What if I finally came to all of the places,
to feel eventually complacent
In between seeing a lackluster example
of what it takes to lack love;
Would I be lacking in the appeals
of peeling pieces of my skin to this former apple of an Eve,
The apple of my eye, bitten by the marks of the
world' dogs; with an echo to their every bark?

But what man isn't referred to a dog,
with just another territory to mark
As we're ******* by those trying to be just a man;
with mannerisms of an ill-mannered upbringing,
Did you at least question their gestures with a little reasoning?

We are littered by the stains of this society;
as the illiterate, misread by a literature written
by history's cruelty in a castration anxiety
Even to those cut from the same cloth,
how much have we lost for the cost of just playing another's part?

I'm in part, lost in the standards of this world,
that would cancel my tongue for speaking something so bold
As I've lost the voice in my lungs, and the hairs of my chest;
to honestly have the heart of bravery; as it now appears to be bald

And I would make the fortunes for these misfortuned,
fortunately for the lookers-on, it makes me an abstract portrait
So I'll just portray what I know best from my many teachings,
reasoning, understanding, valuing, and treasuring
To relate to those I have no relations to, to find their meanings


       In politeness,
          I am not one to share any other man's likeness
            Still to rather seek peace in chaos of all this society
               To not find myself caught in between this culture violence

I never met a true prophet who made a million,
And I never met a parent chill enough to never
displicine their children.

But I shouldn't make a profit off the millions
of grown adults, acting like their children.

If we peel away the pieces
of your mind,
Tell me what would we find?

Don't slip on your thoughts,
that are lurking inside,
you might trip over, perhaps breaking your spine.

Just bear in mind.

The days of young,
when the night starts to
kiss the sun.

An explosive portrait I tend
to see,— brushstrokes of orange clouds
Sprinkles of the hues of blue in the
pockets filled with a sky of dreams,

       A perfect scene before I go to sleep.

What is a love turned into ashes –
Burnt by the flames of forgotten passions
Actions are so passive;
Our stories still left written out
In captions

My feelings for you are still massive,
Despite being inactive –
So when my lips spell out your name,
I start to fall in love, tasting that old
Bittersweet magic

And it’s truly so wicked, tragic
By feeling so fickle now –
But I happily accept all
That happened…

The softest echo of a heart
Are passions of someone with a secret to love
To express themselves in a manner that feels unmannered
For what I have to say feels like a ***** secret;
Something that would sound so risky

In person, I’m the furthest away from indecent
Still with the right mind set,
I could say things to leave you in pieces
And with a deep sense,
I’d whisper deeply all my unholy secrets,
Wishing for you on my wish list, that I wrote in secret

Like what forms a word, I’ve been well informed
To know that what I say is my target, I make it a goal
Whether whole or hole; there’s always a choice to take
Your servings in full, or to be left hollow in your words after

It could start with laughter, from tickling kisses that go
Up and down; to a crown of piercing sharp licks of head,
But instead the game goes well, by one being pleased and teased
And the shaking of a headboard from shaking knees

Yes indeed, a good loving is hot;
And a good reason for us being caught up in this heat
So don’t forget to breathe; but also know there’s no retreat
As a bedroom isn’t a place for the weak, caught in sheets
And neither for anyone to sound off their moans as meek

It’s a storm of passion; calm for a beginning,
Before the roars of thundering clapping gates
The pours of rain in the sweat dripping down your face,

Without haste, I shall bite the bullet after it’s taste
Another round, another round; shots of chance to pierce through you
A scar so deep,—a memory of last night,
replaying for tomorrow

...last night’s events,
where as eventful as I’d hoped for in this 10:45 hour

Inferior superiority
Interior seniority
Insecure authority
And insular metaphorically,
I'm liken to a voice of Mr Nobody

Smoke ashes
Soak gashes
Broke hashes
And woke scratches
Been foolish of taking many chances

Underestimate sentiment
Unintelligent celebrant
Evident etiquette
And relevant testament
But still being treated as a detriment

While if called unreliable
Still viable by the words of man and woman
To sound as desirable—
But told his manhood isn't sizable

All my life, I've been underrated
and my feeling towards it is so jaded
Of the times of being underappreciated
My pride is deflated—but I must deafen ears
To all unfair opinions stated.

