To burn...in these echoes of warmth, the
warm regards, warmest hugs and a hello
of a long seen friend. Fires burns in my chest.

Till the face glows; in the light of a friendly
smile. We'll all be the stars under the sun,
deeming light of inspiration in their lives.
The lives of those lost in the dark—guide them
with your spark.

Soon my child...you'll find that match,
fuelling the already passionate flame of love.
To rest your burning eyes of desire on loving
your spouse by fireplace of your house.

We'll be dreaming of the stars set in our names,
searing the old till ash—enkindled in this hope
you'll find. The future is bright, at the end of the
tunnel is that shinning light. You've got the will
to survive. Keep up the good fight!

Blistering scars do come with time, in the degrees
of many scolding hurts. You were created well to
take the heat.

There's a fire in us all. A fire unlike no other,
there is a fire in us all. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

drinking hot coffee in summer
ice cream for the winter
hot spices on a mild tongue

cold showers in the morning
challenge to how I'm writing
drowning depth in my deep thoughts

reasons to explain the dream
opposition to say I'll never make it

it's a subtle pain,
to inspire me to push through it

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.

A guise into your eyes, — knowing what you’re thinking,
In your silence; they must hear what your heart means;
For love at times, makes you feel so awkward,
A mirage of smiles, feeling foreign on a gritty beard.
Also love at times, feels like two kids in love,
With not much time to kid around.

While the eyes of your mirror,
Reflect just a small piece of another,
Time loves to dance around in your eyes;
As maturity starkly chases after you,
Before you place your first foot
On that familiar battleground.

It was beauty alone, putting a heart on lock
At odds; putting out all of their fires,
Still a piece of them enjoyed the spark.
And they must have worked up every thought,
Each one of them, thinking about you,
Still maybe I, enjoyed that too
— Of your presence’s work of art.

Yet,

It would remain best to appreciate you as a friend,
Then despise you later on as someone
I claimed to have once loved.

Blue as an Ocean;

                          Under a light moon
                              Black nowadays;
                               as life is so cruel

                  The moon;

So timid-
whispers secrets;
Lives with all my
dreams and wishes


                        Unfortunate for me;
                          eyes heavy of tears
                                 All I do is stare;
                          looking up, in fears


                 An Ocean lost-
                        at Sea
             In the waves of life;
                       Waits on
             The tides to subside


                              My flow goes on;
                                         stays alive.

Bit the taste of thunder;
you're not afraid of it's bark?
Stood still in everything falling down;
there's lightening in those eyes;
Showing you and I have a spark.

You and I; have the reins to love.

Please call me back,
written message in the network's text. I don't have
enough airtime; so I'll borrow some. Knowing it's
not the best—in the fact of being underpaid.
I haven't been paid this month, so it's still a dream
of moving house. The funds are never enough,
but just tuck shop money, and a gin allowance for a
couple laughs.

But I'll call you soon.

7.50, left in my bank account. Maybe I could
pull out six to make the call. Insufficient funds to
complete this transaction, the screen read in bold.
Feeling insufficient, sufficiently to say I've worked my due.
If I had a girlfriend; which place could I take her to,
and what would we do? As I'm broke and empty on funds
and dreams in my pocket. While driving past the mansions
of my two bosses.

But I'll call you soon.

I'm running out of rhymes, without any airtime
to Google new ones on Rhymezone. So I'm just
staring at the phone, hoping you make the repeating call.
I missed it the first time you beeped me, knowing I was
feeling tearful in my room alone. I must have been so focused
on staring at the pictures on the wall, to hear your call.

But I'll call you soon.

As both of my lines have pending debts, and I'm not
keen on borrowing  money to have debts with friends.
But in the end—your fun size pride rarely cares.
Still the anxiety of not making an effort to call back,
pushes a reason to swear. To pull my hairs, struggling
on why—why I can't return your call. As if I don't care
at all.

But I do; I'm just fighting to call you soon. Unfortunately
in the end; I never had the chance to support you my
friend. I never returned that call, and it's doing in my head.

It's an unfortunate one missed call.

Oh, how it haunts me to realize I am not the
finest swimmer –
a lovesick fool adrift in the
ocean of your
blue eyes,
Boundless and profound like
the depths of the sea
itself.

                      I am sinking beneath the waves
of your love’s
                    cerulean embrace!

