What not to say, my tongue is twisted
with the knots under my breath
I unbutton your lace, to undress
my eyes; worn out and ******* by the day

There's multiplication in such an act,
and I'm so divided on where to start
Divisive thoughts, disagreeing with myself,
whether I act as a dog with only a bark
Or choose to be animal who tends to bite,
chasing tail, and pinning it on a donkey
-it's a game to someone wanting ***

But as I shouldn't say,
I want you call on me, and worship a name,
in the moans of the night
And your thankful glow, becomes the
morning' prayer
Would you still believe in me,
confine in me, in the confines of my arms
And tickle out all of the bullets out of my gun

Behind the shades,
I see the show upon the stage you've set
But once the show ends, behind that curtain,
is where the true showcase will begin

On these eve; child born of ******' womb,
A light of birth, to death and risen from tomb.

Shepherds behold, of the angels of their night,
Wise men behold, of a guiding star' light.

Behold child of glory, resting in babe' bed,
In straws he shall lay, of king' crown on head.

Behold the son of man where he lay,
The Lord Jesus was born today.

We were blessed with the ability
to choose,
No walk is the same,
we can't fit in everyone's shoes.

Child of my beloved, O'child of Mine,
we are yet to meet.
I ask of you to take to my lessons I've left behind.

The world tries you to serve revenge on a cold dish
But how do so by our warm hearts flamed by Love and Mercy.
For I tell you to show mercy by your hands as did mine. Revenge should be in complete absence of such an action, only rather choosing to make peace.

For beloved child of I,
never show care for someone only after they die.
For Death preys on us all, but shouldn't aim to feast upon our love,
For caring for someone is harder when they're all but gone to the Heavens above.

Yet let not your heart starve for desires of this world.
For I tell you that they'll surely fail you in the future when Death calls your body to the Earth. And these things you desire won't always be yours to hold.

This world surely pulls strings, but never play it's puppets.
And Love is not to be played out, for frog legs and pork chops don't go together. So don't play by strings, nor play Love like Muppets.

The heart of Man sometimes plays differently to face,
For we are to our own faults the best liars to self. But never let the in's and out's of you move differently in pace.

Child of my beloved, O'child of Mine.
Be as you, take to these lessons to teach your young. Never leave my wise words behind.
Let your eyes seek to be locked upon wisdom, lest to afford you living this life blind.

You are the blossom flourishing within the confines of my heart's
garden – my unwavering anchor amidst the tempest of turmoil;
a guiding light that directs my gaze toward the distant end of this
dark passage.

I am but a letter resting at your final resting place, bearing secrets
that will guide you to paradise – I murmur your name with every
tear that falls for you in the place of my dreams; in the whispers
of the wind, the gentle caress of rain, and even in the desolation
of the moments we are separated.

Beloved, you are my heart's desire.

if I swallowed a piece of fire to light up these lungs, and spoke life
into another’s life with the fire in these words; how wonderful would
that be? even now as I am – the echo of bones waiting to grow old;
feeling like the silence of an empty channel in a car radio – my heart
is often static when it rubs against another; in these electrifying
feelings of love

and much like a tyre running a track – sometimes I need to find a
place to rest, to try and reinflate myself. my lips have become a
clutch, of knowing when to shift conversations when they start to feel
a bit too awkward for me. and my means of a first impression, is one
to impress well enough for them to say, “that’s a man who I deserve,”
yet ironically, I can sing how beautiful I am, feeling so ugly inside –
and hoping I never lose myself to myself

still, look at me, I am unique – such words I must speak for a piece of
peace; knowing that I’m sometimes torn, yet I wear the attire of my
heart. being distant in the humming silence, praying for a mindful
heart, to remember what’s it beating for. for even in the less of myself,
I was created, to be more.

Glorious failure; as I write this letter to my youth,
With always a fair share of bad news.
For try as you may,—
you still have a lot of yourself to prove.
Blaming yourself over all those who failed you,
at most— the ones who made it seem like you had
nothing better to do.

God, I know all of my sin; still for what’s left of a saint,
Would you by any chance let me in?
Spare a portion of change, to spend on the worth
of a name—as if I were feeding myself away
From any of indifference; by firstly starting
every prayer with grace.


