Oceans of waters dancing naked to the horizon beyond the sight none along with around, only the eternal sun rays dimly reflecting towards the heavenly sky, on this mysterious mystic level, death floats, only conscious of its being, super sufficient needless nimble numb, he takes a voyage unknown infinite from a definite point, and takes pleasure inward that there is no end, it is like missing from the materials and becoming a being of anti-dialectic, an absolute free entity.

To write
to write one's life
is to take a road that leads nowhere
and yet parallels the totality of one's existence

To write one's life
is to evoke a silhouette
that of the writer rushing through his past

One cannot tell where he is going
as he detours diverges deviates
but that is why we want to follow him

Along the way like a lost traveler
he picks up pebbles from the ground
and stuffs them in his pockets

As he gropes backward he loses himself
but we are willing to be disoriented with him
willing to be lulled by his vain repetitions

Stranded in time with him
we lose ourselves in space with him
and yet everything holds in place underneath
as if pulled by a magnet

All that was absent
forgotten from his life
is now suddenly present again

And if I told my story to myself ?

It is true that along the rocky story
I often stumbled, and when I fell
I would get up saying to myself
that no one had seen me, and I
would continue saying to myself,
it was an accident,  and I set out
again, hobbling along, saying,
it's okay, the fall was not a fall,
the rocks were not rocks, and even
if some bystanders laughed at me,
others encouraged me, saying that
I had a beautiful story in me, and
that I had to tell it, even if to myself.

The problem
with this poem
is that
it needs
light
to be read.

light:
daylight
candle-light
electric light.
sun light.

One can dance
in the dark
one can sing
in the dark
one makes
love
in the dark
but this poem
cannot be read
in darkness
that is perhaps
its greatest
weakness.

Explain why you destroyed me and now want to control me. Explain that.

Papa,
my beautiful papa.
He doesn't look at me anymore.
His smile has disappeared from his face.
Papa's bones are as thin as the weeds out back.
Remember papa?
You made me that handmade bike because you couldn't afford me a real one.
Your hands were the only things that helped me and momma.
The medicine you take, the bed you live in,
Your only depends.
I'm the one you should depend on papa.
I hold your fragile hand as you shake in fear.
Papa, your fever is too high.
On some nights, I sit with you in the oddest hours, keeping a cool damp towel placed  on your forehead.
The medicine can only hold you here for so long.
Papa, I can't sleep knowing that you're coughing your life away.
I stay up thinking of the days we use to spend in the blistering sun.
You drinking your ginger beer, giving me a sip.
It was sweet, yet burned on my tongue as it went in the back of my throat.
Warm feeling.
Papa, you were there for me when my days were dark and momma wouldn't be around.
She works a lot more now.
Why does life have to take the only thing I need to live?
Papa, you're getting weaker.
The hammer and nails you use to use, now mock your lack of strength.
Momma can only do so much.
Remember when the holidays would come around and you'd be out so long?
Scorching yourself to find the one gift for me?
Weary and tired you would always be,
you did it for me.
Papa, it's my turn now.
I loved the way you would smell during the mid-summer days.
The burnt cigarettes and fabric sweat was your name brand smell.
Every night,
you would come home beat with sweat beads on your forehead from the hat you wore.
It resembled the long weary hours you worked for that money.
Stale bread bottoms and scarce water was all we had.
Holy socks and beaten shoes was all I needed.
It was all you could afford papa.
Now life is in my hands.
Your sickness is the only tight bond left that's keeping us close.
Papa, you're daydreaming again.
Collarbones and hip bones are not suppose to be visible on you papa.
It's hurting me more than it's hurting you.
Your eyes are glossy.
The hair on your head that was once thick and brown,
has now gone grey and thin.
You're undernourished.
Papa, I can see the fear in your eyes.
You're worried about me and momma.
Don't worry.
Sad how the doctors turn their heads in shame.
They can't do anything.
If you leave me as I'm speaking,
remember that your life has given me great fortune.
Whether it was working till your knuckles bled or staying up all night with me,
just know that you're a wonderful papa.