The turning dials of that old car radio,
Metallic, as the rubber coverings fell
off. What had once protected, lost by
the twisting of that radio's lifespan.

In a car, old as it's manufacturers who
are all dead,
Her strength is still strong on this long
journey to the bigger city.
I fiddle through that plastic box of old
cassette tapes. My finger picking out a
title to fill the radio's mouth. To fill it up with
so much music; that it's old speakers *****
out noise.

Choking the engine of the car's battery,
the lights on the gauges flicker,
And I pull over the side of the road,
it's dark outside and cold. Not of the night
but of the music's chords.

I'm alone.

Waiting for a stranger to stop by,
and jumpstart my car. But only a God,
could jumpstart my heart.
As I reminisce on what it felt like being in
love. A station I had once tuned into,
with all it's cheesy love songs. And their
catchy hooks.

I miss the sound of the music.

A small car pulls up beside me. Yellow
as the sunflower open to the sun.
Bright as a smile; of someone you're glad to
see. 'How long has it been,' you'd ask them.

The window went down;
as a girl with a smile greeted me only by a gaze.
'Do you need help stranger,' she asked.

'Help with a lot of things, I doubt you could
come up to. But you're welcome to try,' my
heart replied.

I nodded slightly, hoping this could be
a quick fix. The quickest way for me out
of a conversation.

But my car was dead.

The stranger offered me a ride to the next town,
to grab a mechanic. I reluctantly agreed.
And before I hopped in that box Sunny,
I had to grab my plastic case of cassettes.

She seemed keen on what contents I had
at hand. Insisting I put a tape inside her radio.
'Hey that's my favourite band,' she said.

I never smiled as real in that moment,
than I ever did before.
With so much in common, we fed our ears
on good music, with our similar tastes.
Making it to the next town, I gave my
thanks.

Not expecting much back.

'Here's my number. We should hang out sometime
to listen to some good music.
I'll trade you my number for a couple of tapes,'
she said.

She drove off leaving me with a smile,
a number, and a reason for them both. As I
wondered where next this story would go...

I'd love to tune into that.

_

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.

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.

Scornful words; as a resting tongue reliant on lies.
Bitter sweet intentions, intentive of it being intentionally
sound. I'll be loud, overly of being too proud when
humbleness isn't found.

The wise know when to hold tongue, not being boastful
of knowledge's gain. They do not entertain the rantings of
fools. Those so few—do not conform to a standard of pitiful
stance. But instead stand out, as ones of content in their
struggles. As with feet with scars, but unafraid to dance.

So trade off those scornful words, but instead let be
encouragement, lest scorn. An encouraging poem.
                    Share your encouragement in action,
                    as much as you share them in words.

Feelings of ecstasy
fills up an empty lonely room,
His words, "I want to fill/feel myself in you"

Intimacy; into admitting those desires not of public ear
A request to touch her as if it were their very last;
a sort of lust rush, as he pulls her near

And from the sight of red eyes, a few hours
before, when they had passionately cried
Falling into sight; a blush picture of her
cheeks painted in cherry red
Giving into their feelings; all unquestioned
reasons to be sharing a bed,—

Tonight,
could be a long night of bodies being next
to each other, making up tomorrow's memory
And if it hurts to bite, her response,
"nothing hurts better of what pleasures me"

...mmmh, it's all but basic reality,
yet feels so much like a fantasy
Playing into future events in their heads
of a present affair. A make up type of ***
to forget about old history

                                 Awaiting their ******.

If I cry out to a gaze of boisterous
watchers, as every star falling out of the
sky, —I’d too, feel so out of place. I would
appear, a feast to Time, by just a second’s graze.

Truly startled at how short a life is;
even by the Greener pastures we so
meaninglessly hunt after; do know
full well, all the grass that grows so
promising; will all eventually be grazed.

And perhaps the purple envy I had
for the freedom’s worth knitted into
the sky, would all at last turn so grey,

And so, I would cry a river’s mountain,
upon knowing how much time I spent,
chasing after meaningless things in all my days.

For the cares of the world offers
only a moment’s praise,

Till I’m of course consumed, with finding
the reasoning to clarify such a craze—
I’d have no answer to my Creator’s name;
and I’d be so ashamed.

Her lips were cold as a Winter’s bone, sending sharp chills down your
spine. His kiss was like a Summer, with it’s sun warming up the days.
A Spring of blossoming scented flowers, no longer shy to be openly
seen.

