It's quite concerning,
this place I find myself am at.
Take a deep breath, but O'Lord I hope it doesn't stench.
I'm a spoiled mood inside my heart, feeling like a brat.

It's quite concerning,
where I've come to be but never really see what's in front of me.
Probably closing my eyes way too much to try to keep on dreaming.
While kicking the world right off my plot for too much scheming.

It's quite concerning,
how I have my wings, but don't know how yet to fly.
Living on the kind of words that feed my dreams so I don't quickly die.

Probably losing my focus staring straight so long at a crooked world,
That makes me feel so dead inside like my own funeral.

And it's that concerning I'm too emotional that I don't know when to cry,
Nor knowing if I should keep my composure when wishing someone I miss already goodbye.

Though am I qualified of being the right person,
Cause sometimes everything of me is gone so fast, I'm all that's left.
And I choose to be lesser of the swearing type, but **** it I can't help without the cursing.

And it's rather concerning, so very much concerning.
And I don't know what's there to fix inside of me when I don't know what's really working.

Tiny tickles in my nose;
she's a flair of exposed
    Granting a hint of-
          an open Rose.

Sweet fires of red;
burning incense
    A scent that shows.

Darling does know;
how strong perfumed
            Is her worth.

So wonderful-
sticking to her clothes
Scent of beauty a Rose;
        that soon arose.

Interpretation,
is dependent on the
listeners ear to speech.

Ay man, you good?
A man, you good.
Amen, you good.

But if we're not willing,
to listen with a caring ear,
how do we fix this breach?

Leave me, a loan,
Leave me, alone.

Instead,
we stab at hearts,
with words of a spear,
with an annoyance disturbing
the peace.

But I told you yesterday;
and not yes today,
but I sat today,
and not Saturday,

I can choose the day,
and not Tuesday,
and I'm not going on thirsty,
but going on Thursday;

But it's just a day.

And finally,
to one's deep ear,
do you listen well to deep words,
or listeners only after
you've given a speech?

Praying for those,
preying on me,
or do I pray for a sinner,
and for their sin?,

Or prey for a sinner;
for their sin?

Prayer or preyer,
Dedicate or devastate?

Interpretations do depend
in the end

Give me a title,
and I'll write something for you

In the midst of shimmering, pendant tears that fell gracefully
like a soothing, cooling summer rain, bringing with them
a sense of calm and renewal, I couldn't help but reminisce about
our carefree days of youth.

We used to playfully refer to such rain as a "monkey's wedding,"
finding joy in the whimsical nature of the world around us.

It was during those precious moments that we formed a bond,
united by our shared sense of humor and our pursuit of wishful thinking, always hoping to find that elusive *** of gold at the end of the rainbow.
We believed that if we could stumble upon such a treasure,
it would grant us the luxury of time, allowing us to forget the struggles and challenges we faced in our everyday lives.
In our innocence, we placed our trust in the wisdom that only
a youth can muster up in their playful explorations.

As I reflect on those days, I can still vividly picture the magnificent mud castles we built, standing tall and proud, mirroring the immense joy and satisfaction we derived from our imaginative endeavors.
They were like immortal empires, resilient against the test of time,
but only if we nourished them with our ever-fertile imaginations.

Like tender saplings in need of water, our castles depended on
the constant flow of our dreams to survive and thrive.

And just as the sun warms the earth and gently dries up the
morning dew, I hope that if I ever find myself receding and
drying up, it is only in the context of my grand finale.
There is still so much left for me to accomplish, so many dreams
to chase and conquer.

In the hearts of those who embrace their inner child, there is a
constant beating, a fervent longing to return to that imaginative
state and be transported to a world that knows no bounds.
It is a nation within the mind, regardless of its size or its capacity
to hold the dreams and aspirations of its inhabitants.

Outside these parts
I believe there's a man
His name to world seems foreign
And he is who I am.