Lose my thoughts,
things of which I don't have
But try to be glad,
though life gives me reasons to be sad.
For the secrets I've bought,
many I keep haven't been spoke
And for the dues I've paid,
the end of day has me feeling broke.

This isn't a mood,
or even close to being an emotion
Neither of which is good,
a fragile case to be held with caution
I need someone to hold,
not down but up above my sadness
You can't decide all your feelings,
explaining is hard to those who don't understand
Comforting is harder,
to those who haven't felt such as well.

If I found the time,
I'd use it to encourage myself
If I found the time,
I doubt I'd be willing to give any back
If I found the time,
I'd do more things than relax
But with the time I have,
I have but a moment to do better with a chance.  

So to speak,
you can rebuild yourself from just a piece
Find the peace,
be one to cut away troubles than to slit a wrist.

Do feel my suicide,
but won't feel a reason for me to die.

While I'm acting right, don't cause a scene;
Tell me to act clean: I'm too ***** minded;
You say it's dim, but I see the finest.

Right in between those eyes.

Hate me now when I'm acting different;
On my case when I seem suspicious,
Pull me closer when I'm acting distant.

Making sure I stay awhile.

You call me Mr: Not ready to have a Mrs;
Gift your love: Let's all call it Christmas.
Tried to give me a bed job: I quickly said,
'Please stay out of my business.'


Let me rest, before I'm addressed
By your favourite naked dress;
Turn a court case into a pillowcase:
Putting all our issues to their rest.

'That's how we should play it girl.'

Pace yourself: Ran marathons to love;
Played yourself, and broke your heart.
Hate me now, quickly complaining to God;
Say I seem off: He knows you're playing odd.

Still we both see such a perfect angel.

Now I act rude when in Tuesday's mood;
Step on toes when you remove your shoes,
Do you wrong; feelings go misunderstood.

Leaving you to cry on my shoulders.

You inhale, I sigh; And we both exhale.
Inhale, exhale, breathing out this pain.
You inhale, I sigh; And we both exhale.
Inhale, exhale, is how we play this game.

You feel just like Heaven on Earth;
a hellish anger to leave me burnt.
And all with that purity: I do hope
you can keep it under your skirt.

I heard the world is stealing roses.

As I stood there, surrounded by the smoldering remnants
of a testament fire, the fierce and burning flame of truth
licked at my lips, leaving behind the taste of ash and smoke.
It was as if the very essence of my being had been
engulfed by the scorching salts of the Pacific ocean,
causing me to drown away the weight of my past and
propel myself towards a new, transformative moment in my life.

In that pivotal moment, as I gasped for breath,
I could feel myself taking in a new perspective, as if I
were biting into the air itself to taste a vision
that the world could never comprehend.
The decision to speak out, to give voice to the dream
that had long been buried within me, felt like a bolt of
lightning striking at the core of my being, collapsing my
chest with the weight of my own despair.
Yet, behind the mask of my fixed gaze, it seemed as
though none could truly see the depths of my turmoil.

With each step I took through the blistering desert,
the searing heat pierced my skin like a thousand razor-sharp
blades, each one a painful reminder of the unstable journey
I was now embarked upon after losing my trusted steed.
My once-moist lips were now as dry as the touch of the hot,
heavy air that danced in merciless circles on my sun-drenched skin.

And as I gazed out at the horizon, it appeared as
a thin needle in my eye, relentlessly chasing the elusive
tip of the vast ocean, an ever-present hope of finding
solace and respite.

Yet, just when all seemed lost and the weight of my
journey threatened to consume me, a miraculous
sight greeted my weary eyes.
In a corner of the globe, hidden away from prying eyes,
I stumbled upon an oasis.

Its pristine water beckoned to me, tantalizingly
close to the edge of my own demise.
With each sip, it tasted as if it held the spirit of life itself,
filling my cherished cup to the brim and overflowing with
a sense of renewal and gratitude.

In that moment, as the cool water quenched
my parched throat, gratitude flooded my being.
I was no longer consumed by the burning flames of my past;
instead, I stood, reborn and rejuvenated, ready to embrace
the boundless possibilities that lay before me
— no longer burnt out.

