Every once in a while, it becomes clear to me
that I've been walking a mile with a horse by my side.  
A symbolic journey, with my pockets filled with Trojans.
Perhaps prepared to protect myself and take risks in
my love life.

At times, I might have felt confident and ready for excitement
a couple of nights before, attempting to shake things up
and still maintain the stability of my love affairs.
A delicate balance, like walking a tightrope between
passion and commitment.

There is a cause for concern underlying my seemingly
carefree facade; pretending to own my emotions and
express them through words, yet I owe so much to truly
convey how I feel.
It leaves me quietly standing with a muted passion, akin
to a jacaranda tree with its purple blossoms. I am trying to
defy time itself, hoping that my thoughts won't easily be
blown away like your hair caught in the wind.

It's not in my nature to capture every moment with a camera, constantly immortalizing you in photographs. There's an underlying insecurity within me, wondering if any of those snapshots would truly capture the essence of our connection. Yet, deep down, I yearn for everything to work out in the end. Even if we may appear to have vacancy eyes, who's to say that we'll see it all working out until the very end?

Perhaps, when I say "I love you," it feels easier when I say it
as if I'm expressing my feelings to a dear friend.
When I profess to "always protect you," it is reminiscent of
how I would watch over a little sister, ensuring their safety
and well-being.
When I claim "I can't live without you," I compare you to my
bed, a place where I find comfort and solace. In this comparison, I acknowledge that if I were to lose you, there would always be another place for me to rest my heart.

Despite my attempts at navigating love and relationships,
I find myself entangled in my own mess. It's a mess that I continue to explore, experimenting with different connections and learning more about myself through my interactions with others, particularly women.

Chocolate diet,
your hairs were too sweet, so you chose to dye it.
“Do you like it, “ you had to ask me, which I had to
admit, “I seriously Iove it.“ But I only could mind it.
In a diabetic coma, we were sleeping on sweet dreams
with your hair on my favourite pillow. A willow now;
your hair was now falling off. You tried to dye your age,
but how it looked before wasn’t really much the same.
Still wishing the old you could come back around again.

Coffee diet,
you’ve been grinding all of your life in continuous cycles.
“Can I have a break, “ you exclaimed to me, I couldn’t lie
to you, and pretend slowing down meant you’d have a break.
Baby test your brakes, just to ease yourself into rushing into
those familiar mistakes. There’s no shame I could put all on you.
Even when I’m trying to fix everything, not only for one of us.
But also fixing a fulfilling life for us two. But it’s all for you.

Cannabis diet,
we’re getting high on all of our wildest desires, and dreams.
Afraid of the heights, getting to the top of success as it seems.
Playing both sides of the spectrum of ideas. Can’t we work out
all of our issues as a team? The closest we are, to doing the
same kind of work. Your cooking up some stories, and I’m
cooking up a storm of my words. How soon till the kitchen gets
burnt? Bite marks under skins; getting on each other’s nerves.

Commitment diet,
tying ourselves around trust. But it passes the fine line
of making up, or passing around lust. Why does the love we’re
making, end off with me having to cuss? We’re playing it all a
little too rough. I can’t be explaining to workmates about my face’s
latest cuts. Must of been the feelings that radiated the first time
we met. But it turned into radiation, falling into a toxic combination.
Toxic relationships are only the ones people fall into blindly. But we
could see the disaster before, taking it ever so lightly. And so mildly.

Cuddle diet,
teddy bear kisses, calling me soft for falling so easily in love with
you. I had to borrow someone else’s glue to get myself stuck to you.
Listening too many times, to peers pressuring me to do things I
never really liked. But they were the ones to decide how far I should
jump, to reach up to their hype. Yet your friend’s excitement aren’t
there, when they see a close couple they know publicly fight.

Sigh,
I must be tired, and too full of myself to picture me the fool.
Drooling over love; waters of the flesh are only sweet in the
moment. But try yourself to enjoy the same taste, straight after
***.

Seriously,
why must we go around chasing loves, leaving us out of breath?
Following a length of measuring up to unrealistic values, and
ending up with less of your human strength. Regrets will fill up
your favourite plate. A diet of all of these things, somehow leaves
you bent out of shape. I was too busy chasing cake, but the flavours
of it, wasn’t something I could always taste.

So,
I had loads of inked pains to write this. Not to act as if all the parts
of you I despise or really miss. But if lips are the first taste we have
to a full meal of two lover’s violence, I think I’ll just stay off it’s diet.

Trodden puddles; muddy waters of cattles laiden on the
path of a dry river bed. The surrounding being ever present
of one's land loss. It's love (like many hearts) so bare to the
humid air, under these heated moments. Skins have broken
out, in my rash decisions.