Outside these parts
He tried to fit in the mouth of the crowd
But they spat him out for his ego couldn't match theirs of loud.

So as the time grew he grew into himself
Choosing to be alone for people weren't good for his health.

Outside these parts he tried to find a place
But everything in the world tries to take up any space.
So he found it best to run in the life's race
For maybe at the finish line he'd find a type of embrace.

This man shows kindness
But the world takes it as an opportunity
When those do him wrong he sees any hate towards them in only blindness.

He called it maturity.

But many make him feel like his manhood is of small
The things they subconsciously do put obstacles in his way to make him fall.

Outside these parts
The man grows cold and warms his heart in a place of retreat
He comes back to care for the same people who hurt him, though they do such things on repeat.

He falls under no class, he tries to be unique
When people speak out of loud and high ego, he chooses not to speak.

But not to seem better than everyone else
For he hopes to the one to help find  calm from their large prideful statements.
For he's invested in their health.

So much so that he forgets his own.
Till his strength leaves him
To only get it once more when stays out alone.

Outside these parts I know a man, he and I the same
We share a name
Having a wild heart at times but finding ways to make tame.

I am him and he is I
As we both live outside these parts.

Want to be there for you,
but my mind rushes to been there.

And who really wants to be where there's pain?

A battery tongue to lead
into the energy of our conversations
Leaving that imprint of our first outgoing
experiences: Date stamped
Feelings lost in a brown haze of your eyes;
your skin tone made of mother earth, even
as your cry in pain, it turns into mud

All kisses find their perpetual motion
their thoughts of one’s cocooned emotions—
ear curls, your breath coils, turned into hot coals
a lip bite under the tightening grip of second skin

A riding body on a trip to fill itself
as a heartbeat starts with a hum: drummed in
the middle of a hall; through its walls, sound vibrates
Everything else gyrates— as the hammer weighs down
an anvil: to love her in a set picture, polaroid sometimes
I love her still

Raging
wars inside my head
Sleeping
buried as if dead,
Four times the strain
inside my brain,
Losing count of thoughts. I forget,
Especially now
with this aching migraine.

Shut eyes
hope to block out the ache
A couple pills
to numb myself to sleep
So much so,
I might not even wake.

And of course;  
water to wash it down
I feel so much disorder,
my brain feels upside-down
Christ almighty hears me cry,
about a thorn to the Crown.

The light surrounding,
covered with a backhand
A slap of fire strikes my front end.
Praying in
the echoes of pain,
That you silence the noises
of this constant migraine.

Twin eyes to those hours we were apart,
double standards of monetary values; the
monitoring funds to buy out your heart, in
preparation for the view of love to come

It fills my feet with a blesséd relief; walks
of faith with tears for the damp streets—
a tongue in dormancy, doesn’t have much
good for itself to say; desperately fighting
back the great sickness of life— having to
be so patient with this world

Hanging on the ledge, eyes gauzed with silver
mist, to try and seek out a golden approval of
those gone too soon to the brilliant sky, where
the air floats above a turquoise-like dome
In a time that is of mirrored jade; of those
waiting to be heard, and those who dreamt of
a better life far ahead

Past time alert, overkill the statement.
Seeing demons, give me the steps to conquer them to bring light to the darkness of a heart's basement.
Pull the plug to let it sink down the drain,
Down be fallen my brain often.  I go insane.

Is it ment to be, a lost child in a cold wilderness,
Father, Father, where have I lost my sight to you, I as your witness.
For I've seen such a crime of man killing each other with harsh words.
Last week gunned down by a racist remark, blood shed with pieces of bone eaten up by black birds.
War in evil eyes, you claim to do it to protect the innocent,
Rivers of blood, drown in your own guilt and choke down on a spoonful of cinnamon.

O'that  girl pushed out the street,
You fed her good no,with just your distasteful piece of meat.
Little girl how good you had it when you had purpose,
But the man of my gender robbed you and left you worthless.
I'm sorry for that, I beg for your forgiveness. I'll take the blame.
How beautiful you were till he put ugliness on your face. Such a shame.