The butterflies in search of nectar, being the ones in her stomach. As
with the fall, they had both fallen in love during the Autumn.

He would forever be her seasoned kisser.

Procreate all of our conversations;  
to produce life in their endless longing words.

You, my beloved, hold a coveted title; as every time I speak
of you, my words are filled with a true and unyielding love,
that resounds ecstatically throughout any room.

For every conclusion of my speech, should leave
no doubt in your mind. Knowing without any hesitation
or reservation, that I love you – wholly, completely,
and unconditionally.

My daddy warned me; not to stay up late,
But how could I not cry, when the world looks
So much better inside of that screen?

My daddy never told me why, because we
were too busy crying.

My daddy warned me; not to give up on my faith,
But how could I not decide, to let go of faith,
When we’ve all lost our ways?

My daddy couldn’t hold his own,
With all the weight of the entire world.

All these tears, have run dry,
And I’m just bleeding out of my eye,
And it’s so hard to cry, knowing your soul has died.
All these tears, have already died.
Already died, already died, already died,
I don’t feel alive.

My daddy warned me, not to be so lazy,
But how could I not sigh, at any movement,
Feeling like we’re all about to die?

My daddy worked himself to the bone,
All with nothing of his own.

My daddy warned me, not to give up on dreams,
But how could I not tell him, we’re all feeling scared;
With so much pressure placed on our heads?

My daddy didn’t face all of his fears,
We're both running off scared.

But my daddy told me to, look up to the sky,
Even when I want to cry, with tears gone dry,
Someone is by my side, as Heaven also cries.

All these tears, are filled with life.
Filled with life, filled with life, filled with life,
And I’m still alive.

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.

A claim you possess;
we’re possessions, battling for one last touch- our
love on the battlefield; the gore of it, engulfs you as
if you were drowning; sinking deeper into your
emotions. Our hearts relapsed into their silence, a
fathomless ocean- of us holding our breathes each
time we kiss.

We were so tired of loving with no results,
so much so, that the very first time we kissed
it all, it was all too much to comprehend.

Open to a breath
The inhale, exhale composition
Tongues written of words only said:
By two intertwined

It chases, of eye’s rushing gaze
A praise to beautifying mirrors of time
Experiences only shared in story
Only by memory—what we do remember
A moment so precious

Ashes upon the smoke of burning passion
The eternal flame of love, internal
Yours exterior is the factor of my impression
Impressed by the taste of sweet desire
Oh so little

Litter my heart, of stained wickedness
It’s surely wrong to meet up like this
But like this, we seemed to be so free

Under the shade of the pink flower tree
Where our first kiss had been
A scene of film, pellicle thoughts
As you still play continuously in my head
How’d I forget our first kiss
Under the shade of our pink flower tree.

A bloom of flowers...
whispers of warmth under cold shivers...
tears of an experience...
gleaming light of joy...
a flame of echoed emotions...
reflection of loveliness...
lonely shatters of time...
the escape from a harsh reality...
a dream of eternal...
once forth as I loved you so–-all of the above,
all to remind me of your worth...

                                            At most, I'm lost for words.

must you love me – accident prone; it could be my
clumsy self that made me fall in love. you hate smokers,
around you; I really hope I’m not too much of a drag
yet the laughter, and the sun follow you around like
smoke– addicted, they must love you

And she asked me:
“darling, do you think you could handle me,”

while twisting my thoughts by the handle to my heart’s
door – that’s my handful; being handy to remind you,
your eyes are beautiful. but I always seem too naked with my
thoughts, would you bear with me, be bare with me

stripped of false disguise – let me know your inner child from
your mother’s womb. the heat of your body that fires the spark
between us both; aroused in your presence, and yearning for
more, by the lack there of.

pen words of worth to penetrate your thoughts, rising
up in anticipation to that sensual mountaintop, as your
passion is to spasm for me, in this naked trust of love
                     in this very moment, we are one.