Don't butter me up, to spread the falseness of a left hand.
Though it's right isn't always holding onto doing right.

Shall I tend the field—once after the herd passes? Let no puddle
be open on where you walk.

In your eyes, a delicate pink hue danced,
Like a flower's tender blush, I had never seen,
Yet, I dared to kiss you, craving to understand,
To feel the enchantment that your lips could bring.

As time passed, you blossomed beyond that flowerpot,
Rooting yourself deep within the garden of my heart,
I nourished you with words of admiration and praise,
Expressing the immeasurable value you held, my art.

Your memory, a seed, lay dormant in my mind,
Buried in the depths of darkness, patiently awaiting,
Until the moment it would sprout and bloom,
Unveiling the love that within me was awakening.

I wasn't prepared to fall so deeply, so intensely,
A solitary florist, learning to tend to his own soul,
But with you, my love, I discovered a newfound purpose,
A garden of emotions, where our love would forever grow.

Mr Nice Guy,
with a broken smile, shattered dreams, and tired knees.
Battered equals, divided by trades of thought. You think
too much, with idle hands so dangerous when you’re
getting bored.

All the time of the world, is too small to hold.

Or like the past in your hands, a bright future seems
too dim in your head. So while you’re living to impress,
and motivate others lost in the lights of life;
I know you’re constantly hoping to wake up dead.

Aren’t you already there?

You won’t be there alone too long, I’ll be joining you soon.
Let me not wake up dead. I’ll need to switch off my alarm.

Question...

What is self conversation in these minded walls;
What speaks louder,— a present, past or longing future,
Who do you follow to be the leader of tomorrow,
Who are your children to be; of what you make of yourself now,
And how do you treat yourself when the public eyes are off,
With the obvious expected responses of a nice guy?

Oh Mr Nice guy, you're too nice for the world.

His voice,
voyages through the darkness of every
cornered shadow, chasing after the reins
of ultimately being consumed,— annihilated.

As if being pressed to the heart
of an angel; as the tears of stars are
dancing in the drape of faultless dark,
Sweltering bright, — as a flame impaled
his gaze, with the loudest of needles.

Every breath grew harder, and harder,
as if the same needles were jabbing around
in his stomach— they must have been nerves;
the butterflies he had felt, declaring his
hidden affections to a crush.

The same crushing feeling you
have for a crush, that you hope
won’t crush you with their refusal,
But rather crush you with
the crushing idea:
         of falling in love.

Ghost in the shadows, killing thoughts had in the dark,
What luck to have been so close to an edge,
pulled away from the cliff, close to being cut off,
But my scaled skin just broke off the tip. Given a
second chance to live.

Sort of took a chance to breathe, took all that’s in,
And letting out desire; seems my old inner demons
are quick to come together and conspire,
Darling I’m only a liar, I could never count all
of the daily lies in pen, and catchy rhymes.

But just wait for tonight.

Tonight we’re going to be caught up in a lie,
laying sheets of paper on a wooden bed,
Drawing closer to an embrace, with my imprint
on your skin.

Oh where to begin?


Is it sweet lips, cherry bites, and still wild,
scented candles, and perfumed necks,
Smelling of youthful passions, and exuberance,
I’m dying fighting this flesh.

Chestful of voices, holding breaths, holding
embraces, and swimming pools, swimming
breast stroke. I’m smothered by your pillows.

In the centre line to the belly of tickles, all the
sensitive areas for both of us.
Of course the senses are only too much, if my
tenderness of kisses are a bit too fast.

Setting sun, and a sinking moon,
in between an ocean with it’s two peaks,
I had my glimpse under a dress,
address me as a favourite flavour, slowly as you
undress.

The duration of warming up long legs,
pressing down buttons, pressing knees,
Pressing feet, pressing emotions, pressing
concerns, I’m pressed to solve them with a
bust of a gun.

Won’t our tonight be so fun?

Saturday,
really where's the vibe?
Prefer to party inside,
in the subtle chaos of my mind.
Maybe I just want to stay dreaming,
it's really a chilled day outside.
As troubles of the weekday still lingers.  

For this day I'll tell you a story.

A nostalgic kid,
Saturday morning waking up to the screen.
Wonder what adventures are playing?
Wasn't a teen,
yet watching four of them as a kid.
Always snapping while watching four turtles.
As were feelings amid,
watching reruns of TMNT.