Death is not equal nor is it fair.
Its deep depression hugs your skin so tight till the warmth of your blood blisters within inside.
The hands of tar holds your wrist,
melting you to the gritty bones.
You can't help but to fall into a transparent universe.
Your eyes are glossy all over, and your breath is cold to the temp.
You have dark circles beneath your eyes.
Hate to say it,
but you're dead.
Just relax and pretend you're another dimension,
playing jump-rope around the corner.  
Your whole body is hallow,
the ground is forever infinite.
Where is your mind right now?
I don't know.
Death doesn't do much.
We give death work, it pays us with great fortune.
Just let go.
Let yourself fall into the arms of death.
Everything you see now is bleak, draft,
nothing.
Be the sweet rooted demotic demon person you are.
Death doesn't mind.
You look to see if the clock has struck twelve,
but it hasn't.
All because of death.
Death doesn't make its move until you drop the silver spoon.
It watches you from up above.
Watch you bleed from the neck,
or weakened at the heart.
You can pursue any way to go.
Death will do.
Stop running the 100 mile race just to chase away the horrors of death.
It will come to you when you least expect it.

No one can't tell you how to live your life.
No one can't make you tie your shoes when you're walking the ten feet blocks to heaven.
You have an option to wake up that one dark night.
I can't tell you to stay at home and watch the daffodils sway,
that's your option.
No one can't cascade your mind, making you think the way they do.
No one can't tell you to bite the bud off the flower,
it's whatever.
You have a right to stand and preach your words of the holy bible or not.
Whatever book you want your mind to seep in to,
let it be.
You have a choice to paint your walls blue.
No one can't say you can't make a bonfire in the mid-summer.
If you like the long way,
take the long way.
If you want an elusive sweet education, then go for it.
No one can't stop you from breathing.
That choice you made two minutes ago,
was your option.
You have an opinion to what you like.
Whether it's sweet or bitter.
If you like that stripped sweater then wear it every Tuesday.
You are you.
No one can't take your pride away,
whether it's gender wise, cultural or fantastical.
You are freaking you.

I like the rain.
It reminds me of many things.
It reminds me of little days to teen days.
I can sit in the musk warmth for hours while the trickles of water fall upon my nose.
Close my eyes.
Breath in deep, and exhales all the memories.
I can be barefoot.
I can be nothing but a t-shirt and shorts.
I want to feel this rain, not just be in it.
Have me sit on the roof and look out onto the world.
It's beautiful when it's quiet.
Rain warms me.
Cuddles me.
I don't get sick, I get happier.
Let my hair frizz up with wetness.
Let the chill bumps ride on my skin, I like it.
Smell of rain reminds me of a aquarium.
Amazon rainforest.
Just feels good to be alone in the rain thinking of everything in that one brain.
I can sleep in the rain.
Like the rain.

I wanna scream.
And shout.
And let it all out.
But I can't.

Bronzer from neck down,
Diamonds on her neck, gold chains dragged by breeds.
Queen bee.
Mistaken, amiss, untrue champagne hair sprayed till shiny.
Glamorous eyes shine in the darkened nights.
To floral crop tops,
To flaunty knee-high shorts.
You wait hand on foot.
She demands.
Sunglasses perched up on her false nose, not even a dime pitched in for bills.
Her ****** struts catch eyes, but don’t bring any of them home.
Chewing on that gum,
Hundred dollar watch branded on her wrist.
Diva.
Bottles herself up, but not the children who need it most.
Lamborghini on point,
Lipstick in its place.
Rubs herself down with the most expensive lotion,
Checks her acrylic, high gloss nails.
Mascara filling, cheeks blushed, pearls on those ears.
Has the world in the palm of her white fair hands.
Crazy.
All of this, but can’t pay a house bill.

