I get ready for work,
once again repeating my well worn schedule.
pants.

shirt, unkempt.
the hills and valleys of the creases resonating with my soul.
emotions.
my body tight in its embrace.
a choreograpged symphony.
the world will look and see an unkempt shirt.
but I see a reflection of my soul.

tie.
socks.
shoes.
go.

I am not a slave, no.
Yet,
I am enslaved
By the:
Systems which you created
The history which you teach me
the name which you give me because mine is "too hard" to pronounce

I am not a slave, no.
But I am enslaved
By the societies which you have created that does not allow me to spread my,
Beautiful.
Black.
Wings.

I am not a slave, no.
My ancestors just made the wrong choice.

I contain my ways,
in silence.
in secret.
just so,
my name can be remembered,
just so,
my soul won't be ******.

Spring clouds
Bring a fresh start,
A rebirth.

Weather like this,
Beckons for us to be together.

it is not soothing,
to watch the burgundy clouds,
slide across the night summer sky?

I try and stay out of my mind,
Because it’s filled with snapshots of you.

I met you that night,
And stuck a conversation,
With our bodies.

The moon caught the sea kissing the sky,
The affair not at night
But their love bright
And as the moon watched their raging love
Swell,
Crash,
Break,
He watched
His lover,
In the embrace of another.

F
U
C
K

Y
O
U

Their symphony,
Simple.
Two butterflies dancing in the wind.
Getting close,
Never touching.
Their distance
too near,
Their music
too short,
Their
Song
Over.

the world would be a lot darker if you were to leave it.

Crashing.
not because of coffee,
but You.

I go to bed,
With you, in my dreams
While you sleep
In another's
Sheets.

I do not wish bad upon anyone,
But rather for a life to hit them,
Like a brick,
Thrown from space,
By Hulk,
On steroids.

For that is the best thing that you could ever wish upon a person.