Flip the channel to younger days,
still much a Rugrat.
Swept under the mat,
wonder as babies did we have reasons to chat?
Wishing I could hide away from family,
hidden away in my secret laboratory.
I wouldn't be vexed,
not a little to live like Dexter.
My advantage is, I don't have a sister.

I found courage as little as I am.
In a world sort of like Eustace Bagge.
I had to become a man,
proud with what was my imperfection.
Where would I be without The X-Men?

Life was always a mystery,
from home to school.
Wish to unmask it all like ****** doo.
Wished to be armoured,
let them call out my name.
A quick watch of Visionaries and Hey Arnold!

Later go save the planet,
all life does matter
Especially those living on it.
A Captain of the show,
earth, wind fire, water and heart.
And my addition would be mind and soul.

The run around of this life,
chasing it only for a prize
A cat chasing a mouse before the mice.
As the world seems to be ******,
tune into the crazy till the afternoon.
Living a flightless life as a Pingu,
I hope it isn't as true.

My list could go on,
but I don't have much of the time.
Neither any of the energon,
how do I then Transform the time?
Is this for me, the Prime?

I must find new adventures,
as like Winnie The Pooh,
An often jumpy tigger,
how so am I rude?
I grew up shy as a piglet,
with a list of all the shows I grew up to.

My life seemed to be a Saturday cartoon.

And so to love-
we're dared to lock eyes;
As with both keys to heart.
And so to enter;
one knows the sound of love's knock.

If I lean in to kiss you now, will I find myself regretting it?

We began as friends, but as time passed, our feelings
deepened into something much more profound.
There’s that void between us, a question lingering in
the air about what could bridge that distance—the
tension of silence hanging just before our lips meet.

The real question is: will I cherish this moment forever,
or will it haunt me with regret?

If could call myself an early death,
how'd I seize the day if I'm so stressed?
Knowing I'm blessed,
but also slightly depressed.

I'll confess it's hard
to see the best at your worst
While you question your worth.

Faces fail to display feelings,
high tensions over a room of low ceilings.
A wise bright smile,
with the loneliest man inside.
Who am I,
Mr Lonely Happy Wise guy.

Hi...✋

Your eyes run up, chasing after your feelings— the softest echo  
of a heart, once feeling passionately in love, but only in secret.  
A storm of longing; calm beginnings soon roar thundering  
clapping opening and closing gates.  

The haste, becomes the menace of biting into a bullet;  
never knowing its taste. For any chance given, will later on  
pierce through you in secretive conclusions— another round,  
another round, for a scar so yawning, and a memory so tired  
of ruminating last nights.  

Your tears, are picturesque ashes; core flames that shriek
a pain  before a moment’s murmurs. While an after long
upshot,  distinguishes something oppressive, growing
out of your heart’s  flame— your cheeks raised red of blush;
unease in a fiery rose.

Wouldn’t you love to grow openly under the summer kisses  
that wash the earth in light; as for me, it seemed  
reminiscent of your former bright smile.  

You were once the joy forward looking to a better day;  
a ray after the rain. To reign supreme on their minds;
on  top of every thought of you, worn proudly as a crown.        
        The former is gone.  

The world nicked away that stem of your courageous,
precious, and outrageous company; during the wake
of you finding yourself
      _— you’re so restless now. _
What would distinguish your fiery beauty,
is extinguished; diminished,
          — buried by the earth.  

Still your enduring fiery beauty could feed greed  
into Hell’s gate. For even buried in tragedy;
you shall  ascend gladly to avenge those who hurt you,
in your triumph.

Grand occasion
heartbeats shaking,
Will I make it to the end?
Life's journey,
filled with memories of before
(Soon after we'll explore)

Search more of yourself,
till there's nothing less to find
Within the many hearts,
passion of ideas in our minds.
Every moment written in history,
(We'll leave nothing behind)

Celebration of living,
a precious life. Pieces of silver & gold.
Celebration, a grand occasion,
the ashes to dust, till the dust is old.
Celebrate life,
(we don't know how long we're here for)

A robbery: it starts of, by overcharging a people of  their everyday basic commodity. Honestly! Are we all not trying to live that way,
But how do we survive in a life of less regards, and an apology?Seems a price tag’s sayings is, “I’m more than your worth”

The entitled: are so many undeserving, as lightning is in a man’s bones; his enlightenment is struck in a nerve of knowing there’s not much he owns. Though he certainly owes.

A dream: of working long overdue hours in their head, the day is gone but one man’s labour never ends. A waking dream; deep breath out for there’s a lot to be taken in. Still in the reality of it only being good at taking.

A bigger than life experience, unfortunately with a small package.
Miss your train of thought; it's best to wait for the next carriage.
Off the rails, is there a better way to living? Seems hard in doing things yourself, but also harder to be Christian.