Even when there’s a stone stuck in my throat;
Skipping over the waters of my soul.
I’m a cryptic message always, as whatever advice
you try to find in a cryptic poem.

Roaring, as an empty lion who lost his voice—
I’m instead rowing in an ocean of tears,
in place of not conquering my many fears.

And this is the part I’m supposed to
say something positive, as the charge of the
battery that powers my thoughts—
Though I’m not a leader of all of my words,
I do quote myself, to often misjudge my own worth
And not to find the right words to say;
to then break my jaw¬—and be as broken
as an empty wallet could ever relay.

Loved as an animal; for a dog faithful to a hand,
serves its barking remarks to be chasing its own tail
To one day come around, hoping to find change
still change comes with what I’m willing to spend,
And sacrifice; as the very old ways I held so much,
at hand.

My dearest younger self, there’s so much I wish
I could show you earlier on, that you need to let go of,
Especially the things you’ve kept hold of
In hopes of protecting it in an old glove.

Let go of the idea: that you’ll make everyone
so proud, the idea that every smile you see,
pictures what they hoped for
As even those you love, soon disappear in the crowd;
and the idea of trying to fit in, isn’t as easy
As trying to be everyone’s puzzle piece
For being yourself  is the better fit, but the biggest risk
But I guarantee you will gain your biggest fill.

         All I’m writing is, for both of our sakes
                                        —stick to being Real!

Why cry behind a mountain? Because I'd love to fill it's valley rivers with my tears,
Why cry in your sleep? Because the pain of it quickly wakes me
up from that dream,
Why cry when you're happy? Because the smile doesn't show enough emotions,
Why cry in a corner? Because it's a tiny space for me to count my tears,
Why cry when no-one is watching? Because I can cry for as long as I want,
Why cry in a glass bottle? Because I've cried about spilled milk before,
Why cry in the silence. Because the sound of my emotions makes it feel real,
Why cry about the future? Because the present fills me with the feeling of weariness,
Why cry about love? Because it's so overwhelming to have, and to not have,
Why even write about crying? Because everyone cries. And yet I'm the fool asking myself these questions.

The answer is: I'm just reminding myself of all the best places,
and times to cry.

Roaches in the back of the toilet seat; a ****** life where every light is like a movie, but all they do is flick.
Not knowing how to shut your eyes away from the pain, so all you can do is blink,—While trying to get over all of your exes, but you always have to over think.
Posing for a Christmas picture, with a smile you only wear for certain people that season. While time bites away at all of your dreams, and death feels like a compliment when she's offering you her kisses.

Hiding all of your savings under a mattress, just so the rest of the world don't know what you have,—when you can't really bank on a bank, just to have a small account, accounting on all of the times you actually felt glad.
Dealing with your insecurities while trying to secure another dollar, living on the wisdom of a father, reading on His word
asking for the answers on how to make a honest dollar.
Tithing ties, just not choke up on your poverty, asking whether there's a better life for you in the future, "Lord there has to be"
Instilled with the fear of God, but you'd fear staying still, when rent is due, and you're twenty dollars short to fit the bill.
Trying to make a mountain out of your own weight, but you barely ate, praying for miracles but you forgot to pray for patience,— so you're feeling desperate while trying to wait. Praying for God's grace, more times you say your grace,
while everything else starts to look like *******, but you have
to stay thankful, so there's nothing to waste.

But I don't pray for guidance towards the next day,
I just pray tomorrow will always be a better day.

a heart dares itself to be in charge – heavy as lead
a mind so lost in depths of the mundane, man’s greatest
and heaviest sigh is knowing tomorrow is, “Monday”

the perennial and annihilating thirst of this flesh;
funny how the power of creation is another man’s
addiction – one who multiplies life, the other just makes
an addition to their means of only finding, “friction”

some days I pray for angels to bear the weight on
my shoulders, the demons sit on top of my head –
all-knowing silence; the darkness smiles at your
shame, but who really knows what to look for in
the dark?

         …I only pray you see yourself in a better light

I never truly experienced daddy issues,
Even when there were moments when his
Unconventional parenting, gave a hint of
Issue on how he periodically raised us.

Yet, he never did it for any press;
Or aimed for our childhood
To become fodder for magazine covers.
Covered with the words we could remember
From church services, not engaging in the
Practice of parenting, JUST
For public service.