Do none hear the crying out there,  a thousand sons and daughters without fathers.
Demons creeping by their bedroom doors. How they hide underneath the sheets and covers.

But we still be chasing our tails when they don't exist,
Why not chase to be the first to lend a hand to each. Open your hand, why do you try to help with a ****** Fist.

I live to breathe, I breathe then seek;
to seek my dream.

I dream for one, and pray to one God for all;
for all who breathe.

I breathe to live, to live my worth, the worth
of time, and how it's spent.

I spent my days on the prayers I long to send;
I'll send out the message written in my heart.

I write with my heart, and never miss a beat;
still I beat myself when I'm not myself.

And by myself, I could never find a reason to breathe.

As dusk fades away, I continue to tread
a path deeper through my darkest moments.
Battling the shadows that haunt me, it feels like
an era of hopelessness for all of us, a secret tragedy
that the world will soon discover.

Despite the eternal sunshine, darkness
often manages to steal my smile.

Walking alone on the loneliest journey,
even the shortest mile feels endless.
Yet, I refuse to let weariness unravel my spirit.
And if I hold onto my dreams tightly, I can keep
my head held high and embrace a brighter ray
of hope with each new endless dawn.

Self traits, self shame,
titles holding onto everything
Self harm, self blame,
really what's the point of anything?

Self pity, self saved,
thinking we better ourself.
Self-centred, self engaged,
we really don't care about anything else.

We're just self abusive, self-destructive,
enemies of our own.
Self-loathing, self obstructive,
always tear ourselves for being torn.

We sell ourselves into being selfish.
As is human nature,
Selfishness like a fetish

When I do you wrong
you never do talk
But when I see those eyes
they tell a thousand words.
And it breaks my heart,
to know I'm robbing your worth.

I read into your mind,
seeing a lot of me I don't like.
And baby I,
know bad history and I are almost alike.

But don't you let those tears fall
before I do my best
Let me fix my words,
admitting I was wrong.
Though my pride hates that,
it bites at I must confess.

Still the stinging hurts less,
to when I'm giving you stress.
I know I'm not always the best,
but I could always do better.

Like the seconds on the clock,
give me a second chance.

A man could be looking for a wife,
But not looking to be her husband
As we'd stay glued to our past
Only with a glimpse to the future

                   The similarity?

We'd go on searching for the right fit
Of past experiences in a small frame
The bigger picture,—
Is we're often stuck in something
By ourselves, together in misery
To say it's love; well at least for the other
It's a love for an idea,
A glimpse of a preferred future

.          Careful, love is always a tricky thing

Nurturing this futile flame – dreams still linger on my fingertips as  
The glowing embers of thoughts I cling to. Dawn has splashed my
Vision with a fierce brilliance, a splendour now vanished;
Pursuing the fragments of a miracle that among those dear to
Me, I seem to be absent.

All the choices I’ve made; pride eludes me – pursuing paths
Not meant for my feet, lost in the throng All those I wished to
Impress, striving to achieve things that never filled me with pride  
Hearing their disappointment echo in my ears – it stung less than
It should have, for I had long been let down by those I admired.

Yet, I find myself never doing enough; despite all I’ve done to  
Still feel inadequate – I’m beginning to embrace myself more now,
No longer striving to please the multitude of family, friends, and
The few I can confess my love for. I’m discovering the art of
Self-love now.

I know a self aware *******,
not always aware of what
he left behind,- I do it on purpose,
as my past feels a bit like ****

Stay driven in life,
and watch out for potholes
Play your role in life,
make sure there aren't any plot holes
Reach your targets in life,
and know where to aim your goals.

Stepping lightly on your heart;
creating wounds and those
well-known scars –

Hold your tongue to keep from
saying too much.

Dig your hands to bury your grip away
from the time you could never own –

Erase the traces on your skin,
-those artificial fragments of a smile

They won’t notice your tears, as they never
wondered about the authenticity of your grin.