So understand my only greatest prayer in life is to find wisdom.

Behind the shades of eyes; does leave something much
more desirable. Wettest eyes behind the blinds of time.
I cherish those little moments—likewise the most we
make out of them.

Shakes me keenly: like my shaking arm after hitting the
funny bone. Careless laughs in good company; my stomach
in knots. Tied between the twisting craze of advertising
love--ours is intimate.(a secret place)

You're close to me; close as the tongue to it's teeth,
speaking the word Love. Your name roles off the tongue
out of my bright smile. (you give me summer in my mouth)

A month like no other, may I attest to your sight,
ghostly; as the presence of you raises my skin hairs.
My goosebumps of knowing you're near, and a extra
beating heart—I'm out of breath.

Let me have a piece of eupnea, by a kiss I'd make
as my last. Lungs of passion; passionately kissing each other.

Taste that stings lips'
Sweetest to tongue;
Refreshes my thirst:

A bite of love;
As a fruit of worth'

Bright yellow smile'
Bright red lips;
And a body wave flow.

                She's not my world'
                But she's my girl;
                Made of-
                Lemon Cherry Water.

Storing up the blessing of sky;
Dry arid season is here,
A drought of love; nature's harshest,
5,000 years of stories,
Silhouette of a rural African experience,
you cover the vastness of her land.

"Tree of life"
Whereas the breath of man was origin,
Folklore; stories of our elders and tomorrow's wisdom,
We are all children of the sun,
Bright skinned under the cooling shade of time,
Time as long as a tree has lived, and lives on.

Lest we be wise to store up our stories,
What will our generations remember of us,
Baobab trunk; store up the provisions, love, stories,
Time, blessings, and fruits of our labour at heart.

Baobab tree; blowing the wind,
A symbol of life in harshest of times,
We adapt to our environment; people all to thrive.

It is our nature.

I remember how they laughed at my name,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my accent,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at me for crying too much,
but I understand now,

I remember how they laughed at me for being afraid of helicopters and planes, but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my ideas,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at me for being too kind,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my poetry,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at how I dressed,
but I understand now,

I remember how they laughed at my smile and ****** expressions, but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at how I walked,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at how I spoke to girls,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my relationships,
but I understand,
I remember how they laughed at my successes,
but I understand now,
I remember how they laughed at my youth,
but I understand now,

From friends, to teachers, to family, and strangers;
they all laughed at me. But I understand now.

My only regret,
not being able to tell that younger me,
"they'll all laugh at you for being you. But you need to understand, you'll be the one laughing all about them. Let them laugh now, you'll always get the last laugh on them.

I need you to understand now."

A wave of tears gradually carries away the tides of night
Alongside the river that weeps in its current plight
Unheard songs play, to the dead man who loves to sing
A dead silent night, for two lovers to bury the hatchet
In the tomb of being dead asleep in their shared beds-
Waiting for what falsehoods all sweet dreams bring

As the rhyme for a kiss is hiss; the cobra that loudly speaks,
She purrs and catwalks the runway- while her love is expensive
But we pay for it all, as the clock writes out a free verse

Filling poems to the taste of love, for the apple of my eye
A taste so bitter;- with a snake inside that bit my tongue
In a sole of time, the heart breaks- as roses tend to be forgotten
And unfortunately, the apple to my love had gone rotten.

The same blood you have, is also a curse to have!
I should be glad, but I'm mad as the one dealing
with the pride of some forefathers dad.

I was taught not to place all of my blame on
how my parents had raised me.
But I can't keep blaming myself; as if they'll praise me.
I often grew up wondering what actual resemblance I
had of my dad.

The last born nobody knew, the other son all the relatives
thought was just some random nephew.
The family picture felt too big for me to be noticed in it's frame.
I felt as a son; but only a son by just the family's name.

Seems I wasn't born the same.

All the first impressions of thinking my mother
was just my aunty. Thinking I was adopted by relatives,
because my real family didn't really want me.


"Maybe I was switched at birth," I thought to myself.
We all could be walking on the same ground,
doesn't mean we're all so down to Earth.

I guess I was buried in it,
for constantly being the one to take up the family's dirt.

The theory of a twin, who died in the womb.
I've felt so incomplete. Missing the other half to make me fit.
Hoping I had died that time as a baby; when I had my first fit.

But to my twin up in Heaven I hope you're keeping that space
for both of us. By the chance my sins get ahead of me,
Could I get into Heaven by the chance of your luck?