All the pretty summers getting a little dark
Reminiscent on all the girls who broke his heart
Battered and bruised by another battle scar,
Misjudged your heart;—pretending to know who you are

Locking demons, next to the skeletons in a closet
Questions of how he does it; to snip away time like
picking up girls with pretty flowers.
Knowing roses aren't always a pretty red, but the blood
stains of picking them up by their thorns
All their beauty and sounds, carefully arranged like poems

But he started off as the caterpillar before meeting
her butterfly kisses. Words flying high in air, and losing
breath complementing his Mrs.
Describing her by fruit shapes,— cherry cheeks,
a pineapple hairdo, and two plump peaches
Always treating you like a baby, and calling you cute
for giving her baby boy kisses

A little Miss info, the only one for you; dishing out info
by a saucer, at times over your head like a UFO
But you didn't know her dirt, even as you were down to Earth
a terrestrial, inhabiting this relationship often being absurd

             ...baby boy, it's been a while since you've kissed a girl

Clears throat...

"Lay me to rest
for how I'm dying to kiss
your face
Still in my head; levitate, levitate
level me down to trade light
words, like smoke in a vape
You're my favourite picture in
my head, and I won't let you out of
the frame

And we're just the anthem of our words,
my hand on my chest; arousing my feelings
You're a rousing and uplifting song without
any shame"

       ...........

"But it's a shame;
you and I haven't met
Still it's the sounds of a yearning heart
continuously calling out your name"

Now who am I to tell you why,
that money you chasing you got your vision messed up in your eye.
Man, your greed is growing, chasing down the money, that makes it your only motive,
The money you chasing, got full amount of power like a **** locomotive.

Oh no look, now you're blind right in the eye,
Now you looking to us like we all got answers to your big why.
And you paid the young girl by the corner, to **** you up dry,
Now she's in the gutter with tears in eyes all about to cry.

But tell me why, who am I to tell you that, the money you're chasing is all but imported.
And who am I to tell you why, all those fake people you hang with love for you was just all but resorted.

Better pay those bills for all those expensive thrills,
Because sorry brother all that money does all the cheap kills.

So let me give you a word of advice young blood of mine, better proceed the money with much caution,
And **** it Me, stop rubbing the money in your skin like fancy smelling lotion.

In the paradigm of this fictional paradise—in the eyes
        Of thinking life is all about bias
On the one side, you may find me on a grey line
Or rather a grey lie; as the N is the ends, of something unfamiliar
You may slip easier while wearing slippers.

As are my best years: warm ash blowing in the wind
Time is just a mastermind, planning only to seem less everyday
I tell myself not to be afraid, of that which few will understand
   Life is unclear, as like watching scenes through filthy glass
   I only worry for the young, as still being a youth
Those trying to achieve their dreams, by the skin of their teeth
                                             With a missing tooth

But where am I even going with this,
      Fuelling insecurities to my drive.
The longest ride of galloping dark horses inside,
   I fail always to have a stable mind.
But let me hose you a little, pouring out my pain in these prose
I suppose it’s the running smell of intentions, with a running nose
   I’m cold, and flew out of the window, busy chasing my dreams.

The birds and bees—life is full of all those awkward conversations
         ***** referred to the birdseed;
         Pollen I guess is fairy dust attracting bees
    Everything eventually desires a multiply; of course to divide
The female’s thighs, adding my power of manhood, bisecting insides
     And we hope not to subtract the time we have left,
       As the final product will be the life of our child

   (I still hate math, but ironically try to make this moment count)

Seriously where am I going with this? That’s me again—
Heading nowhere, without any directions.
    I must of missed the signs; sigh
    So excuse me while I grab my thoughts—not to thwart
    And trap myself in these usual profound thoughts.
Those who love to think deep, probably can’t swim.
And if you don’t get that; blame your shallow mind.
    This is Adults swim—
                         All children kindly step outside.

Now let me talk to the mature poets in the room
I warn you, it’s grave to write like it’s always your last;
Buried as a pen in your tomb
Some would try to write good deeds in the good book,
                                                  In that waiting room.

With your holey socks; the only time you seem a fibre of holy
   Hey you! Take off your shoes, this is Holy ground
         And by the way, that was me being profound.