Life never really gets easier the more you grow, you just grow tougher skin. As you navigate through the various stages and chapters of life, you quickly come to realize that the challenges and obstacles don't disappear; they merely morph and evolve. While we may yearn for a smooth-sailing journey, where each passing year brings more ease and comfort, the truth is that life has a way of throwing unexpected curveballs our way. However, what does change is our ability to adapt and cope with these challenges.

As we grow older, we accumulate a wealth of experiences, both good and bad, that shape our perspective and inner strength. It's as if we develop an invisible armor, a thick layer of resilience that shields us from the impact of life's adversities. We become adept at bouncing back from failures, disappointments, and heartbreaks. We learn to reframe setbacks as opportunities for growth and self-discovery. We develop a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us, which gives us the strength to face whatever comes our way.

Additionally, growing tougher skin doesn't mean that we become hardened or desensitized to the joys and beauty of life. On the contrary, we appreciate the little moments of happiness and find solace in the simple pleasures. We learn to savor the present and find gratitude in even the smallest things. This ability to find joy amidst the chaos, to see the silver lining in every situation, is a testament to our growth and resilience.

Moreover, growing tougher skin means that we become more comfortable with uncertainty and change. We no longer fear the unknown but instead embrace it as an opportunity for growth. We become flexible and adaptable in the face of unforeseen circumstances, knowing that we have the strength and resilience to navigate whatever life throws at us.

Ultimately, the concept of growing tougher skin is about cultivating inner strength and emotional resilience. It's about developing the skills and mindset necessary to navigate the ups and downs of life with grace and composure. It's realizing that life will always present challenges, but our ability to face them head-on is what truly matters. And as we continue to grow and mature, we become more equipped to handle whatever life has in store for us. So, while life may not necessarily become easier, we can take solace in the fact that we are continuously growing stronger and more resilient with each passing day.

Ignorance in my hand, hold it too  close in my brain.
Closure in the night time streets walking a mile. Come sun or rain.
Jumping from club to club, losing a piece of myself in every building,
This drink is finally going down my system with no fight back after too many drinks. Feeling like being a little silly, with this naughty feeling.

The lights in the party are always so bright yet my soul went black.
Taking all the shots they reload in each glass. Drinking like this for all the things we lack.
All the pretty faces in here, it's a shame they won't be like this come early morning.
There be a man by the corner getting at all the girls. O'no there be his wife calling.

If my life ends up like the other vomiting his entire life into the drain,
Let me run out of here like I'm going insane.

Too late, already there from the moment I walked through those party doors,
On the hunt for the next prey to feed a man's endless hunger. Often liking to have your girls coming in fours.
The pretty ones are probably the most broken inside,
But who really cares when you just thinking about giving her next ride.


Lord save us all. Have mercy for the lost.
Credits wasted in a couple of swipes,  still spending it all tonight, tomorrow we'll all pay the cost.

Forgetful dreams, trapped on the pillow of my
bed— tiptoeing thoughts, almost like a ballerina
having a good stretch. As an injured picture frame
hauls away the canvas of a dream on a stretcher.
Giving pretence for a pretender—and knowing
whether the weather decides to jump over your
head, is knowing when it has a spring in its step.

But it never bends to tender hearts—it only offers
them the work of love. A group of tenders; all their
touches tender, all enlisted in affection’s labor force.
And if it's a compulsory love, we'll love with force.

Cos Love is a chin check sport—and you pay
for it with the protruding part of a chin cheque.
Control, and out-of-control—to the ones living
so remote. But lose that island, and you lose control.
And lose the answer to the power of influence—
and you begin to question what control even means.
Control is part of that… this far, at least, but a life
without risk— is the risk of never having lived.
Because everything you love to do might just be
the very last thing that finally does you in.