To my father on Earth, I grew up wondering if I was ever
the son you wanted, or the one you deserved.
Maybe I secretly got on your nerves, as I felt the
disappointment in those many cuss words.

To my mother in church, I'm not your little boy anymore.
Neither that daughter you treat me as.
My manhood to peers, seemed so poor. And yet I'm the ear
that listens to all of your words, but not the mouth to tell
you my many truths by the galore.

To my brothers by name, we all knew we were never the same.
But as life went in one direction, I was the child who went
the other way. I can remember all of those harsh words
you often said. As if I'm tasting them all from too many past
yesterdays.

To my sister I never had, life could of been easier if you
were the child the family actually had.
That's all I can say, because that's all that I have.

Sighed;

The Black sheep.

To describe beauty—isn't by sight,
rather insight.
The mind is beautiful,
a *** *****; pleasing of the know how it shows,
of how much experiences it has catalogued.
As the heart—filled with passion flowing,
lips of course express the words of love.
The hands place action to the physical of one's
love to their own, given once by another.

To a resting place, is a forest of ten thousand
trees,
Where sweet nothings echo into their final bite
of one's words bark.
So as the two make love, under the canopy of
two's embrace—
Seems the passionate partaking, wisps the morning energy
for the day, and a reason to leave.

Too passionate beings, two lovers making
love.
Under covenant, as the circling ring,
she is his, as she calls to him.
He greets her always with a wet kiss.

It's bliss; ignorant forgetfulness.
"I forgot what we were even fighting about"

Worthwhile moments printed in memory,
the good, bad and moderate at times,
all that we have now; is all that we can
cherish.

I'm blessed for knowing you all,
the known and strangers. I must have
heard and seen a thousand stories,
I've been blessed to be a part of them all,
even if it was by quick interaction.

Your moment was my moment,
we've made moments together,
a worthwhile experience; we're all
the moments waiting to happen.

Let's enjoy the moment.

///the sky is the limit;- don’t limit
your sights on how far you see yourself going;
a worthwhile could be hidden in a well kept
promise, as the curve lost in your smile, and
the sparkle in your eyes all captivate others
to keep on hoping.

I

Love,
could be a streaming river of a constant flow of words.
My tongue tip speaks of many things (All could be so
refreshing)

Lessons are hidden to blind eyes of my river; why not
walk alongside it? Follow along the lessons that stretch
(You may learn)

This river, made of a thousand tears in my eyes. Draws
greatly, and a great sorrow. It tastes sweet, at times
tickling at your throat (To ease a thirst)

II

Like a tall and mighty mountain; and pieces of treasure
no eye has yet seen. My words that are untouched,
the bare minimum of being bare. This land feeds
all others before me and us (My love has great care)

On top of mountains, two rocks at a peak. All rests on them,
all that's made of my dreams. These dreams are always
placed so highly, hoping they're high enough to be seen by
a God.

III

This Valley of stories, of both past & present. The days of old
and soon the many days anew. Of a place I call God by so
many different names.

Mwari, Nkulunkulu, Jehovah, Jirah, King, Lord and Father.

And like God, I witnessed his beauty and glory,
And like God, my mouth spoke of his many creations;
And like God, I said: "it is good"

This valley is where I'm found.

Sleep in between lips,
only for a kiss,
we both admit and submit,
to ignorance being bliss.

Hands on hips,
holding onto parts I miss,
under Christmas lights,
in New year's eve,
you're my resolution's gift.

A star above my head,
a lonely child's wish,
only a Lord could give,
lying in the courts of love,
a case put to rest by deceit,
when we argue and go to sleep.

To then wake up
and repeat.

In the currency of their love'
Could the world pay off;
Gamblers playing their luck?

Darling' we think we're,
Falling for each other:
But only in the effect of'
Falling dominoes.

Roses on your head'
Piercing thorns, sharp thoughts
As I do suppose;
You're open in light' of eyes,
Exposed to the Sun's dust:
Your hard heart; afraid to be'
In water, and turned to rust.

Why do we as kids'
Waste all the time of youth
Before we knew our fears;
And were pressured by peers?
Pressured to pursue this love.

As I only loved you'
Because I was told:
Said so, because it felt a role,
Playing each other in an act
Seen by eyes of those who couldn't;
Find anything close to love:
So they opted to find love in us.

All those fools;
Kids forgetting lessons'
Lessening their time in class.

I know now; I was never in love.

A love my soul knows it could never claim,  
A heart that I still long for, yet it feels no flame.  
Though I wished them to be,  
They will never be the one for me,  
But in solitude, I whisper their name.  

