Self to self comparisons are the only useful ones.

Prayers or faith without works is an example of how one can be an abusive son.

To ask for what hasn’t been earned is not only entitlement but blindness.

A seesaw where efforts flows back and forth like the Kansas wheat is the view of true kindness.

I pray for magic but swiftly follow this with devoted slavery to my sorcery

I still feel like I’m not where I oughta be,

But everyday I’m working getting closer.

If when we die we leave earth indefinitely, we’ve been given our own forever.

For the loss of breath is the gift of the inability to dislocate all the things we worked to put together.

Our efforts will be etched into the nickel and become ours for all time.

The inability to see time pass is equivalent to It stopping, my forever, I am obsessed with mine.

Even some efforts extend beyond our moments, what admiration I have for those who invented the sail.

Here is the wind, we can’t see or control It, as It comes we shall harvest that, we can prevail.

Isn’t that life? The luck will come and go, I must fully harness a way to make such a force my slave.

Fulfillment and peace, the only two things God will allow us to bring to our grave.

Uncertainty is my friend, money is something they print, when I list all the blessings God continues to send,

I see reality is something he meant for me to bend.

What if we put in adult movies all the messages we see in kids tales? In all the animation?

We create these rules and guidelines with well intention but become prisoners to this lamination.

Can an adult return to a child like cerebral at will? This is my life’s fascination.

Should more attention be paid to my imagination than my reality? A question worth serious consideration.

With the answer being a resounding yes, I find myself here in the physical realm less.

For I am now top of Everest, dipping in the Amazon, in a Yoga studio of south Japan beginning to stretch.

Or maybe I jump around the multiverse, forgetting my profession, maybe I’m a sculptor, what is my age?

Perhaps my lyrics have touched the masses, I stare in awe at them singing from a Boston stage.

“Raris & Rovers , these girls love The Clover

I paid them back what they loaned her, now her stressing is over.”

I am a poet who dreams of one day writing a novel.

Every attempt in my notebook to display this desire,

presents a writing ability with mere sparks, whereas poems combust into roaring fires.

I realize I can’t write my novel until I live my novel.

Since the love makes the author , the author will only accept novel worthy love.

There was a hole in my heart I tried to fill with you, we were nothing at all.

There’s a reason the elephant is more at risk than the cockroach, It’s hard to **** something that small.

Even now, it’s challenging to write these things but let me provide clarification.

Not due to emotional blur or significance, but that I lack my usual inspiration.

The words typically pour out of my hands, however this is my attempt to put nothingness into text.

When I look back on my life, I don’t like to have them, but you are my only regret.

I know I can’t make my bed, lie in It, and then complain about not getting sleep.

You were a manifestation of my habit to make things worse, but I didn’t think I could dig a grave so deep.

It’s a strange thing, you chose to see castles in the clouds, and ignore the impairment by the fog.

I ate until I became husky myself, a coping mechanism for listening to you tell me I don’t like dogs.

That’s silly. It was right in your face, even this, is less about you & more about her.

Apologies you had to come after.

Sometimes you can feel like a sloth working towards your chunk, but goonies never say die.

Absorb, transform, perform, this is the formula for any endeavor you may try.

Evolution arrives when It’s needed, when It’s time to find your passion you’ll make a natural selection.

Life has a jury of one, no evidence fabricated or real can help you fool your reflection.

Anyone who counted steps eventually stopped having to count falls.

I know some days can feel like being back in those halls, against those walls.

This strange feeling can tap into insecurities, bringing you back to a time when you were just a little tot.

But don’t forget when the tornado was coming, against the wall was the only safe spot.

I know you got a little more left.