He poured everything he had
Into raising us, drawing from
All he had at hand, from what
Was handed to him- to make him
A man. And for our own youngsters,
We will take the most
Important lessons to raise
Better men.

I went looking for someone to blame for all the cracks
in my name, for the mess I made — but that mirror
didn’t tell a lie. The culprit wore my face.
I don’t want your love. I don’t want your shame.
Still, somehow, you found me — tongue bitter with
the taste of your mistakes; pressed against my teeth
like communion for the broken.

Tears rose — blooming smoke, clouds of falling flowers.
A storm of soft destruction, raining petals made of regret —
but it never rained just mine. It rained yours too.

Yet you learn to grow from the things that once cut
you down. Even the sharpest wounds can become
something softer when you let them go.
Edges trimmed; old roots shed — and still, I rise.
So now, when you see me, don’t mistake me for my
damage. I am not the bruise. I am not the blade.
I am far better than the sum of my mistakes.

“What echoes in the void of a gun's chamber, poised at the head”
– the silencing of their countless voices howling within.
“What are the last words of a crimson blade caressing one’s throat”
– a haunting cutaway to a life now severed.
“What feeling envelops a lifeless body sprawled upon the floor”
– nothing but cold.

Does one merely attempt to compose their own funeral songs
– or weep a solitary tear for their own end, blinding themselves to
the haunting shadows of regret that herald their own downfall?
Does a fish, in a frantic bid for survival, strive to weep itself back
into existence, the moment it leaps from the depths, only to find
itself stranded? Are you familiar with the image of love's belly,
once alive with butterflies, now a dead man ensnared in a net?

The haunting questions of suicide linger like a ghostly whisper.
Can the choice to surrender to death ever truly unveil the answers
we seek? Do the celestial realms bear witness to our torment, or do
the infernal fires rejoice, growing ever fiercer with each soul they
claim?

Alas, it is only the departed who possess the knowledge of such
truths, and I shudder at the thought of being the one to unveil
such an answer myself...

She told me I should save my penny thoughts,
but I told her I'm not changing over.
Because in full disclosure,
I'd like to think I'm learning more
getting older,
So save your pennys trying to buy my worth,
I'm worth more than the money you owe me.

Isn't that beautiful,
I like to try and beat my heart,
beat out the cause,
But I'm only beating myself as usual.

I'm clueless to a lot of things,
a hint of me gets lost in dreams.
I often sink from thinking deep,
can barely breathe.
So save me please,
before I end up another sinking ship.

Cause I'm like an act,
I might play your heart and mind,
Even when I seem relaxed,
I'm more unexpected than a surprise.
So you best be wise.

Beware of me!

Is perception of mind
guided by sight,
For if you see evil
does that mean there's evil on your mind?
If I'm depressed
is it because of feelings not addressed
Perhaps I should tidy my mind,
for being such a mess.

Time waits for no-one,
we wait for it to do something right,
Good intent seems only to work
when there's a prize on the side.
Human nature often aids,
only if seen benefiting our lives.

Still!

Who are the wise,
but quiet men around the loudest of fools.
Who are the stubborn,
but those who can argue with a mule.
Your very behind,
is the past you can't let go of,
An ***,
pulling a weight of weighing into doom.

Poor excuses we make,
are reflex to the problems we try to escape.
But as beings,
who may not head in the right direction
The head above can show you the better way.

Don't be crooked as the world,
learn to think straight!
Don't be fearful of tomorrow,
Today's moment is for you to be brave.

Defy what lies,
beyond the perception of your mind.

Dusty eyes- ***** looks
kissed by rust for lips; a bit rusty
from the last I've kissed
My tongue tied in my teeth,
compliments have faded into blue
once a someone for loving you—but now treated
as no-one important after I broke up with you
                          ~towards my exes

I cry in secret under the dark of a dim
lit screen. Finger typing, stereotype reminiscing
on ill talk hidden under a voice tone
I translate your body language well- you're angry
at the sight of me. Disappointed, annoyed, bitter
towards what you've concluded by sight
                       ~towards all people

Only when I pour my heart out
you have no words to utter a comment or
recognition out of your mouth
And as I write out of a passing meaningless
thought- seems you have so much to say
Giving a ridiculous fee towards the recognition
I'm always forced to pay
            ~towards publications and peers

You make me feel less—no I've come to
always expect less. I've made myself less
Under stress, standing underneath society's
umbrella term of being successful
But haven't I already succeeded in being humble,
caring, understanding- being myself

It all seems impossible to actually be yourself
and somebody else wants to be somebody else
Who then nowadays is actually being themselves?