Shooting my shoot for target practice;
hoping not to miss trying to find a Miss
And in a distance, it feels as if my mind
for searching for love,  is quite so distant

Distilling my thoughts from the mix of
anxiety, impatience, insecurity, rage and all yesterdays

As for today,
marks the date of an anniversary of my very last date
And I can't say it went so great, but it was good
to know it happened in the first place

In the words of, "nice guys finish last"
it was impressive of a nice guy to make
a dying relationship consistent, and making it last
Though I had to mix it a little bit with some lust;
and to be presently distilling that brain
with memories of ***** thoughts, messing up my head

And I'll think ahead to seem a little more ahead,
maybe fall in love with a person as a friend
But still as friends; we seem not to how to express
our hidden emotions when we dim ourselves as "just friends"

We are merely shards of glass nestled in the branches—
delicate leaves that, when they tumble to the earth,
shatter our very essence.

In my gaze, you appear so fragmented, like a
reflection staring back at another reflection—
between the two, who is truly more lost in the haze?

In a round space of time,
everything seems to spinning in my mind.
So broken inside,
strangely enough, still alive.

Times are unfair to me,
as they are too plenty.
In the fullness of the world,
you wouldn't be surprised to find one empty.
He who has a void,
a sinking hole in the very chest,
Lest you know how to fill a black hole,
you'd only really waste away zest.

All think to medicate
is a way to an escape.
Perhaps in the moment it's a feeling of bliss,
before the feeling dissipates.
I'm high off on life,
maybe that's why I'm not feeling so great.

Counting demons inside of
my head.
Too many to count,
feels like a Hell hole,  
But that's not how I was made.

So let me pick myself up,
and wipe them off.
Before you're too far off,
right on the edge of life, ready to fall off.

What if my fix
has me breaking,
What if my outer demons
had me cave in,
How do I think straight
when my mind is always shaking?

Tend to be weird,
that's better me than faking.

Cause I'm just myself,
can never be someone else.
Live my worth like it's my house,
Love myself, and I'm so **** proud.

I'm a dancing old machine, with rust in my veins,
the ice of my eyes, and smoke of my words
Are a constant-
interludes between ourselves, as we play in part
As I'm searching in those eyes,
to try and find a fit and figure out what is my own part,

I'm just a towel drowned in a wash,
stranded on love; left high and dry
A text unread, no reply, my battery's out, and a flightless
bird, so mighty to my disguise, of when I was put on
flight mode,

As I drew my heart, painted in all of those memories,
so cryptic to my own self- who really knows me
But just the reasons to my existence, all to the knowledge
of a creator in the skies,

An overthinker in the general sense; though generally most
of my thoughts never make any sense
To write out all of my sins in the pen between
me starting to repent,

                             I'm as human as you are too
                               so natural to the wilds of my heart-
                                              it's all part of my human nature.

The hunger for success; we might as well scrape the bottom of the bowl,—And if we're all itching to be recognised, we might as well have a skin infection. Battling all of our demons, but its more of a battle to battle another temptation.

My mind and I are post mates, with these ideas we're trying to deliver to the world on the postal,
Still it might close us off, a world that's mostly your enemy, can't really escape it,—so we keep the enemy closer.
Always trying to sound like I've got some filling advice, with every word as food for thought, and the chip on my shoulder.
But their hungry eyes bite down more than they minds can swallow, then serve revenge back on a dish always colder.

But I guess I'm the fool for being so full on being foolish; you could give a world a hint of your love,—But it will always be a world living so clueless. As we all try to live a glass lifestyle, for
everyone to see how we're living.
Making such fragile homes for our children, glass walls for boundaries: please tell them not to throw stones around where we're living.
Still these are the prose to suppose; smelling the intentions of evil doers,— I'm on the nose,— Of acting like everything I do, is everything everybody knows. Making friends with the name sayers who never remember your name; trading thoughts and quotes to butter up people with this modern day barter trade.