I’m the chaos of words...The Chaos is profound!

Over the moon,
conquer the dreams of stars
Just like the sun,
we're all bright like these things above.

Finding the reasons to cry becomes an arduous task,
as time never seems to be on our side. It's disheartening,
but in all honesty, it's all dismissed, these thoughts and
moving on.

It might be more productive to search for another opportunity
or moment when tears can freely flow without judgment.
He often says, "sure I'm fine, very much so," attempting to
conform to societal expectations that men should suppress
their emotions and not shed tears.

The act of crying, however, feels like nothing more than a
mere suggestion; an optional response to the intense emotions
that overwhelm us. Revealing our true feelings seems to
invite a barrage of inquiries and curiosity from those around
us, causing discomfort and unease.

As a result, seeking solace and comfort from others becomes
nothing more than an illusory concept, an intangible notion
that we struggle to find.

In our pursuit of a peaceful heart, we are often bombarded
with well-meaning advice that we choose not to follow.
The idea of finding inner peace becomes a distant dream,
drowned out by the noise of societal expectations and the
pressure to adhere to conventional masculine roles.

So for now, we must learn to cry silently, bottling up our
feelings and playing the part of a stoic man today, in the
hopes that tomorrow will bring a change.

                         ...men don't cry!

Likely in an entire lifetime I'm yet to have lived
Taking each day on just as fling.
Hoping to fly through my time, but surely how on Broken wings.

A Great Eagle falling down from it's high pride and grace.
Those he preyed Upon now prey on his misfortune,
The hunt he once owned, he now owes back to be the hunted.
All the strength of his wings all gone to waste.

But him and I are possibly that much a like
Surviving on the skills that keep us close to life.
For we'll both will find such fright when the skill blessed upon us doesn't provide food to hold our stomach down for the night.

Our broken wings will ache so greatly, trying desperately to stretch.
While being held down to foreign land that holds down our weight,
And for a short period we'll lose the identity of our nature and be like dogs playing fetch.

But that's not the moment telling our time is surely done yet,
For through the aching of our Broken Wings we'll stretch them out to find our strength again.
Looking to the skies our home, stretching out to her to hold her once more in our wings stretch.

Taking to the great skies for our Broken Wings shall not hold us back any more,
Take to the Sky as she gives back to us our True place.
To fly above it all as the great Bird we are and soar.

On these once Broken Wings we've found the strength they've always had from before.
For we aren't held down to the ground, for Eagles don't find their True place towards the floor.

So to the Eagle and I, shall we find strength on our Broken Wings.

Please don't misunderstand me for being so blunt,
but I can't help but feel like the sun and moon
are in cahoots to taunt.
Their tears will fall together,
marking the warmest winter I've ever known.

If I don't wake up tomorrow,
don't think I'm running away.
I'm just sleeping through the pain,
drowning in my tears every day.
If I die, it's not for me, but for others to live.

I've given my all, but it seems like I've only received a little.
I fear that you've stopped listening to me,
and now my prayers are just a riddle.
I've questioned love, but you've yet to answer me.
So please, care for me last, and forgive me
if I'm being selfish, you see.

I've never been one to think for myself,
always putting others first.
But now I just want to be heard,
to have my words not go unheard.
I wish to be seen, for people to understand
what I really mean.
But time has run out for me,
and I'm left wondering how to trust when trust is empty.

Living is just a slow walk to death,
and my dreams are just constant nightmares.
I follow the rules of my wake, but I'm always
looking for a way to escape the snares.
It's hard to keep myself together, living under the weather.
My future depression has its roots in the past,
and I know I should care more about myself.

But I'm stuck on loving everybody
else, giving my heart out for them to pick.
I try to stay above the high waters of every
relationship, but I'm just a sinking ship.
If love was once mine, I'm convinced I never had it.
I've given it all away to my friends,
enjoying the sense of pure insanity, I admit.

I'm the man everyone looks to lean on,
painting pictures for them to dream on.
Some days I hate it, but I do it all out of love.
I fake it often, but let me end up weightless
inside of being, like a dove.