A heart full of its own shame, I can only weep,  
Tears shared for a love that I long for, but can't keep.  
So, with tears lost in my eyes,  
I gaze at her beauty, as it lies,  
But in solitude's arms, is where I sleep.  

A love that’s vast as the sea,
Yet good men to her are scarce, you see!

I sail by her side, I stand as a mate,  
In daylight, we share laughs, it's great!  
But when night starts to fall,  
I weep, feeling small,  
For a love that I cannot create.

How the world hoards to see us: a collective
Of compulsive opinions, so prevalent in their hearts
Amid the prettiness sleeping awkwardly in your eyes
You’re so pretty in my eyes- I just wish you could
See what I see, but you’re so blinded by the
Glass splinters in your eyes, remaining something of
A child, still finding themselves- eternally lost

The depth of the ocean;
feels shallow when we
both jump straight inside.
As it's tears make us cry,
when we see the bluest sky.

And with a spray
paint tan of a smile,
It peels off to pieces in
the Sun's glare, on
the walls of your face.
A child lost in a store of
life's advice, soon
after you let go of a hand.
The united shoe laces,
and red eyes,
pretending not to cry.

Love is too heavy for you to
hold, even on the shoulders
that rests the entire world.
In the songs of anguish,
with unassigned chords.

Chewing on your tongue,
to swallow all it's words.
As all you said was in vein.
You felt hidden under the skins
of a plastic face of your nerves.

You and I, try to find ourselves,
as we lose ourselves ever more.
My mind and I are mislaid,
and lost to thought.

Surrounding backgrounds, backdrops that empty glass eye
Ringing in your head; no means to pretend pretence
—always a means to an end. Like a long goodbye to an
old friend still one who owes you tens

A decade of friendship in these confused lines —you onced
slept with one of the guys. Not around, but a lot of times with
the same person, to say at least you've gone a few rounds
The only one to make you come out of a shell; fuelling up
the tank of a monthly desire. But you couldn't tell your friends; despite feeling sensations good as Heaven on earth— their preying
eye opinions would give you a lot of hell.

Still last night was one hell of a night, as he held you so
tight, a knight guarding you from those nightmares
As he tasted your lips, and tears while seeing all those
dark scars under your white night dress

Said, "you're too dark to be found by love," your usual
yellowbone cousins liked to make such comments.
You felt too ashamed to go play with the other kids on the
sunny beach. And it stained your heart; once trying yourself
to bleach

You just forgot your feet; a foot in your mouth kicking back
your words. Unlike the other girls, he liked you more
for trying to stick to your morals. Floral, a scented glow-
a light smell of tragic beauty caught under his nose
Some nights hoping you'd be court, but in your family regards,
you're breaking tradition's law.

Lore beliefs, feeling seven days kind of weak, and it felt
so stranger that you fell in love with him in a week
It took a trip on this crazy life journey, for you to be riding
this long love trip. But he was only meant to be a friend
still it benefited you knowing he had seen you as more than
that from back then

But those still living behind, say you and him don't mix
into a good kind. As to mean the dark can't kiss a light,
such mean judgments, regardless of it being a modern relationship.
It's an old mindset, and I know he won't mind keeping it in secret
But it will all stay stuck in your mind, along with him

Oh my friend,
how'd I ever give the best advice to your situation
But only say and imagination that Adam and Eve
we're black and white. So wouldn't we have been
interracial from our creation?

When you’re dancing underwater, as with feet so deep
inside of the ground. In my absence; you feel so free
as I’m not around. So shy to show off your two left feet,
I’m the least embarrassed to see you at you’re cheeks redness;
as like two overripe apples, (hanging around desire)

Toes shaky as the business hands at the longest meet
and greet, I’m so overjoyed as you dance a night;
would you at least dance one last dance with me?
While singing a happy tune with joyful tears, two weeks of
water works, and choking words, (of how to explain my love)

So accustomed to being here before, crushing my heart,
just to impress a crush. Speed dating conversations; just to
get a feel of the rush.

High on emotions; careful not to crash, as plain expressions
does many harm. But who’s going to put up with the bull,
of the sheets I use to cover the beds of love; I've made to rest
away from despair?

Flattery is key, a twisting lock into a glimpse of your heart,
One last dance it seems we all have; under the music of
life's grand stage, (do enjoy the show)

I enjoy watching you at your most vulnerable, as I'm so
vulnerable in my eyes barely focused on anything else
but you. We all live a single life, but a better chance of it when
we dance together in it as two.

So shall you and I dance?

Whispers of tree leaves,
shaking fibres of the very skin. A breeze
creeping through all of the wall cracks.
Breath heavy not of stink, but cold breath;
a weighing heart of ice deep in my chest.