The only relation we all have, is we all love to hate; negativity is what we feed on,— positivity is just a bit of salt we shake on top
of hate on this plate, so it easily goes down. And ten days of money going up, is the process of you having ten toes down. But we'll probably have to go around in a chaotic world, to finally feel renowned.

To say it's all mine in a field of past dreams,
it often turns into minefields
I'm so mindful of abrupt explosives thoughts;
in the silent words, and all of my feels
I put a chest to where there's a heart;
still beating myself over a past life
With a the ball in my court; I threw it
around just to pass time
- life's a game, that only the brave can freely play
and I don't have the ***** to do the same today

Her Plan A was simple —

Don’t have kids too young, so she invested
everything into Plan B: watching her step,
protecting her peace, staying ahead of
what the world might expect of her.
That was always her plan, see.

...not willing to risk it all for Plan D.

She’s still out here hoping this one
might be the one to drop down on one knee —
and not just another one wanting her on
her knees. So tired of bruised knees;
from praying to God for someone real,
while a man’s bruised ego is the only thing
she’s expected to heal.

...she just wants to be free.

Counting all of the steps of the mountain toe
-preserving the flavours of her lips like fine gold;
Give me some time to find the right words, picking
them out for your ears performance, as if looking
through morning flowers- for a rose

The taste of her skin is clay for moulding; those
decorative smiles to hang onto the time two lovers,
can share of the night- her innocence that’s in high
regards; soaring with the doves

Luv, I hope all of my words are loved, as I watch
all of the beauty created from your hands; your
very candid spirit is endowed in your very oxygen, for
every kiss of ours is a place we are both bound to one
another… lips are the bend of history, tongues dampen
the past, as the breaths are all unto generations

Two ties to a screeched past —still scratching
at the crust of blessings, just praying the miracle
comes wrapped like a lottery win. I've got creative
thoughts on command — I’m a poet in general,
drafted into survival, writing lines inside a starving
chocolate box, where sweet words can’t keep you fed.

They say they’ll pray for you, but it all feels like a
soft-spoken nothing; a sugar packet of sympathy that
dissolves too quick. Good intentions catch my eye
from time to time, but I’ve learned to watch the fine
print, because love these days comes with a return policy.

They spread your “daily bread” with butter, but the knife
I return is always too blunt, so when someone messages
out the blue and I ask, “Okay, what is it you want?”

Rung by rung, I hang here, along with the clothesline
of everyone’s ***** laundry ready inside; to air it out.
Willing to play into the villain — but never mind that
every villain was once just human, walking around
with personal vendettas to air out.

But I remember a child — nuzzled into sleep, dreaming
of the nozzle, not a pacifier… reliving wars they never
asked to see, in a world  that’s grown cold enough to
make you breathe in snow and spit out fire, burning
down the globe just to feel some heat.

We own so little, yet feel owed so much.
We carry too much, but hold on to nothing.
All that we know… is that even our knowing
has become a debt we never asked for.

Pardon all my excuses,
I know they'll always be there.
such a scenic for having all
of my heroes fall to an early death.

Following people that don't follow me back,
my social dilemma is,
Sending out pictures trying
to make out trends.
But I'm really so tired of following people who aren't even my friends.

Likes I get, feel less appealing
to the hearts you most likely break.
Even for Heaven's sake,
my eyes stuck on screens even after I go to bed.

I could type out all my feelings,
but fail to say them face to face.
Questioning how you might to react
before where even in the same place.
I've loaded myself with shots to the head,
with all of my thoughts playing Russian roulette.

What more do people actually
expect of me,
Carrying the smile of a camera lens,
without a saved filter of glee.
Taking tiny snippets of me,
a lonely example.
Through all the stories,
wishing to switch my own channel.
But that's just a sample,
for me to believe I don't really matter.

So to caption this,
saved to my feed.
Holding breath on people's views
of all you do, you might not breathe.
Maybe one day I'll blow up,
but I know that fame won't be a breeze.