We’ll bury more of the dead; -  
rather than burying the problem  
that caused their death,  

We prefer not to bury the hatchet;  
instead raise them up in arms—
yelling, “let’s all go to war”

One hundred and five times going to make mistakes
And that's just the count of one day
Guess it's so hard for me to maintain
An appreciation of this above grace
Constantly going back to my old ways
No sense of care behind that repentive prayer
Why repaint that sin in another quote promise's shade
Promising this time to stay away from doing it again

It's high time I repented seriously in my next prayer

I saw Heaven hanging over my head like a chandelier, it's
angels were swimming in the light, whispering sweet hymns,—
in a kaleidoscope filled with broken dreams.
The gates fell open like a strand of hair, trumpets were blaring for kings, with thrones like rocking chairs, of my ancestors and their heirs. On earth, I had cattle trodding around my heart to pay for love; as dowry couldn't pay enough for who I once loved.
I drank the tears of Heaven's rains, to tie my tithes wrapped
around my neck; waiting for their fortunes reigns.

I kissed an angel that melted my lips, and had suckled on the ******* of mother nature, who fed me milk and honey to keep me alive. I danced around the edge of an end, where life begins once again. My toes felt cold as a tear drop lost in snow,— my ears were ringing like the church carillon, calling me to repent.
And from the stained glass window frames, it all immediately painted out my pain.

I thought of you, just before I took my last breath, begging the favours from the mistress of Death. I felt like a flower in your hand; each petal being picked away, asking the question of,
"does she love me or love me not." I thought of being holy enough to fit in your heart, but I was as holey as the holes in my socks. My prayers all stunk of the lie behind them all. I looked into your eyes to see heaven inside, as I was living in the world.
I bit on time to have it for seconds, and served a dish of revenge only in my heart,— I was taught it will always be a cold meal; so
I'd use my spark of love to keep it warm. I shared stories with
the world, told my biggest secrets to the sky, and left
breadcrumbs to them, in every word of my poems.

Still...in the chaos of my mind, lied a still river flowing with worth. Drowning myself in your eyes, as your every tear was the inspiration of what became our story. But I know in the end, our love will just be another person's story...

While I was passaging around;-
In an acquainted car, deprived of any hint of tints
My soul felt stuck inside that glass box;
Clear as a lucid bright day, to see how fragile I am

The glass in itself;- was reflective, so picturized
Boldly showing all the ugliness written out,
By the milage in my eyes.

Commitment and trust, a safety pin so small,
In the tapestry of bonds, they stand tall.
They shield and support, like a gentle embrace,
But one misstep, and the balance we chase.

Delicate threads woven, emotions entwined,
Unintended consequences, where hearts find,
A wounded soul, left in the aftermath,
When commitment falters, trust takes a path.

So cherish these elements, precious and rare,
Handle with care, for they're beyond compare.
For in the fabric of relationships, they reside,
A safety pin's power, when love is our guide.

Pockets swole-
brokenness or dreams
Wells of my eyes-
sunken boredem or teary streams
As much; a military mind
doesn't walk into things- it's a march

Spring in that old step
whether in situations of a new season
The first key to making a moment
a keeper. I was at first a creeper,
a non believer; before a careless dreamer

it all ends in tears-
of joy or pain
all decided by how you act
under life's grey, and the rain

Tell me,
if I can make love to someone through my eyes;
Allowing me to truly witness and appreciate every
exquisite detail of them— my eyes would become
vessels, through which my adoration flows freely
for you.

There’s a charming night; her air seductive,
her beauty blinding- she strives through pain; writes a
story with a dried-out pen; writing a poem with no lines.

She is the night; her skin is brown sugar, her eyes are
filled with black galloping horses, that defies any oblivion,
her lips are red as the blushing passion of youthfulness.

Her wrongs in my eyes are a pale memory;
she is a penny with its head and tail- whichever side she
falls on, her worth affords all of my attention.

Tonight, her touch is like a paintbrush on my skin;- she
tries to paint a new moon- reflecting her smile’s shine;
she’s a candle that pierces at the darkness, and light starts to
bleed out, filling the room with an echo of, ‘her’ and only ‘her.’

She’s truly perfect, so perfect she feels unreal;
she’s a fatal misery- full of forgetfulness; the memory
of her I try to make stay. To live with her is a pain, without
her is a shame;- she’s truly perfect, so perfect she feels unreal
—sadly, she is only, and remains just a dream.

Bright ideas of fools,
an acquired taste.
Guessing I was a tool,
for seeming *******.

An acquired taste for success
has my lips shaking
To acquire success in life,
is to achieve what you make.