Sin in my bones, (from birth) weakness of
the flesh. Time is plenty on my hands.
Intent on the mind, procrastination under breath.

"I'll do it all tomorrow"

I recalled a bird's song as a morning lullaby,
rooster crow echoes of less time left in a dream.
Diminutive time; clocks going full circle several times.

"Fine I'll do it in the afternoon"

The Eve sets on the day,
as to kiss her Adam, as the first sun.
But it's the last light of dusk coming into play,
wasted by the nothing of planning to do something.

"Snap! Where did the day go"

Back to the start of the end, into the new
beginning of procrastination.

"I'll definitely do it tomorrow"


                                                     ­ Yeah right.

////It’s a subtle reminder;
a constantly temporary kind of repeat
—sometimes I cry myself to sleep,
and think to myself, “Hey, was it all
just another beautiful dream”

As she boldly said;

'It only takes-
four words to say,'
              "I'm falling in love,"

He sighed and replies;

'But it only takes-
three to say,'
                 "I'm falling apart."

I would try to catch lightening in a jar;

For loved ones to call my bravery striking,
a mighty voice roaring like the falling thunder,
a cooling tongue of caring words drizzling,
and a passion strong as the hurricanes.

But a moment's wish only
comes once,
for lightening never strikes
the same
place twice.

But I still have my glass jar open.

A whole lot of lies swimming in a pond – ducking the truth; as I
threw a rock into the water, and it unfortunately croaked, to the
misery of those frogs. I watched as a young lady was kissing to
find her Prince charming; and I still don’t know if she ever
found him, because she had a frog in her throat.

Ah nature, with its crude nature – it laughs in the wind at night,
blowing branches as you try to sleep. And when crickets decide
to mate, is it the whole world that goes quiet as those insects?
And if it’s a game of love they play, I surely hope it isn’t ironically
like cricket – making a few runs of the person running on your
mind; while giving it all you can to have a ball with them. But
they only seem to bat an eyelid.

But aren’t you all sometimes hungry for love, like the sea that
hungers to conquer more land? Let’s erode these old cliffs, of our
own peaks, to be left with the bare essentials. And would you
mistake me as someone who falls in love with one’s essentials –
saying it with my chest; to bare one’s chest? Maybe my love isn’t
as wet, to water down those starved parts of your heart.
Darling, I’m just a small pond.

But wasn’t it a pond, where the Princess had found her love?

Wasted sober thoughts, prays the hardest without
picking a religion. Sounds as a Muslim, playing Christian.
But just a name; as their friends were pointing and teasing.
All the good days you claim; aren't the ones for the missing.

Wasted sober thoughts, made myself out of made up
thoughts. Make yourself a hero, just to save your worth.
A cape on too tight; squeezing the air out of my neck,
as my delusional depressions is still the only threat.
Bags under my eyes; not tiredness, but all the luggage of
my greatest regrets.

Wasted sober thoughts, my pain is a word I can't explain,
down under like the lowest writes. I must be sad again.
Swept under my head, deeply thinking into my grave.
And I express them well, when I'm feeling a strike of brave.

When I’ve got my fill of wasted sober thoughts,
intoxication to be expressing my unread words.
Do you read me or not; copy or roger this lot?
It's of no fault of your own, just a poem I've written
out of my lows. I'm intoxicated by words.

An investor buys an expensive watch to stay ahead of time. While the rest, will buy it to look like they have all the time in the world. We'll hold onto to the past, to appear we can hold time in our hand; wrapping your arm in the tune of your own success, both for the applauds of a band. Still if money does talk, there'll be a disconnect holding money to your ear. Trying to seem like you talk business, but in the efforts of a sold out career. The taste of a risk, is the blood your poured out of your wrist,— covering up those scars with a time piece. Still time never gives me any real peace, for a piece of thought, is me always wondering what time is.

Murderers killing the itch of time, scratching at the wait of doing something productive at every inch. The weight of robbers stealing time, will be carried away by the imaginary fortunes they think they have, just like the rich. I know you can't really scratch that painful itch by being rich, but it does help me afford the cream to soothe that feeling of a pinch. To not pinch a penny, over thinking how to save your self. When every penny for a thought, is thinking about how you can increase your wealth. As time is money; money only comes in due time, I might have as well bought an expensive watch, to keep watch on this money of mine.

...Still money will never be enough, as there will never be enough time.

Damage or repair,
so often tyred of life.
It's constant wear and tear,
going round in circles of fear.
But that's life for us all, so **** wheel.