Just asking you please,
help out a fellow on his social dilemma.
Speaking to people is holding
up the highest of pressure.
Trying to post my life to something
beautiful and better,
Slowly believing my accumulated fame is lasting forever.

Still why isn't the world doing me any better,
when I'm feeling this social dilemma.

This is an opening of an open
conversation of a mind.
Opening the mouth to speak,
just not open to pour out lies.

As with an open heart,
opens the way to your soul.
Don't leave it so open to things
that you fully don't know.

We ask God to open a way,
but don't openly take it.
Some aren't open to change,
rather only open to the one they want.
So like an open call,
it seems to only be an act.
Too many play into things we're not,
openly falling into the consequences of that.

So I've openly written you all
a piece of my heart,
Perhaps to open your eyes,
hoping all are open to see.
I can't say this is an open file,
I'm just opening up as me.

Open to your own opinion,
and what you have to say.
Maybe add your own opinion,
something you're open to convey.

The endless nights bring
Fleeting dreams beneath the Moon's soft glow,  
While laughter in the sunlight has
Scorched my skin, in such a late playful woe,  
For joy has danced upon my heart,
Too bright, too bold, and too free,  
And in mirthful moments,
I have found the humour deep in me.

Would hate to wake in a world where we all could be perfect strangers
Closing the blinds of the windows, unseeing the happiness of close neighbours.

  Using MY hands to find the bit of control I have in only a man's Childish manners and chronic addiction,
And in me sometimes you'd find the chronic anxiety of MY own confliction.

These pills could for the hour taste a bit of sweet.  
And like the child hiding under the blankets from their daily nightmares, I would try to take it as my only retreat.
And could a man be the slave to his own well being, tying his own knot to hang himself
From the richness of a heart but spending it all that would bring you nothing. Lost in such MY entire wealth.

  Why though I would ask of someone to love me for just the night
For perhaps MY greatest fear would be to wake up alone or ride alone in a slowly crashing flight.

  Still listen closely to a heart of many troubles for a word of advice.
Sitting in such of your troubles wouldn't make you any of the difference or to ease off the pain cutting you by the slice.
My own fingers would bleed out from the splinters of the Dead box I trapped MYSELF in
Or dead out in the cold furnace of the once warm heart I'd place all MY Faith in.

  For the say to think out of the box, but I tore it up from the inside
To then find humbleness before I was choked by my own pride.

  And I got a couple trophies on MY night stand,
The reminders  of the battles won and the gaps of the battles we've lost in the pieces of the sand.

  But if I say this be where I end, I would if my watch could tell such of a time.
So till then I would not give up till everything of MY need is MiNe.

Ten toes down. Ten fingers clinging to
the cross — but even I can admit: some
unanswered prayers leave me feeling  
so cross.

Where both the heart and mind
start to whisper —"maybe we’ve already
been crossed out from receiving blessings,"
even after giving ourselves to that same cross.

The soul isn’t an X to unconditional love —
it still holds on, trembling, but my human
nature keeps crossing out its own heart.
Unwilling to believe in the redemption that
bled for it, too caught in its own voice
to hear anything softer.

Pride’s the loudest preacher in the room.
It tells me, "you deserve it all" — as long as it's
everything I want and nothing I have to wait
for; even when I try to even the odds, I’m
reminded: human nature is always at odds
with itself.

Dearly how I wake when I sleep, as I sleep through my wake.
My mind slowly falls out of shape,
and then becomes that empty space.

The power of words:
of how friends become fiends
Are we not selfish of opinions
of saying what we think without
Giving it too much thought
The power of words.

The power of words:
of feeling pretty and petty
Are we not ugly of schemes
to be the man of a manipulate
To force another to seem absurd
The power of words.

The power of words:
worshipping idol, your faith is idle
Materials won't materialise in the end
depending on their salvation
It all ends with the world
The power of words.

Says,
love is only for fools.
Says,
love is a game without any rules.