I'm happy
burning fiery joy in a chest
Light hearted; ready for the day
"bring on the pain," we only grow through hurt
Human nature is a rose;— sometimes sharp words
of our heart's thorns.

Growing pains through the sores,
"I love the hurt," to feel my worth
a jewel indeed, jubilant as any could believe
Filled with glee, and like a tree blowing carelessly
in the wind —I feel free, and so happy to be free

As the sun rising; feeling on top of the world
kissing summer for her pretty girl
My smiles are bright; outside, outside, out side
out sigh— sigh, here comes the night



...setting day,
I'm upset, "I don't know why"
my heavy eyes, without a load of reason to cry

starring at a wall,
the curtains creeping cracks, excessively
kicked to the side, now it's kicking in; my OCD

everybody hates me,
..I hate myself, corrections to say I underrate myself
overrate my existence,— feel like a disappointment of a Christian



Ugh, growl, and a bark
my mind is stuck, angry and frustrated
What the duck! Flying words, and saying
a few foul words. I'm ******, but *******
by the wrong tree. Tried to mark my territory
warning myself in the shouting silent voices,
     "they should fear my bite over the unheard bark"

Nobody is listening, only the fiery demons poking
the fireplace of my anger. Life is an unbalance to find balance
No-one explained the rules, no-one gave me the chances or
explained the answers. I'm being tested; ****** are
testosterone filled. Ugh, clicking my fingers, clenching
jaw and fists. To many outward thoughts, might not breath in.
                   "about to explode in this imploding anger poking"

Eyes rolled back; cocking back my words
About to shoot down heaven with some harsh speak
A prayers afterwards, without feeling any peace
I'm pisssed, I'm ******, I'm ******; please don't try a
piece of me. Piece me together as a parton of war,
physics of battle, guns and aiming to blow
            "so **** angry, but not enough words"


But wait, I'll be happy by the morning.

Would you come as you are, within your soul's dwelling
Muddle of fears, intertwining like roots seeking supply
From hesitant soil – your insecurities bloom like fragile
Petals quietly quivering under the weight of your doubt.

The birds of prey swoop down, feasting on seeds of fear
Growing wild in the shadows, where silence can howl –
Unknowingly scattering, nurturing a garden of unease
Within your heart and mind, their talons gripping tight,
Refusing release

The host: guardian of self, peers warily at their unwelcome
Visitor; an uninvited guest that saunters through corridors
Of your thoughts; no regard for boundaries set by respect,
Leaving behind a trail of dusty footprints, remnants of a
World so careless and indifferent.

Why, oh why, do you tend so diligently to this nest of fear
Within you, allowing it to grow; to flourish, casting shadows
Over the once vibrant garden of your spirit- oh bird feeder?

squeezed into existence by the head – coughing out
my first words, with lungs choked with dust;
a body rhyming; to the rhythm of heartbeats against
a mother’s *****— eyes nourished by the vibrant
hues of this bewildering new realm.

in those nascent moments, my existence began shrouded
in shadows—the tunnel’s end merely a flicker; the stars ached
the skies cried their rain; on that eve, the wind exhaled the
essence of creation into my very skin.

so my skin ignited like a volcano, each limb ablaze with
fervour, the heat layering upon itself—yet still, the tantalizing
urge to step out caressed my feet.

Every sensation was a revelation; each experience felt like
a debut, devouring time as if it were the first taste of life—
longing for love swirling above me, a fire igniting my desire
for a pen, spiralling into infinity, as if it were all happening
for the very first time.

                              ...birth of a poet.

Life is a Biscuit'
Where the privilege are born,
With cream in between:
While the rest have to work'
For their life's filling.

We're two almost of the
same kind.
But excuse me darling,
for being too much of a treat.
Hoping you don't mind

And like a treat,
I keep this verse short & sweet.