Running in ***** shorts in the cold, dark night,
Blasting music till the neighbors growl.
Smash my face into a bowl of cereal,
Wake up sweaty with my hair stuck to my face.
Drop that bass while the weather is still warm.
Laugh and choke while sipping on water,
Can I get a raincheck?
Watch late shows throwing popcorn in the air,
Watch you fall into a bottle of perfumes.
Criss-cross apple sauce in a hardware store,
But don't get it twisted.
Take long naps till the sun don't shine,
Are we there yet?

**** this.

Nothing has changed.
But everything is different.

What I always dreamt in my head,
white folks running and playing in the white snow.
Drinking ginger beer and talking about how lovely the weather is.
Baking pies every Sunday morning.
But for me, I have no advantage of that.
What is snow? I've never seen it. How does ginger beer taste, is it sweet n' bitter?
How's their weather? Our weather is musk and steamed.
What kind of pie, blueberry or cherry?
I get the rust bucket of it all.
We have no snow, no ginger beer, bland weather, and no pie.
Instead, I get bruises from the colonials.
From head ***** hair to ached feet, I'm bruised.
I would love to feel snow, sip on some ginger beer, feel different weathers, and eat pie every morning.
That'll be a gift.
Too bad they run us. We have no say.
We get dry sand, ***** water, hot weather, and no food every morning.
I'd rather deal with that then be bruised black and blue.

Ever have someone that you're so used to? Then you guys fall apart you try to move on... And it's just not the same as it used to be. You start to reminisce, on old times☁️

I'm kinda tired of having these reoccurring dreams about you and waking up and you're still not here.
what ever happened to predictability?
I'm torn between the two. Between what's wrong and what's right.
I was happier then.
Or was that me? Or am I now me?
Like holding water in your hand.
Would you go back to then? Just beginning then?
Would you?

Why does your hellos feel like hope, but your goodbyes feel like storms?

I'm grateful for the friends I have. They keep me alive, keep me busy. I always come up with new memories with them, or new events. They're the ones that make up my day. Everyday is a awesome day when I'm with them. The pictures I take cascade a story. They tell you what's happening in life. Without my friends, I'm dead. I laugh, I cry, I sing, I dance, I joke, I play, I fight, I hug with my friends. I say this is the best life I have so far. Why change it? Can I relive moments again? That'll be a day. I'm grateful, that's all I can say.

He liked her with her long hair,
so she cut it short.

My back against the glass,
I'm sitting waiting for you.
I'm cold but I can take the breeze.
I wait patiently,
my hands in my pockets.

There's butterflies in my stomach,
my hair is flying in my face.
I check and wait for the bus to come,
I see one, but it isn't yours.

While I'm waiting patiently,
I hear a knock against the glass behind me.
I turn around for a complete surprise,
there's you.
Your hand motions tell me to come,
I follow.

As we hop on the same bus you were on,
we catch a seat.
Me staring out the window,
your arm around my shoulder.

You kiss me on the cheek,
and my whole face becomes red and warm.
I feel secure,
you right next to me.

We hop off the bus to get another one,
we wait.
The bone-chilling weather aggravates me,
but you keep me warm.

Our first kiss was memorable,
people tend to stare.
You grab my ***,
I grab yours.

You hand me a stick of mint gum,
I shove it in my pocket for safe keeping.
Our bus finally arrives,
it's gonna be a long trip.  

The bus is crowded,
but we can't stand long.
You hitch up a seat for us,
but there's only one.

I have to sit on your lap,
you don't seem to mind.
You're in pain though,
not my fault there's no seats.

A guy finally gets up,
there's a free seat for me now.
The bus trip is dreadful,
but it's worth every dime.

We get off the bus,
we have to walk still.
Hand in hand as we go, the cold can't stop us now.

Once we're in, we're finally warm.
The mall is huge,
we walk a little, shop a little.

Those endless times of our lips touching,
we must be careful so people don't interrupt.
We grab a bite and drink,
we cuddle.

Our legs walk through every entrance,
not my fault I love to shop.
More lips are touching,
hugs too.