Really love is,
a precious treasure, worth more  than jewels.

Raised from the dirt,
how are we not down to Earth.
Surviving on living water,
how are we not able to flow
Ideas blowing in the wind,
we give a breath of our soul
We are what we earn,
with a fire at heart, we glow and burn.

The greatest betrayal?

When the positivity-giver isn’t so
positive themselves. When the light
they hand out doesn’t reach their
own shadow.

Belief in self-worth— they say it’s
your shell. But I haven’t found the
pearl that fits my shape.

Still liquid—I form myself to every
room, shape my smile to fit their
forecast. These tears? Not weakness.
Just soil erosion.

Washing away what held me—
leaving me bare, unready for tomorrow’s
weight. Like the trampled flower—
I’m not phased. I remember the feet
that pressed me into the same ground
I bloomed from.

I haven’t forgotten all those soles
that stepped on my feat.

typing... backspace
     typical really, when he always second guesses
what he really wants to say; what feelings to relay

idling pointer... thinking
it's a no brainer, if you can imagine the art of what to say,
                         your heart can be it's paint

select all.. delete
"no, I'll just tell her how I feel another day"

Feelings I wish I never had,
top pick, feeling this **** sad.

In many of our dreams, we might have lost our footing.
My dear, don’t you find that the landscapes reflected
in your gaze are far more elusive?

They hide within the shadows of your smile, even as
they drift away, yearning to spill their essence.

Yet, despite the space that separates us—me like the
vast ocean and you like the luminous moon—our love
remains a presence felt but never found.

Written word,
the speeches I might make
The pros and cons you know,
all what we do isn't always guided by fate.

Take a tour inside your mind,
a true journey of life.
The past is always behind,
fools only bring it along with them
Why waste,
the little moments we have right now,
given it's weight
You weigh your heart on troubles,
the mass of which
Doesn't help in thinking straight.

I'll clear my throat,
let the inner voice be heard
I do prefer,
for people to wish me good by their word
Actions,
are what I'd expect to compliment in works.
Effort,
is for those willing to put it in,
Don't do too much,
but a little to prove what you're doing.

I give my grace,
as the heroes I've only known
Gave their lives to keep me safe.
Don't be the one to waste a life
wasting the one you have
Be glad for what you own.

Life is more of what you
can give than take,
Earn than buy,
how much real you are than acting fake.
How you handle your blessings,
and deal with mistakes.

As is the way
The way of things in life.

When the nameless man comes knocking at my door, to sell me dreams, I hope I'm not too busy spending my money on sleeping drugs at the corner store. God may misjudge me for saying prayers in such a poor taste,—but would he still feed me the mercy, of knowing I never really had the taste of freedom?

I never meant to distance myself from any reasoning. But I'm always the forgetful one; putting everything of everyone first in my plans,— I must of forgotten about myself again, along with what it meant to be Christian
I sang songs with the dogs, to worship any hand that fed me
well enough, to become so reliant on every man. I slept with every shadow that came with the promise of any brighter day.
But its just an old tale for another yesterday, that I'm chasing like
a relentless dog,— And by the bones in my closet, those skeletons look to be nothing more than the many meals I'd feast on.

But every dog has it's day, and if all dogs do go to Heaven, I must be a dog at the end of it's breath, hoping it's maker does hear it's barking prayer.

_

No longer do I feel the urge to weep – as I lift my gaze to behold an
endless ocean; I navigate a life woven with threads of self-doubt.
Plucking at my mind, a bloom with countless petals – eager for
growth, yet the nourishment of my spirit, is drawn from the parched
earth of this world.

These days unfold like a mirage, trapped within a grotesque nightmare, spiritually and morally barren at times – when I lose the art of dreaming.

I place my hopes where echoes linger – casting my heart into a fervour,
wishing it ricochets off the walls. Drifting through life with a hollow checklist – an existence devoid of meaning, yet I persist, sustained by
a God who still believes in me, and in the essence of my soul.