We pick our friends as we pick our enemies,
we count the time and make our friends our enemies,when I'm listening to the Devil and what his demons are telling me.
Still ****** girls with lustful thoughts,
Still causing murders in my mind and hiding the evidence in empty ports.
But I'm waking up to see no darkness in my empty rooms ,
You want to go live in sadness, then you building yourself, your own black case tombs.

I'm happy now, pray to God I'm not sad tomorrow,
Lord knows his seen me cry when it felt like I stole his love just to borrow.
But I'm a happy man because I've seen a plan,
A plan for me from the Heaven and Earth maker, that superman.
But is my God just a man or just woman in my life,
It's a constantly changing agenda but he still helps me out when this life cuts me like a knife.

How I'm sorry for all the hate in my life,
how I made it my own,
Surely it would catch up to me and make a call if it could, but really it can not afford a phone.
But surely I'm the dumb enough man to figure how to call you back,
Then let you take everything, all that I have, now this all that I lack.
But I'll pray some more to fix that up,
Trying to avoid using pills and potions to fix me up.

So I'll be the man sitting at the back because they say the first shall be last and last shall be the first, so I'll relax at the back,
Till I ride shotgun on Jesus's back and give back to all that I lack.
So someone sing me a song of all this I know,
Sing it loud enough for the Heavens to know, that finally this lost son is coming home.

hearts racing,
the grass is split-
lioness has caught prey.

As we stand here, foolishly waiting for
love to sweep us off our feet, we find ourselves
holding our breath in anticipation.

Every second feels like an eternity,
as we eagerly await the moment when love
will finally embrace us.

But alas, time moves on, and eventually,
we find ourselves drifting away,
unconscious to the world around us.

There no such thing,
As a bad poem –

It’s merely a spectrum
Of Preferences.

The taste of tears
love=flavour’s joy
tasted dreams of another
And as a crying shoulder to a lover
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
anger=boiling wrath
cast in the tone of doom
As we’d cry over anger to keep cool
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
saddens=weather’s blue
we’d cry together to wash away pain
Tears of tomorrow are drizzles of yesterday’s rain
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
death=last drops
it will be hard for one to say their goodbyes
Still we know that we’ll meet on the other side
                         ....our tears till the end

They say,
when you're destined to be a poet
chances likely you won't really know it.

They say,
choose the write words to make your voice known
don't be the antisocial type to avoid being alone

They say,
the future is what you dream it up to be
the only obstacle having  to face is only me.

They say,
The greatest writers suffer from the highest depression
Acting upon this active passive aggression.

They say,
You could speak a million words of positive
but they'll only remember the ones of  negative.

They say,
To be the greatest poet you'll need be  suffering through some hurt
maybe then your stories could leave the world with a mark and some worth.

Poet I am
But not strong in my securities of being such a man.
All my words scream out, hoping to be heard
Saying to be a Christian, sometimes yet failing to follow The Word.

Seeking to be heard and broadly known
When the whole world speaks of you highly
and all your works are widely shown.

Spare a few gratitudes to a lesser known poet
Why not share his wise words so people around at least know it
If I wrote a changing idea in the instant
would you at least show it
If someone plagiarized my quotes
would you at least call it.

Just please do me the simple favour
For this lesser known poet
As you excuse his childish behavior
And let him be a poet as he knows it.

Bearing a smile that only visits in secluded chambers,
Veiled in a darkness as profound as secrets nestled in shadows,
Soft syllables of silence, misplaced amid the day's pandemonium,
Nightly reveries that drown themselves in the depths of a pillow.
I shudder at the thought of rest; an elusive tranquility we
fail to grasp,

The riddled enigmas etched in foreign minds,
And the plague of local trials.
The heavens hold their silence,
Their formless grey visage troubling my thoughts,
-I feel as washed out as the tempest of words
churning in my throat.

Vows echo in my heart,
While stale promises find refuge on my lips,
A spectator of the ceaseless struggle to survive,
Unfurling around me.

The steadfast, rooted in their words, knelt in submission,
I liken myself to a prayer, suspended in anticipation;
Waiting, ever waiting.

The world's burden bearing down on my gaze,
Weighing heavy with fatigue,
He bears so much, a lion's share he never asked for.
Once, I fancied myself a bloom,
Yearning for the dawn- the dream of a rose,

Yet I find solace in the thought
Of never awakening from this enchanting reverie.