The sun gets weary, and dims down a bit.
We must get home soon,
one more entrance, it wont be long.

It's time to head out,
the sky paints a sunset view.
We catch that bus,
we're warm again.

Our day was exquisite,
too bad we only lasted a week.

It was the midsummer of the 50’s and my girls and I went out for a bite. Jimmy’s Burgers was a block away and boy were we hungry! We could eat a cow for all we know. Jimmy’s jukebox can play music day in and day out.

My girls and I parked our blue Thunderbird Convertible, and hopped on in Jimmy’s. That place is always filled with younglings like us. You can smell the fresh potato cut fries fryin’ up in the greasers. The burgers are always my fave! I would beg to just get a bite out of those succulent, juicy ground babies.

Everyone in this joint always seems to be dancing their little feet off, the girls with their casual oxfords and pastel loose skirts; the guys wearing leather, pompadours, and their high-wasted pants. I love to crank that jukebox with only my quarters and dimes I have left in my purse. The girls and I sat on down in one of the red booths. A young waiter came over with bottles of coke with his pen and paper.

“May I take ya’ll lovely ladies’ order?” He was chewing on that mint gum.

Boy was he handsome! That sweet southern twine had me going bonkers. He looked all fancy in his all white uniform; his apron had ice cream stains and fry grease. His sandy brown hair was cascading behind his ears. I loved his paper hat too. His big brown eyes were looking into mine as he was getting our orders. I couldn’t help but stare back. He gave us our cokes and gave me a little wink behind his thick black glasses. I really didn’t care bout’ those pimples, his face made a girl melt like Texas asphalt on a hot beach afternoon!

I made myself look sweeter than a peach. I fluffed my hair and fancied my outfit, hoping for that rascal to come on back. The jukebox was still kicking tunes in the back, that’s when the cute waiter came back.  His tall, slender, perfect body walked on over and sat our tray of burgers down. My face was red hot like the time I first took a bite out of a chili pepper. The waiter got close to my ear and whispered,

“You wouldn’t mind if I take your sweet self on the dance floor for a second would you?”

Wasn’t that boy supposed to be working? I didn’t care. That rascal waiter grabbed my hand and swung my little waist on the dance floor. We twist, kicked, and shimmied. I was having the time of my life! I didn’t know my girls were staring at me, cheering on. Too bad the cutie had to go back to work. I walked over and sat back in the booth.

My girls were giving me the, you’re his sugar girl look. Not my fault he was sweeter than maple syrup!
The girls and I were finished at Jimmy’s Burgers, so we started to head out. Before I even opened the door, that waiter grabbed me by the waist and said,

“Hey sweet thing, leaving too soon? I didn’t catch your name?”

I looked into those eyes again; I felt my heart skip a beat like the jukebox when there’s a bug in it. His southern twine again,

“My name’s Robert James, but you can call me RJ.”

He kissed my hand and gave me that wink again. I gave him a smile and went outside. My face was peachy like a baby’s bottom! I didn’t even tell him my name, dog-gon shame.  From now on, I’m hittin’ Jimmy’s Burgers just so I can see that waiter.

Are we pages to a book someone has created?
Is this their fantasy they've pieced together with mind to mind?
We're characters obeyed to do as the author demands.
Do we think?
Or do we act?
Who really controls us?
Do the words we speak come from our minds,
or from another's?
Do you know if you're fiction or not?
I don't.
Is earth really earth?
Or is it a sketch in a notepad?
The questions we ask, they boggle our minds.
Is there really a god they speak of?
A hell?
Is this all make believe and we're playing our parts?
We'll never know.
Can we walk out of this chapter and read between the lines?
Or are we stick figures?
You answer.

I'm not afraid to ****.
I'm just afraid.

You're trying to make him yours,
He may not be mine but he's still my property.
Don't touch him, kiss him, laugh with him, sit with him.

Nothing.

Me and him have a connection,
Our bond is weak and strong, i don't need you ruining it.
We may have parted, but i still love him in a way.