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

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

Willow branches,
a basket case kind of person with messy hair
Feelings gone in the wind,
by the time we're clearing it out, and masking
up, whenever there's a hint of love in the air,

But you still don't have a clue,
rhymes, rhythm, and riddles; usually the questions dancing
around, to feel the same- but not a correspondence of the two
You and I, trying to see a poor connection,
while ringing up the reasons on different area codes
and on disconnected Wi-Fi. What's there for us to do,

When you smile so crooked, on the straight and narrow,
speaking so loosely of yourself, and being walked
over by people with loose shoe laces- they're just a blunt arrow
You know the type; that never really get a point,
but would score any chance of making you their girl
To try and fit the two; love and trust. But they're just
blowing smoke in the wind, of a social joint,

Still I've know many trying to gain love with a cheque,
ticking all of the right boxes just to do it
And I heard one of them bought you shoes
with that fake Nike check,

So nowadays, you just give people that sour face,
pulled as a fool, that you choose to pull your face
And any sweet nothing, has a bitter taste in the end,
a misleading ***** intention, and you're now this
bitter ugly mess.

Beneath the surface of everything that exists;-
I find myself one breath away from losing my sanity,
and not making another one, until I die. Continuously unsure if
I'll ever create something new before, my time is up;- living by
the inevitable ticking of time's clock.

I've been living on the outskirts, trapped within
the confines of my own mind, constructing dreams of the past
for those who still hold onto hope, hoping that what I do will
be cherished as something unique and irreplaceable, like a rare gem
amidst a sea of ordinary stones. But now, I find myself drowning in
a sea of thoughts, longing for a shore where I can find solace instead
of conforming to the world's constant demands with a forced "sure."

Sometimes, I feel like I exist beyond the boundaries
of this physical realm. I am dedicated to carrying the weight of
everything, as if it all rests solely on my shoulders. I commit myself
to helping others and loving those who have wronged me, without
any limitations.

Yet, I feel trapped by it all, still entangled within
the web of expectations. In the midst of it all, I must remember
that I have to go through this journey to understand why I am here.
I have tasted love, its sweetness fleeting and its bitterness lingering.
I feel somewhat used by this kind of love, but mostly, I am left feeling
confused;-  drained and perplexed, pondering the worth of
entwining myself in a web of a jealousy, masquerading as  
now being a mere companion. I have been betrayed by those
I loved the most, let down by my own family, as if they were
the last people, I expected to break my heart. Feeling the sharp
betrayal of a backstab is a crippling pain, but the anguish intensifies
when you see the perpetrator, carving that very scar.

I am amazed by the immense depth and breadth
of how a few months of disappointments can feel like a
year's worth of pain. I cannot possibly quantify the extent of
this excruciating experience, but I can count every tear shed along
the way. The first half of this year has presented an array of
challenges worthy of a lifetime.

Nevertheless, I remind myself that it is a journey,
that must be taken one day at a time, handling whatever
comes my way. It is difficult to always be happy, but I strive to
find moments that bring a smile to my face, conserving my energy
to heal from the tougher days instead of pretending that
everything is fine.

Black as fair,
a tone to your dark skin.
Many pieces of joy entwined in your curly hair.

I swear,
by the promises I make to self,
I'll long for something as you, ever so rare.

Tender and care,
for you I must. I probably will I swear.
Loving a black queen in so deep,
by the love of her depth

I am a journey

Lost in the many words,
thoughts, and scribbles of poems
A poet unheard in prose
of this continuous story
For everyday is but a breath for
a flip of another page

A strike of words of the lightening
in my pen
Echoes of pain after the rain
—my tears are unseen in physical
But just the oceans of myself
written in ink

My skin is just the camouflage I
have to hide my life tragedy
My eyes the thin glass cracked by
all the hardships I've seen
My lips the applauds of the sounds
of self-encouragement I must tell
myself

My smile the minor blessing
of a heavenly joy;
and it's heart burning of unfit desire
as hot as hell

And I burn in this beautiful internal
eternal flame as a flower
But unfortunately they'll only see me
for only smoke

As I stand — in the stillness of the night, buried in
contemplation, a tombstone looms above my head piercing
into an idea, with these horns; to charge directly at vivid
imagination. Shrouded in the night’s dead darkness; the
only colours that dance around are the deep, dark hues
that cling to my black horns – tainted.