I'm a moth in a firing line,
who shot his shot with a firefly
I kissed a few butterflies, but the
feeling of love was caterpillar
—I cocoon my heart, in the hopes
it will one day grow to be beautiful.

Too many to count on my hands,
too many to have, too many to make
me happy, mad or sad.
Too many girls in the land, I don't
always understand.

But what's the world without them,
what's a nine out of ten; if this world isn't
truly complete without them?
Some as friends, not too many as lovers.
But so many who taught me how to be a
good hugger.

They give me fatigue,
they stick to my side like the flesh to my flesh,
bone to bone of those potentials to my Eve.
The sharpest memory, of when I do them wrong,
who had, to have me falling in love with them,
and a corny love song.

What's the world without them;
driving me crazy. But we also go crazy
for them.

I'm a psychopath, as I cycle in a path
On life's roller coaster tracks, I lost track of time,
An untimely demise to a Sir married to his prize—a surprise
To come to build a fort around a heart's comfort
Come forth to forgo your old ways; wayward thoughts to
ward my love from running away

Anyway I'm stuck on a dream of yesterday
Trying to make it revelant today
Two days later the latest trends become late
Fashioned state; fashionably late
it's a fashion state of late, when you try to deep fake

Spear your spirits; cuts deep being a Christian
Spearhead, someone with deep thoughts untold wisdom
A little devilish smile into making love,
All the feelings that awkawdly develop
Nothing lasts forever like sugar in a piece of gum
Chewing on your words, and biting your tongue
And if blood tastes like cinnamon; it would be few
to the looks of eyes to see no men. Feeling nearly
the same as a synonym

Another questionable phrase to the praise
of your own son asking you for a raise
We're all living to gain, doing it all again,
and again; in the end it's all a game

I'd hate to shout to be listened to
hate to fight for my hurt to be felt
hate to steal to show how robbed of life I am
hate to start a war just to win an argument
hate to cry all through the night just to smile all day
hate to put on a face just to face another day
hate to thank God for one thing with so much to be thankful for
hate to get so much money if it meant I'd have to be famous
hate to tell a harsh truth if it meant I'd sound like a villain
hate to tip-toe around death and afraid to run to opportunities
  and hate to be hated by so many people, but I'll love them all,
                            as much as I'm in love with my every flaw.

Even where flavour lies;
can't bite into love
Like a sandwich.

Two slices of loaf;
he was told too many lies.
Unfortunately for him;
it was all both sides.

At times, it seems like I am skillfully navigating my way
through a block of words that could potentially hinder a
conversation, similar to how one would navigate
around the imposing Watch towers on a bustling street.

Dealing with these words becomes a sort of religion
in itself, as they stubbornly cling to their power.
Above all else, these words start to feel as if they
have been suspended in the air, waiting anxiously for
a compliment to grasp onto, like a game of
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," where I would willingly cross
boundaries just to capture the attention of a lover; if by her toe.

However, in doing so, our pasts would inevitably
catch up with us, causing us to confront
and let go of numerous things.

Consequently, I have transformed into a different person,
one who has hopefully grown enough to be
dispassionate towards my own individuality.
And if I were to personify my growth, I would become
that very message that I have discovered and now wish
to share with others, spreading the sense of freedom
and my new found deliverance.

please excuse me,
i have this
bad habit
of falling
in love;
as quickly as the'
traffic you see
-my heart in a rush
living under that
rock; you're my
favourite crush
when you strut you stuff
darling, i can't get enough
please excuse me,
i must have fallen hard, when
i fell in love- with you.

Books of old,
have held the knowledge of new.
Testimonies of the days before,
prophecies long before us.
If you've read enough into text,
such things have come now to be true.

Looking with only eyes,
doesn't grantee any sight.
Your heart too knows,
whether it being right or wrong.
In the very darkness of night.

As too the soul,
beholds things coming before,
You spirit remains soundly calm,
as you anxiously wait for what's in store.

Take a moment of breath,
don't be so anxious and weary.
You seem to know little,
when you feel so uncertain.
Breathe now, stop you're fearing.

Be as the still waters,
find your calm.
A tender whisper to soothe a child,
find your stillness,
And sing it in song.