Mine.

He's special, is that why you're trying to steal him?
He'll probably fall for you but never love you.
Trust me, he comes to me even when the spark is gone.

Can't own something that's not yours.

You can call it jealousy, at least i don't show it.
Don't give me those stingy looks,
You don't scare me honey.
I've seen worse.

Nice try.

You can't have what's mine.
It's against the rules.

My mind is jumbled up with feelings and thoughts that i once stored away. Is this this real or is this lust?. I miss your touch, your scent, your lips, but is it worth it?. I don't want to fall into the center hole that trapped me, i can't catch anymore feelings. Little skits remind me of you, i shouldn't be thinking like this. Things will all go back to normal, then where will I stand?. I need you to fulfill my empty space, but i just can't be with you. It's a pleasure to know I'm on your mind, but a sin that I'm locked in this triangular dungeon. Should i praise or cry?. Just be in my presence and I'll live. I'm so confused, yet i know where I'm going. No one else can portray you...

I'm not beckoned to your ignoramus calls.
Why must you flaunt your riches in my face?
You seem to feed on attention and lust, I don't give in.

I ignore your commands and shun your appearance.
Who is I to be your pal you speak of?
You disgust me within, it's a struggle to tail away.

Our enduring days are behind us now.
What do you want from life?
If you tend to gloat and praise, do it elsewhere.

I shall not sink into your demeanor.  
You cause scars that cannot be settled or healed.
Can you leave people be?

If you proceed to boast, I will no longer rest my case.
Do you want crucial pain in your future?
As long as I'm alive, you will proceed to mock me.

Die.

It was one, hot, soothing day, and i was still going to summer camp. We all headed to the beach that day. My friend and i had the hunger of wild animals. We rushed over to the food stand for some delicious chili dogs n nachos. Boy, it was a long time. We waited in the blistering heat, starving. While we were waiting, a song was playing from afar. "It's in the Morning" from Robin Thicke. When we me and my friend heard the song, we analyzed every part of it. From lyric to lyric, chorus to chorus. It was fun. This kept us busy till our scrumptious food came. This was the best day ever.

I remember that wonderful lady like I remembered the scab on my right knee.
She was from Georgia, a honey sweet peach that lived a blocked away from me on Summer Set avenue.

She was as white as snow and fragile like my mom's glass figurines.
She always wore her long bleached grey hair in a pull-back tight bun,
almost like a nun. She would always wear powdered makeup that seemed to be brought from the 50's,

Very pastel and brittle on her gentle old skin.

She was humble like the bees, soft talking too.

I remember every early summer weekend I would walk on down to that lady's house.
I would knock on her burgundy shiny wooden door and peek through her small window filled with cat-like collections.

She would let me in and treat me almost like I was her own.
She would sit me down on her floral sofa and whip me up my favorite treat,
Oatmeal baked cookies with a tall glass of hickory sweet lemon tea.

My favorite.

This lady was everything and anything.
She would wrap me in her quilted blanket and play some classical 50's tunes,
We would swing on her back porch and count the Blue Jays in the sky.
I loved the way she would tell her magnificent stories,
The way she talked sounded like soothing waves of the seven seas.

I loved her.

Her deep, poetic advices gave me hope,
It made me realize my inner self.

As the days became weary and the summer sun was drifting,
That wonderful lady was getting weary herself.
She was able to hang as long as anyone I can think of.
At least she stood her grounds and fought for every penny she made in her life.

What a trooper.

I'll never forget that wonderful lady,
She was like a grandma to me.
I actually felt I had someone to talk to during those long summers.

What a wonderful lady.