Formless creatures haunting the silhouettes of all dreams
their fragmented forms concealing hidden depths and
buried truths — echoes of old traumas from the days of
youth, a troubled youth, long neglected – abused.

The more these horns are trimmed, the longer they seem
to stretch – spiralling directly into my vision; all I
perceive is darkness.

I kissed a night;-
that had promised to keep me warm inside, falling
in love with its ghost- her absence haunts me still.
Steered by the afterimage of a crafty mindset;
a dramatic picture- its frame, filled with all pains;
their hurts written in unflinching paint.

Suddenly, I find myself hanging it all on a wall;
staring at it in a perfect dark, a dark work of
art- capable of still seeing it all.

Sometimes, its just her, him, them or it;
how I choose to see it, isn’t how well I express it.
Killing time, while battling a bipolar practice
of depression; that promised me just a subtle kiss-
but had embraced me in its dark aggression.

I kissed a night;-
that had promised to keep me warm inside, and
it was that very kiss that ****** all the life out of me.

What is the definition of one man's sanity
In a hope of finding something clear in his clarity
And yet to be a custom to something of not
Tying the endless lopes of a never ending knot.

Often there's a lot of things in life I can't really handle,
Burnt out like an old waxy candle.

Asking myself where you place your own loyalty at
Be it the love, girls, money or fame, tell me where your own clarity at.
If this be the last days on this Earth what would you have done
Who or what would be the last you hold in your arm till it all became to none.

And what would be the point at a cutting's edge.
Where would falling man hang by the close peeks of the ledge.
What close cards are you holding to the dealt hand
What's the fallen tears you're hiding in the Ocean's sand.

Often so in life there's days I could be feeling so rich
Yet old days I feel drowned out in an empty ditch.

Buying fake love yet for the moment feels so easy to get
But my mistake would be for taking it all as real. Placed my heart out there amongst the playing set.

But I couldn't bare to be alone,
Living in a big house all on my own,
Have no close friends call me on the phone,
Blowing birthday candles, eating my ice cream in an empty cone.

I just wouldn't want to be alone.

Sometimes though I could drive myself to be paranoid
Working the hardest of days on my heart but never be employed.

I'd hate to think that I ain't at people's level or in their atmosphere,
Or to think that I could be all that's left coming out of the Earth's rear.

This could be an endless Black Paranoia.

Your kiss feels like a petal in a violent wind;
an edible desire on my florid cheeks- blushing in my
memory of you, incessantly playing out love and seduction;-
you threaten my eyes with longing.

Swimming in an ocean of your dreams;
her waters are so clear -every tear in her eyes reflects a
better version of me; as I see my love for you is so frail
-destined to fail from every touch of our running lips;-
chasing after love, its sweet venom killed me from the start.

Darling, our love was a short poem; written in black
-for we couldn’t see its predictable conclusion;
our love was a short poem;- short, brief and obscured.

I don’t miss her, being my girl- I just miss
the feeling of not being so in love with someone,
who doesn’t love you anymore.

                          Today I wrote her a black poem.

I went outside, and met a black queen that ruled over all of my
thoughts – hoping she wasn’t a bad dream. But she'd still love me
despite my arrogance; my pivoting thoughts that swing along my
many moods swings. Fair enough; she’d understand me better,
knowing I wasn’t treated fair enough, under the same sun that
makes her skin fair as much.

Still is there a woman of your dreams when you barely feel awake;
the grass is always greener from a distance, but your eyes can never
catch the green of their snakes. And whenever I tell a short girl
a good short joke, she looks at me to keep it brief – but if I said it in
short: a laugh from a girl, is a guy’s idea of knowing he can get a
taste of those lips. But wouldn’t we love to dream in sweet relief,
while I find it less attainable when someone has me losing sleep.

Please give me my peace that comes with my piece: a piece of mind,
a piece of spark to a piece of love. But when I met the queen, I never
thought it would come with love – but she never felt a spark, paying
no mind to me. We were just two strangers in town, walking on two
different paths, who happened to glance at each other, only once!