Fire, fire, in the Deepest Colds of my Soul
Here be I a stranger to self from my every Turn and Toll.

Though I may have not very changed, I Feel so Anew.
Despite such my mind feels Broken. Perhaps I've lost the *****.

Though could Earthly Medicine heal such to a Soul
Shattered to these many Former pieces. How I long to be Whole.

Wholeness in Myself of I
Days ago how I fell Straight to my Blindness to neither see across, beneath the Glimse of my Eye.

Yet I count up so many tolls but in a Heart's of hearts, I count Blessings Afresh.
For I know they could not feel like such of Plenty, but they are the Many things to help me Impress.

My soul to be of Impress.

But what are the for comings of such a life I live.
Minds of gone, taken away of many and less a few to give.

Yet looking through the small glimse of the looking glass, seeing these old shadows of doubt.
Placed on hold in my heart at such a particular spot. This be where I find my mount.
Still where do Lone Rangers ride to in a sunrise already down
Where do lost dreams find themselves on my face with the makeup upon me like a clown.

Yet do own clowns laugh at their own jokes without the painted smile
Spoken though are the many words you don't say beneath the trial.

Such trials of common error and us many making many more mistakes.
Yet the harder lessons are what sticks most to the heart yet the revelation of such is of what has me in breaks.

Still what is man's commonality if everyone out there has shut eyes on different things,
The endless game of life chess being played is at most the worst of flings.

Still hear to these words before you fall to the prey of deaf.
Try to face all fears but be warned of running quickly to your own death.

I am an equal

—yet still
Divided by the
opinions of others

Still it subtracts
nothing
Of my worth
ten times of what
Appearances are,
I am hundred times
bolder than I was before

For underneath the surface
of stars
Beneath my skin I am
the multiples of stories
In constellation of every
journey, every line and dot

I call these many stars
my many beautiful scars

And they are truly who I am!

An X on all of your thoughts,
knowing full well he still crosses your mind.
And I'm really just parked outside,
waiting quietly in your friendzone.

Given my intentions and ideas,
aren't as big as my fears
I'd hate to be the very next one
to fill your eyes with more tears.

Waiting patiently,
being the shoulder to cry on
The one you rely on,
and being there so emotionally.

As is this place, the one I'm at.
I tell you to breathe,
you tell me to relax.
Pretty sure I've done more than that,
in the friendzone right from the very past.
Meaning I'll never ride shotgun in your life,
so I'll just be chilling in the back.

"We're just two friends"
The pain of which never ends.

To the shyest of most,
the ones doing the most.
All think of us quite timid,
still the timid kind, isn't shy
to their thoughts.

A step into our minds,
might lend you a slip.
You'd be so surprised to find
what's inside,
So you've heard,
the quiet ones are the loudest inside.

As the face can be tame,
there's something wild of us.
Granted we have some thoughts
to bring us to shame.
As is often our nature,
these thoughts tend to spring up.

The biting of my tongue,
there's something I'm shy to say.
As is my character,
as is how I'd act in a play.

|as slow as a night rider
comes; i've been on the low
driving nowhere nearest to the sun
all heated up over your love
stayed overnight, spending that night
under those stars- i was lost in your eyes

...and i'm hoping time slows for me to
                       stay trapped in this night

The days end like'
The last chord of a song-
As the final curtain falls over
The sky; covering another day
To it's eventual longer night'
An army of silence in the cricks of crickets,
The wickedness of the street calls, yelling out
"Save me, Save me, from the holes in my face"
In a city depraved of maintenance,
A year of the elect; elections around the corner'
I've come to the age to vote; a sexennial older

I a man, like the end of that song
Playing a melody of what self-care, self-motivating,
Self-discipline, and what my true self is willing sing
The key is, to be the beautiful that was tuned into your spirit

                                     ...Sing loudly myself

/// Rewinding playback; on a favourite
      cassette tape. CD compact disc changer in
      the glove compartment. Eight track, eight
      miles away from that nostalgic memory of us
                    sort of around the time I was in love \\

Mixtape stories, as they once were,
one story about falling in love—as easily as a leaf falls
to the ground. Looking up to see how far we've come
Falling off track on a marathon of longing to be loved;
probably why I was skipping a few places in life, cos my
disc was scratched