I love the way he talks, whisky parched with a little deep tone.
I love when I talk too much, 5am turn the radio up.
Blood, sweat, tears everyday, what do I have to do to get a donut?
My glass is full of wine, ring on my finger I feel imprisoned.
Love it when you're too cool for school, stop being a gangster.
Pop my *** up from a garbage can, wake up shirtless with red scratch marks.
Smell of citrus on my lips, standing too close to the TV screen.
Do I need a lil break tonight? I feel my body tensing up.
BBQ stains oh his left shirt collar, kissing in the rain till my hair frizzes.
*** in the city to the crack of dawn, Eggo waffles down my shirt.
Sipping tea on the back hot porch, singing blues every dreading Sunday.

**** with it.

/friend ship/

1. The emotions or conduct of friends;
the state of being friends.

2. A relationship between friends.

No matter how much your skin tingles, or your face heats up,
You can never stay mad.
You'll throw a fit and say the God's sins,
But you never mean it.
Your hatred boils and overflows with the rage and anger of a thousand devils,
It goes away.
You forbid to speak the truth and blame your anger on the innocent,
You know you don't mean it.
Your mind doesn't want to open up and see life differently,
Eventually you do.
No matter how much pain and integrity you're in,
Your grudges are temporary. They'll never last.

My fantasy.
I would love that one guy, who holds me tight in the middle of the nights,
And kiss my forehead when I'm down.
I want him to hug me from behind, he penguin walks with me.
He comes to my locker and walks me to my classes,
He'll rather sit with me in the blazing cold, waiting for the bus.
He takes my hat, tries to act all cool.
I want him to snuggle with me and a watch two hour movie.
We fall asleep in each other's arms.
I want to lock hands with him, lay my head on his chest,
Feeling his heartbeat.
His eyes staring into mine.
I want to have a tickle war with him,
He wouldn't have to open the door for me and carry my bags all the time,
I can do it too.
I want to play with his hair, run my fingers through them as I play with his little ears.
He can lay on my stomach while I pet his head slowly.
I wouldn't care if he had tattoos all over,
His face is pierced and his hair is dyed.
I want to text each other sunrise to sunset, say the randomness **** ever.
We can give each other piggy-back rides.
I want us to feed each other while making a mess,
Have water fights and food fights.
We'd video chat everyday.
We'll tell each other secrets, call each other Kermit and Ms. Piggy.
I want to wear his sneakers and walk everywhere with him.
He can come to me if he needs to cry on a shoulder.
We can be ourselves with each other,
We wouldn't have to worry about Valentine's Day or marriage.
I want to beat him in video games,
Go to concerts and scream till our throats are parched.
I would buy him bracelets of his favorite bands,
We can eat ramen noodles instead of fancy restaurants.

My fantasy is being bestfriends with my love. <3

So sour, yet delicious.
Your lips pucker, your eyes squint.
The tangy juices drip from your mouth.
Citrus smells arose.
Lemons are sweet, their winched.
So sour, yet delicious.

Boys are weird!
Us girls will never understand them.
They scuff their knees up and walk out the house with tousled hair,
Can they ever think before they do?
They swing, climb, run, and jump on everything!
Just stay still.
Boys will be boys,
With dirt on their faces and cuts on their fingers.
They stick gum in girl's hair,
Carry slimy frogs in their pockets.
Their appetite is atrocious,
Are they gentlemen deep down?
Boy's language is all washed up,
They'll call you hot instead of beautiful.
They're full of burps and hung up on videogames,
Wrestling in the house every second.
Do they have a nice side?
Dads will keep a good eye on them,
Making sure they're good for their daughters.
Boys never stay like this,
They grow up to eventually become a *man.

The way we live,
It's dangerous to walk alone, sleep at night,
Trust people.
Our voracious greed for lust and pride,
Can we share a meal or give a hug?
The murderous crimes we make,
We grieve, mourn, suffer.
Why are we all insecure?
The way we look doesn't fit the press or set the stage.
There's alot of sins we created that cannot be undone,
Some of us pray, some of us resin.
We rely on technology to babysit us,
Yet we're still lost.
We're all sunflowers lost in a world filled with sorrow, complaints, lust, greed, pride,
The only thing that completes us is the little happy things in our lives.
We're sunflowers lost in the world.