehead to lift your eyes open.

You thanked me, for being someone who loved you as the person you
are; and not what you had been before. Your sanguine lips whispered
the loudest secret; with a vestige of your spell. I read the tales of your
lips-an odour of your past, spoken in their shaking trace; a mute tear
on your cheek; searching for someone to rescue you in these long nights.

Waiting for a knight- we met each other while lost in a night. The guise
of people’s eyes, could never shape you out so perfectly; as perfect as
each one of your curves. From greeting so many people with our lips;
you could taste a thousand of them, but only have a fondness for one.

                                                       Your lips, are my perfect sonnet.

So I got robbed
by my shadow last night;

           That's pretty dark.

I threw a steak at a girl;
that's a tender way to meet.
But I got beat with a
hole in my head;

       That's an empty thought.


And she broke my nose
so I couldn't smell;

             Her intentions.

I told her she
was pretty sweet;
and was offered a piece.

                  I bit off her lip.

And I was told;
I belong to the streets;
that's really funny because
I won't allow anyone to;

               Walk all over me.

I don't think she got
what I really meant,
So to seem concrete,
I went on to buy her a bag;

                         Of cement.

Yesterday,
I lost my cool;
writing a surprise exam
yet the test was;

              Such a breeze.

It gave me food for thought,
but I kept on complaining,
because I'm still hungry;

                  And want to eat.

And I laugh so big
at my own jokes,
because I took humour,
and added enormous;

             To make it humorous.

Nosey!
I guess I am,
a boy just wishing to grow into a man.

And by the lies I do tell,
it's growing longer for me to ever fall short
Oh Pinocchio, how could the world ever love us, when all the love in the world feels so bought.

Feelings aside,
hating the mistaken times I've taken the deed of living inside of pride
Never living out of the world,
cause I found it much warmer inside.

A piece of wood thrown into the fire,
till ashes are all what remains
Perhaps tied a knot into these puppet strings,
that never break so easily for their my chains.

Oh Pinocchio, I'm so ashamed.

I've been done in by a sly fox,
buried a lot of my worth, hoping for it all to grown enough to afford a wooden house

And like an foolish ***,
I've kicked my own self.
Oh Pinocchio, I surely wish I could be anybody else.

Like a trick,
the play of hand has made it's deal
And maybe if I question reality enough it might show me what's real.

But I'm so much like an old story the world seems to have forgotten,
much in common with the darkness,
my body much like the same material of this black coffin.

Still forgive my whaling Oh Pinocchio. Shall I swallow my sorrow
Maybe be a little thankful for today, but I'm so remorseful for those days that come after tomorrow.

Oh Pinocchio, could I tie one more knot into the string,
could I spell out what I feel, like your name I spell out every time I sing.

Could I ask my creator to create the better version of me,
if such a thing does exist, how could it be.
In the sense of being able to see.

I'd see to that very future,
wind-up into blowing winds heading there
No longer sitting on my talent, though my material is what I sit on as a comfortable chair.

Oh Pinocchio,
I surely don't know
For I once was you so long before. But I'm not a wooden boy anymore.

bury me alive, and let's just pretend it wasn't suicide
oh, you don't like me, well so do I — there's this ugly version
of myself that I can't deny, so to every girl I date, I always
pray you'll find a better guy

still, I fell in love with the rhythm of your eyes,
cos you always seem to view me as a better guy. to my
surprise, you give me reason to stay alive

but I always tell you not to read too deeply
on some of the things I say. darling I'm only human —
sometimes I make spelling errors, still was it a spell that
you fell in love with me?

      your purpose is love,
                 and I'll protect it with my life.

The fantasies of love; I fancy myself
a glove— holding onto old befores, and
wearing out the test of time

A girl I would proudly call mine
Bribe my way into making a memory my bride; two
seductions of the tied ties, sleeping together at the odds night
And to wake up with a reasonable excuse to be tired

But I've tried to be like a peck of flightless birds—
no reason to fly south like the rest. As I encouraged
her to rest under my wing, upon my smothered talk in
her *******

Two crushing walls on my face in between thighs,
and her ****** being a tall tower close to rise
But I despise the extra seconds it takes to build up
her high. And why like vampires ****, is because
they don't use much of their tongue

But by the batting of her eyes, she is close to come,
to a point of returning a tip of this favourable fun