Make something of yourself,
something along the lines of being great
And of course,
be something different. An acquired taste.

wet skin to skin; a tightly gripped kiss - urged lips
that surely wished they had spoken their feelings first,
then to seem like they’re both trying to quench each other’s
thirst. still shivering in my nerves that I’ve grown so lost
for my words – trying to find my identity in your eyes surface
              ...you look too beautiful for me to even claim

it’s my own shame, that sticks on my throat like a smoker’s
cough – though this love sickness is worth the bit of irritation,
of not always knowing what to do when I’m so close to you
                     ...so yes, I held you, and kissed you

but that wasn’t the initial plan; you rested in my arms and I
had my words for you ready and armed – but my hand in it
all had lost its touch. darling this is so much of a rush for
just a simple crush, to us finally going out, more than once
       …I just wish that from the beginning, I had told you,

                                                      “I think I’m in love”

Starved breaths for time, and I’m so hungry for air
As the sky offers these familiar breathless chambers
A cool taste of a drink in the ashes of a cigarette kiss,
My throat hungers for rain, and I must swim in this-
Fathomless ocean, drawing from blood mixed as ink

The picture of words stings under my salty wounds
A few inches above the bottom of depression, I hover
Saints gather by a curve of faith, of a bend in history;

Truly it’s a mystery, to acknowledge a scent of victory
To see your purpose fully naked, of revealing a destiny
Even though, tonight I enter these years flowing past,
The land’s path we all follow; I grow hungry more so
To be fed with any more time to fully experience it all

Kissing lips; the best taste to have,
Next to chocolate and coffee,
Close few friends; for Saturday hangouts,
Binge watching series when I'm all alone,
Reading a good book, anxious for the next chapter,
A long awaited Friday to kick back from work,
Bonus points if we're knocking off early that day,
Instagram memes, and poetry related posts,
A few brave selfies to show off a fresh cut,
Avoiding "I like your cut g" reactions. Perfect.

The smell of brand new clothes with the tag on,
Socks and sandals in the comfort at home,
The sun coming out of a blanket of clouds. Shinning.

A good or ***** joke to have you ear from ear smiling,
Loud music in my ears with bass, and good lyrics
Picking through playlists to a sombre mood and worship,
Pretty flowers amongst the random walks to nowhere,
A brand new journal, and ballpoint pen to match,
Especially the ones with good grip, and black ink,
Holiday trips to new places, people, and food,
Afternoon naps, sleeping in days, and up late gaming,
Anime lovers sharing folders of content watched. Great.

Bible devotions leaving questions and encouragement,
Sunday meals, filling me up with good food,
Seeing cute kids; making you yearn to have your own,
Somebody complimenting or saying thank you for your effort,
And having poetry, stories, art and expression to channel every
emotion and thought out into physical. Creativity is beauty!

Twenty seven of my top reasons to appreciate being alive.

"Mummy"
screams a child running into her room
"I have an owie,— a boo boo"
a child that runs into her room, is running
into her care

The cherished love, cheery smile of it,
and being patient as the cherry on top

"Mum"
miraculous unconditional marvel,
the superhero of wonders in the kitchen
At times a quiet disciplinary in public, with
a sharp eye of a cutting glare

          Later at home you'll be in trouble...

She is love, often not loved enough
even though; her love is more than enough
And can never be undone

"Mummy, mum, or just ma"
she is all, she is a mother

As my father likes to say,
"same ****, but a different toilet"
With kids at the age to loiter. Sitting on all their
dreams, that they feel discomfort. There's a taste of
***** in the words mixed with a little chronic.
In between the lines of sort of psychotic, and iconic;
scornful eyes of adults who think we're quite ironic.

Broke ties, with the broke kids with empty pockets,
filled with their dreams; to then having a blast with
older girls—launching your pocket rocket. Three, two,
one, is count down of when someone is coming.
To yearn for love we never got from adults, as we're
always longing. Always copying, the styles of the famous
to seem relevant in the topic. While getting high in between
classes, and pretending that feeling is so awesome.

Some skinny jeans to fit in with the masses, rip it up a
bit to be the latest in the fashion. Snap your life away,
and add a little cute caption. Looking for a bit of romance,
but my favourite genre is a little action. A little traction in
between us, until I'm tired of smashing and passing.
Falling in love—as casual. To question my worth, while
buying things more valuable. Things of the world so intangible.

Searching for answers on the wall, writing out our wishes so
you can relate to them all. Dreaming of being stars; but every
star eventually will fall. Help me, help me please, do you here
me at all?

Would you kindly be a help to your young?
I'm dying quietly in the loudest of fun.