Service is due waiting on a fix,
a black beating, and shadowy echo
Holding onto old ways, but maybe we should let go
put back into heart.
Back into that bleeding piece.

Do we ever love you enough,
has the world loved you a little that my particular love is always a lot
Or maybe I'm convinced into easily buying into love by the mart.
a corner store close to my heart,
Tied to me, so don't unwind the knot

Would you care enough about me anymore,
being lead by this discussion
Sense emotions but maybe can't feel no more
Why we're all not taking our time is because the whole world is all too busy rushing.

Still I am due the service,
could you maybe do me well a black service
In the dark glaring at the light of being a better person
I know it's a bleeding heart, but I don't think I can feel the hurting

I'm due a service.

Don't need to know the cost
I just need to finish my shopping, so could we start.

I don't take care myself,
or buy into the idea of buying into happiness by the sum of your wealth
But I do care if the blackness of my heart robs the happiness of my health.

I'm due a service.

From being the wrong, I'll be seen the worst,
who's lining up for a fix,
I'm in line in the middle claiming "I'm the first".

Still due the service.

Black is dark,
Still black is art and who we are.
And we wear that picture within our many scars.

Still due the service.

I just need to finish my shopping, so could we start.
Due a black service and seeking The Lord on top.

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.

An out of site out of mind
Broken eyes. Alas I blind.

Black vein under the flesh. Thrills of the chaotic world.
Shut my ears from these many secrets untold.

Piece by piece try to build myself up to be a tall tower
Pretty scents in a nose blocked away from a hint of sweet flower.
Perhaps colour blind but still seeing the world in a brighter light.
Try to do things in accordingly steps. To try be right.

For how a taste of evil and revenge could taste so sweet
Yet aches my stomach from too much indulgence of this very evil treat.

And O'Father and dear Mother, don't see such of your son in the steps of them
For he may be fallen from your wise lips and strayed away from your very stem.

Still will he have found a place in He of the Kingdom maker
To be as I were created as his Child. A giver than a taker.

Material lips; sewing on a seamless smile;
A shrouded piece of wool- for one wearing
The jersey of youth, as time slowly pulls at the thread
While I lock away my shadow of the writhing darkness,
Trailing behind me in the day; as I once tried speaking
To my void, but the emptiness obeyed not a single word

A tap tap at my window- the eyes to a soul, painted wholly
In the colours of divorce; as the separation of dreams
From one’s imagination. All, all was so dark; slandered
By such a terrorizing world- until I opened to let him in;
As a child with a curious thought, soon questioning, and
To study- for my lips to utter:

I cannot live out this life,
Without letting You, O Lord in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have a Tetris mind,
building up confidence to paint out words
-block by block
Hanging by the corners, a few nights with
an empty pen;
Current location: Writer's block

Blind to the subject of being blind in love –
does that mean I can see?

Do I believe in the belief; of love at first sight
isn’t faith believing in that you cannot see,
that which you hope to be?

But I could close my eyes to a better scene –
when we go out and it doesn’t go so well;
we should have made it a blind date!

            Now this love feels blind.

and if they love you, they better make it real clear
cause I’ve been blind in love so many times, that
any sight of it now, my eyes quickly press clear

                               love is something I hardly see!

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

Trees wither, as like the branches of your hair
Blonde moments of all the blonde jokes we used to share

                       Oh how I miss loving you so freely,
                       as the wind blowing in your hair

O'blossoming flower sleeping through the shadowless night, may I find peace in you to cheer me up,
My hurts cut me deeply, till my tears are no more, please Lord, fix me up.
I sleep a thousand years in just a moments, I see colours of bright amongst the darkness,
Those around me give up hope, so should I? Blossoming flower soften my heart from thicken hardness.
O'blossoming flower in fields of bright, come grow in me to feel my heart,
The walls of this world come down upon me, please help me restart.

In the  fields of red a sad man would only see shadows of blue and wonder why,
But I want to smile all through these pains, I truly try, look up to the Heavens and see this beautiful sky.
And I've fallen in love for a blossoming flower of my own in this crazy world,
Surely I love her so to speak her name everyday and tell her secrets untold.
Behold what I've let out, my troubles become spikes upon  the heels of my feet,
Please take them all out from beyond my control, can I taste joy in this world once more like a wonderous treat.