It didn't feel so real in the moment: so fictional; all in the
fixations of an imagery room, filled with unimaginable
dreams. I dreamt about falling in love, but never dreamt
about getting this far

It felt strange, as an anxious mystery before
the next turn of the author's page
Never having the authority to control who we
fall in love with. Regardless, it did not stop me from taking
the authority to buy you flowers- my once pretty flower

"Could she smell my intentions a mile away"
Or rather smell the inexperience I have
when it all comes to love

I could say I love you easily,
but never take it well, being said back in turn
Words of affirmation, non affirmed by an affirmative
upbringing. Never my strongest love language, spoken
only in signs, growls and random sighs
Quickly avoiding a long hug, and saying just a hie

///Hello, opening conversation to an open topic
     in the air. Same place where we all catch a love sickness
     Knees of course in their weakness—mostly blushing
     over each other's sweetness. The tape's signature brown
     memories got tackled up in my heart's radio. Untangled
     now from you—I can't play you anymore to remember it all
                  guessing now it's finally the end of these love tapes \\

      ...but I still love you, for the record

i heard of a shadow,
in an empty room
full of intentions,
still they're like a rainy day
still deciding how grey it wants to be.

i picked the corner of a world,
where my square ideas were vaguely
valued; a child who thinks out of the box
i stored a piece of myself in the closet
of my parent's skeletons;
ancestry artifacts burdened by a
generational chain,- the attire of a uniform
conversation; pretending i had a
good day at school today.

"no i didn't cry as much in class,
as i usually do, dearest mother
i did try to make a pass on math on being
calculative, on how i spent my day,
busiest father."

"as i bullied a bully before he could
make me his next victim
cutting him short a few generations
when i kicked him in his *****."

and i only cried, not out of guilt,
but to guilt everyone else, as to make it
seem as if it wasn't entirely my fault.

still even if it had not rain that day,
i'd still ask myself why my tears
felt so grey that day

Of the most, many drink a life away in hopes of finding yourself at the bottom of the cup
To living life in a Man's straight manner but the mind is trailing upside down and left out in the dump.

Taking pills and potions to **** empty pains
Alas, I'm left with messy sheets to sleep with on a bed with all my ***** stains.

Lord Almighty, hoping he don't take me out too soon
Crying in the arms of my own self. Feelings felt like a fictional character of the children's cartoon.

Praying to you that you stay, that my heart wouldn't be lost to I in the troubles of a sometimes lost world.
Gripping on the rusty keys of my heart. Often sicken by a constant sin of my regrets to unfold.
Jesus knows of how my sins he bore on the dead ****** tree could hold so much weight
Often if given the chance I would quickly rely on this world's Grace.

But that could never be enough. For this world's desires couldn't hold you for long in the comfort of loving arms,
But rather play with your mind and   body quickly by the strums and noisey drums.

Still tried to disconnect from people and all care
But the places I would end up to be I would find nothing out there.

Now at such a place I found myself to be,
then for an empty man like I had to search in the deeps of himself to find of what would make him free.
To then humble yourself by your wordy lip
Ending up in a fight wrestling with God. Having a bone pop straight out from the hip.

But I had to come to place where I made a switch up from eating too much of the dirt the world would feed.
To dig deep enough in a once cold heart to plant a new seed.

Now such a seed would grow deeper by the roots of a Tree to my Heart
And no man of this world would dare to think they have the sharpest tool to cut such a Tree apart.

So as I water the tree of my heart to the hopes of it growing tall and well,
Watch of the fruits of my labours for the many stories of my own children to tell.

This to the Tree of my Heart...

July babies, falling in the
atmosphere of a beauty's sight

In a line, a straight answer to say
you're so beautiful

But as usual, a beautiful sight causes
a man to lose his words

To sell his worth
to afford the confidence to talk to you

But as usual, the fool struck by beauty;
is lightning striking twice

...so all he can say is,

"hey you look really nice"

If growing more successful and earning more money,
means losing your roots... please don't plant me in a
*** filled with riches.

If being famous means losing your soul... please don't
let me walk around with fame.

If being a leader of many means I start to become
corrupt... please don't put me in charge of a nation.

And if being heard means harshly silencing those
around me... please don't let me have a...