How to describe the third person,
In third person; while your eyes are
Still ******, to the world' curses:
Who says we're too different, as we
Feel magnificent, but indifferent to
Their efficient, who aren't so innocent.

But we stay vigilant, to feel certain.

Ring, ring,

Goes the call to my head,
Asking if we're heading in the
Right direction, when we're in
Over our head. Could it be red,
Could it be read? To title myself
An open book, as Nowadays it's,

Either bled or blend.

A Cinderella without her feet,
Would she in the end find her Prince?
Or would she be stepped by step sisters;
And each other's many conflicts.

I'd still watch that flick.

A Pinocchio, nosey for the
Smell of flesh. He'd tell a lie,
To get under a dress. But how
Long would he reply on a lie;
To seem like he could impress.

I'd enjoy that, I must confess.

Or if a Snow white, never met a kiss,
But instead remained fast asleep.
Or never really needed a Prince.
But a huntsman, to guard herself,
By teaching her his survival tricks.

That ending kind of fits.

But why do we use made up
Fairy tales, to ferry well, on the
Endless waves of life, just to sail.
We never really measure the details,
Because we're too busy weighing our
Problems on a broken scale.

Pinheads disguised as a nail

Don't miss your step in life,
You could be close to a misstep.
Who'd forget a first cut of a knife;
As you're always on the cutting-edge.
Thinking little of moments, but what if
That little moment had it's last breath.

You'd cherish every little moment instead.

Finally,

Poetic flow, in my pen
Is always a river of words.
Seems to grown into an Ocean,
As you can hear the Waves and Birds.
Smelling the scent of salts,
Weighing heavy on your hearts.
Drowning in my deep thoughts.

Hoping to cross,
To meet the end of my pen.
But perhaps the end is the source,
And the source are thoughts,
You follow along in due course.

A pen of flow at the water's edge;
A building wave,
Prepare yourself for what's ahead.
Ahead of the tip of my pen.
As I don't write words of boys and girls,
This pen held by ten thousand women and men.

                                 The Pen's flow

Start a line of thought, like a youngster
who had the chief insensitive;
Now I select my words wisely, with
silence—as no evil will be a cause of a weapon.
And of course, I start every prayer, by
coming with a confession.

As I’ve learnt the sharpest
dagger, is a jealous eye,
Worshiping all the things it lacks;
recalling those who refer to your
character only by its past—the ones to
stab you in the back.

Beautiful tragedy, a travesty of love brought by
things unspoken by the lips of so many few.
A honeydew sticky to my tongue, underneath the
fun of having someone to call, “my love”

Fields of maize rustling dry leaves in the tiniest
of breeze. Reminds me of the first time love had
shook me down in my knees.
Baobab trees of a swollen heart, packing luggage in
that African trunk. Under the tree kissing during lunch,
or in all of those lessons you and I would love to bunk.

Eversharp blue pens, drawing heart pictures on my wrist.
Bathroom breaks, and scandalous friends. Making sure
the memory of you, isn’t the one thing I rinse.
I’m convinced, with all the exercise books with tiny blocks,
I’d one day be boxed in by love.

With heavy weinbrenner shoes, walking around your entire
room to make them fit. I’d walk a thousand miles
to find a place in your heart, with my charms and wit.

Cascade diary drinks, cascading shadows of your
desires milked by the many ways you’ve lived.
I felt you heavily breathe, each time we kissed,
clutching my fingers to grab onto a time,
long before the low blows of love with a closed fist.

Must be nostalgia talking into my present days
and cares. A crush sweet as orange Mazoe,
you and I once would share.

I’ll take all the time to remember those lessons from old
things, and of course an old flame of love.
Trace my fingers along the scars, and the smiles
of memories we made out together.
Despite it being out of teenage peer pressure,
I’ve grown from it, to grow into something better.

I thank the nostalgia to my love. It’s worth the look back.

Never kiss and tell our love,
for all we know, our friends would want some.

We should only realize,
our love shouldn't be televised.
So keep it close, right between our eyes.
We both act shy, but that's alright.
Despite what shows outside, things are more important inside.

So let's not play kiss and tell.

The camera is rolling, incessantly capturing every moment of our lives, leaving us with a world that never stops recording, where privacy becomes a luxury unbeknownst to us. In these private matters, we find ourselves stripped of any semblance of secrecy, exposed to the prying eyes of an ever-watchful audience.