O'blossoming flower  you know I cry out to you, you know I'm surely lost,
Why I only come to you when troubles only arise is still unexplained, but to fix my troubles I'm willing to make the cost.
I can't promise to seek you Lord all times, but please Lord know that I try,
Please Lord I love you, a blossoming flower for eyes to draw tears to cry.


O'blossoming flower these are my thoughts and prayers I tell,
I beg for new mercies and more joy from you, this joy you give out not to sell.

What happened to the dreams. Where's the hope gone.
Like an old catchy tune lost through time, what happened to freedom's song.

Master, master, I call to life itself.
You left me with days long and hard.
Beat up, chained and shackled, counting the steels of being bared.
The biggest crime, being robbed of heart's wealth.

Built an empire on shaky grounds.
Now comes the storms in the distance,
Locked on my own in the center room. Hope the walls can stand the resistance.
Or whether I can find calm in the silence of dark sounds.

But what happened to me.
Holding on to all I have on a torn out Bible like my heart.
A stranger often in life's race to a quick death. Where do I find my start.
How do I see to a future with eyes that no longer see.

Fighting through my own existence and anxiety. A crushing sound in my head.
Alive for so many days but often sometimes inside I wake up dead.

Keeping the lights On in my head by the afternoon.
I were wrong to this many could say. Fearing mostly on a rising doom.

Taking a shotgun and bottle to sing through a song of sorrow.
Often seen down the chamber of the happiness I borrow.

History changing but stuck in the past. Try to move on.
Try to find the words of my song
And perhaps wake up besides a new dawn.

Still with the bit of hope I have left inside I could do more for I.
Rather than of me stuck in the past wondering why.

Than to be having black and white dreams. Painting through the dull to see a clearer picture.
Fighting with my minds eye to find it's details through a small feature.

So be the sun rises in the North, so shall where I'll point my heart to.
Where the sweet winds of freedom take the fallen leaves to,
shall I too go.

To such my freedom.

My thoughts seem small by my gaze of your mini dress,
as if they shrink in comparison to the sheer beauty you exude.
Like a bee drawn to the sweet nectar of a flower,
I find myself irresistibly captivated by the sight of
honey dripping from a bee nest.

The way your dress gracefully hugs your curves reminds
me of an ant, diligently going about its business beneath
the safety of its shelter.
It is in these moments that I am reminded of my own strength,
for despite feeling overwhelmed by the urge to possess you,
I know that I have the capacity to protect and cherish you
within the walls of this house.

However, as my desire intensifies, I can't help
but feel a subtle discomfort. It's as if my own physical form
is rebelling against the constraining force of my pants,
constricting and tightening around me.
This sensation, though initially unwelcome, serves as a
reminder of the passion that burns within me.
It is a reminder that I am willing to endure physical
discomfort in order to pursue the release that only you can offer,
like a prisoner longing to be set free from the confines
of his own mind.

In this internal struggle, I can't help but see myself as
a creature trapped within the labyrinth of desire.
My thoughts, once free to roam, are now confined by the
beastly nature of my yearning. Yet, despite the entrapment,
there is a certain allure to this captivity.
It is a tantalizing proposition, to let out this hidden creature
that resides within me and to indulge in the forbidden
pleasure that tempts me tonight.
The allure is dangerous and tempting, like a siren's song
that beckons me towards uncharted waters.

So, would you be willing to untether this imprisoned
beast and play with the fire that burns within me?
Would you give in to the temptation and explore the depths
of passion that we both desire?

Amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions, it is your decision
that holds the key to our liberation, to a union that
transcends the boundaries of ordinary experience.

the moon is blue over the ocean,
her tears that fills the hole,
now reflecting what it is,
a blue blur,
so sad; but so hard to see.

The azure of my skin – a shade reminiscent of the vast ocean,
melancholic as a distant horizon that forever eludes fulfilment;
it never seems complete. How can I compete with this solitude –
lying in a bed stripped of its warm embrace… Blue adorned my
pillowcase, where I dreamt of the crime of love; she stole my heart
in a blue-collar crime.

And blue was the only remnant she left behind, a sorrowful hue
that echoed my longing for a love that was never truly mine.

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!