Stillness
or as the wanting eyes would
wish to see of beauty

But babe, love isn't always as patient
as who hasn't desired a feeling of that rush

Crush, crush, it's crushing my heart
waiting on proclaiming my love
But it's a heavy still; of being under a rock
                                      Love is so hard

Can I ask for a little more action,
with out really asking
Sounds a bit passive, so I try to
ask in a past tense
And this time around really *****,
so turn around so I can pass the time
******* on your front

"Okay," that last line was kind of dull,
and no excuse for me being so blunt
But could I still ***** a little thought,
and plant a bit of that seed, and see how that story grows,
And take you on a tasty journey; you'll be my main course

"*******," wait no, it's actually a golf course;
looking for a perfect stroke to get it into that hole
My little birdie; let's play, as we pave our way
into a concrete conversation before we go

Lead the way, and I'll chase your ideas like a plan in motion
Press into you, to prove yourself in an interview,
and I'm the one doing all of the reporting
As they say love can sometimes feel like it's getting old,
but I'm sorry, that's still old news to me

So we could chain each other up, but you're free
to do whatever you want to me
I'll be your memory form bed,
and remember all of the best positions
And you could leave the rest to me, and if I did it wrong,
you wouldn't waste your time to lie to me

I know, every expression of your feelings; reading
your body language- as you're my beautiful love poem
And in a spoken word of desire; what's there more of me
to say; to any kind of performance leaving a bang,
Let's make a little slam poetry

It's in this next stanza, I'll tell you of how
I'll dig into you; and thankfully it won't get so boring
As I'm feeling like a power tool, drilling a little pleasure,
to an eventual release, and to ease off the day's pressure

I turn you on; no not as a light, but let me see the light
in your eyes, taken so lightly by other guys
They couldn't see that glorious sight, that acts so bright,
a movie star, as all of the stars start to align tonight

"I'll give it to you straight,"
put a little heavy ecstasy, as you had so long wait
Put this love in a few shreds; a few times I had to grate,
yet it somehow ends up so **** great
I'm just trying to score, and if it feels extra great,
feel free to rate

I just need a place to begin, and the final
destination is how you and I will feel at the very end.

Insulate to the sharp needle of insulin – as this pan
creases over daylight frying a canopy of trees, left
with skins that smell of mould; moulding us into forms
that don’t fit, following titles without ever playing the role.

Models parade as model citizens, while forests fall around
their footsteps; smiles reduced to emojis, connection flat
as a screen. Each impression feels like a coded message –
profiles lined with Bible verses in their bios, good at quoting
scripture, but so not good at keeping notes on The Message.

But we fashion ourselves into “the latest,” but our dreams
arrive too late, departing long before we catch them.

We are all stories inked together from the sharp tip of the
pen, injecting more time into our veins, yet living diabetic
to our morals – sugar-high on indulgence, starved of truth.

_

She says I...
should treat her like a masterpiece of art,
And I’d be a fool to not get the fuller picture;

I might linger by her side, yet my position
remains a mystery, akin to a Khaled feature.

She hides behind her smile;
that’s a kaleidoscope of emotions—perceptual,
asymmetrical, mixed signals with her eyes –
okay, I think I got the picture; “she is a living
Mona Lisa;” yet, she remains to me,
an enigma.

All of your curves, how do we walk in straight lines;
how do we dance so sublime – how are you the weight
on my mind in my wet dreams, from tears that flow?
You drown out my pride!

Had I ****** you that much, to want to change bladders;
though sleeping alone is it’s own song, would you be
the song bird singing in my dawn?

As the sands of time flow down your hourglass figure,
how are the days of our lives, any less worth, when we
get to spend the night… together!

But as you rest your thoughts on my chest, there’s a deep
pressure, when you take your time to say you love me –
it’s a slow pleasure, when I try to rule out the space that
should be between our breaths, it’s a small measure…

I must be murmuring your name under my breath

An atheist might not believe in God or angels, but maybe
around you, he could believe in being around a person that
feels like a place close to a heaven.

To feel the hum of skin—
a rhythm under flesh,
bleeding ears of melodies
louder than memory.

Flaws fall, resting like
skipped notes on the floor
of silence. I said,
"I’m not a song, not a chorus,
not a chorus, nor the neat refrain
someone can replay.

Yet these songs in my ears—
they take me in, to teach me
how to belong.

I’m not a song, but maybe a lyric—
unfinished, still searching for the
right line. Perhaps in due time, to the
metronome of my heart.

For this love she said to,
"wait on me"
Despite my heavy heart,
love don't put your weight on me.

The long wait has a heavy weight