As we gaze upon Mother Earth, we see her through an unsettling lens, viewing her as a captivating entity, akin to a seductive **** who has birthed and nurtured countless lives. Yet, contrasting our admiration, there persists an underlying desire to possess and consume her in a primal, carnal manner. It is as if we hold a fetishistic fascination with her, using fiery words to address her before we even think to disrobe ourselves from the layers of convenience and comfort, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

This portrayal begs the question of how mankind perceives themselves amidst this intimate performance. Are we mere objects to be stripped down and devoured for the amusement of an unfeeling audience? Stripped of our dignity and possessions, we are left bare, vulnerable, and at the mercy of those who derive pleasure from exploiting our vulnerability. It is akin to a mesmerizing striptease, a tantalizing display that leaves us yearning for something greater.

In the face of such exposure, we find ourselves humbled and powerless, compelled to seek solace and redemption from a higher power. Constantly begging to be bathed in the love and mercy of a divine entity, we yearn for a respite from the unyielding gaze of the world. It appears that the world derives pleasure from witnessing us in a state of vulnerability, reducing us to our weakest form, our knees bent in submission.

In this revelatory expansion of the original sentence, we delve deeper into the implications of a world that ceaselessly records our actions. We explore the complex dynamics between humanity and the environment, finding parallels in our treatment of Mother Earth and our own susceptibility to exploitation. The expanded content retains the core meaning and context, while elaborating on the themes of vulnerability, power dynamics, and the search for solace and redemption.

Songbird
resting in the tree
As an early winter leaf
is kidnapped by winds

The buried seed
in the dark, comes to light—all to see
Where there is shelter
under it's shade of canopy

And dancing fox's tail
entail such details of her redwood
It has filled my eyes with glee
to see something growing so free

As true strength of roots
is the patience we must have, and give
So like this morning wood,
does its growth be strong remarks as it appears

    Listen to the tree leaf by winds
    And the buried seed of canopy,
    All to see—growing free, and
    Give strong remarks as it appears

Life before man; the peace and creation of nature
a cloud for every eager striving flower- inhabitants
of a creek; precious stones dressing the stream’s bed
Distant cousins to sea pebbles, bond to a long year
The once great might of ancient forests; swallowing
empty valleys of earth, in their timeless brilliance
of nature

Quiet rains that are like wiping tears from the sky’s
picturesque face; to the joys of grass that hungers
The brightness of today, pours through the walls
of tomorrow’s marrow- an endless returning light
And grand spotlight to the shadows we see, and
the shadows within. Pieces of ourselves revealed
to us

Human life, under the source of day- gives an
endless revealing, of the destiny we must accomplish.

Give me a couple years...
I'll be living as a king;
but right now, I'm working it all out
so hard as a slave.

Give me a couple years...
to be the boss of my own;
that once worked for bosses.

Give me a couple years...
to drink to all my successes;
filled with a cup of the tears.

Give me a couple years...
for cheers of praise of my name;
made from the whispers of disbelief.

Give me a couple years...
to enjoy the hatching of all my gold;
from the eggs I didn't count before they hatched.

Give me a couple years...
to have put smiles on my family's face,
from the times it looked at me with worry.

Give me a couple years...
to not boast of what I made;
but appreciate all that I earned.

In a couple years...
I'll be every dream I always had,
living them all wide awake.

                   I only need a couple years...

Once upon a time a kiss,
in a land of feelings, and desire
Lived what we thought was the perfect kiss,

Our very first words, of tasting one other,
and a journey of potential love;
finding our likes and dislikes, we soon came to discover

Cinderella kisses- at a time you and I had a ball,
waking up from such a lucid dream, as kids
And being so innocent and pure as a Snow white,
still skipping stones along a stream of our dreams

Never telling our parents of this young relationship we had,
and of all those secret places you and I had kissed- our neverland
As I was losing my fingers in all of the curls of your hair;
I climbed the towers of kissing up your neck with steady kisses;
to impress myself on my Rapunzel of no other compare

As I imagined you, pricked by my passion;
a sweet endless dream of beauty, with my resting head
on your bare chest; you were always such a Sleeping beauty
Sleeping in all of our cuddles, I was waiting patiently
to wake up another morning with you

Even to this day, I wonder if we could have ended our story
with a happily ever after final kiss
Sigh, it was all a fairytale,
just made to help me reminisce

                  ...the end.