I am not a poet.
I am the air before a storm.
The weak in your knees.
The smile on your heart.
I am. I am not a poet.
I am the aftermath of sin.
I am the godlike sworn into pages.
Scripture is my tongue, to fold like weak genes
That strike to be like matches
I am beckoned fire. I am not a poet.
I am not a believer.
We were raised by the last unfortunately; I do not believe in
“leaders” or “followers”, I do not believe in “society” or “democracy”
This generation is lost.
I do not believe in found.
I do not believe in freedom.
When we are only “free” to be everything but our souls.
The truth is…I do not write poetry.
I birth it whenever God needs a favor so
When my pen bares fruit know it’s divine nature refined.
I define nature. HOLD UP. WE define nature.
Eve am I in the garden of Eden, feeding the Adam in my spirit
That speaks in tongue,
I taste the susurrus sounds swishing like a serpents swearing
Bite into this forbidden, swallow sin, make ink stain of this metaphor
On the fabric of your perception
The truth is, I do not write. I create life that’s been a part of God’s plan
Since sonogram; my divine right.
I am not a poet.
I am a contradiction.
I am everything including nothing.
I am the song the caged bird sings. Once it’s freed.
I am the silence before a bomb.
I simply do not believe.
This generation was raised by the last, but I would rather raise hell
Then praise heaven to be a place where the gates are too white to embrace the black
Of the sin I’ve committed
I am not a poet.
I write because I want God to hear me.
This Chose ink is the closest voice from heaven like, blessed cursive
Curses curved like
Sacred scribble
Revised, I’ve rised, correction, raised.
I revise like rewritten history; I’ve witness lies, yet mystery
Lies within the truth, somehow.
I’m no doctor, but if I were, I would prescribe patience.
I just want God to hear me, I will listen…but for now
I am sincerely seeking the God within self, I believe in
Other.

I tend to,
Give my all without expectations of receiving something of equal worth
So I end up in bed accompanied by my emptiness
Feeling worth less than the word less
Because I wear my emotions on my face and I can’t seem to separate the
Pain from the passion.
I guess it’s my fault that this happened.
I guess it’s my fault, and since I’m not one to make allegations
I have no patience
I end up accepting less than I deserve, and I’ve always heard
That I can be whatever I want to be, and it’s up to me to turn my daydreams
Into realities, but in reality, the concept of reality is all new to me
I have a problem. I tend to,
Give my all without expectations to, receive something of equal worth
What am I worth?
I’m not sure but my…soul contains the universe
And beauty is in the hush of the trees
Misconceived mix match of half-baked beliefs
But I’m not one to make allegations, I have no patience
Recycled existence of inspiration
I’ve always heard…never judge a book by its cover
So if I’m judged for doing me
That’s another brand new cavity across the meaning of the word humanity
That’s another false rumor spread
Another he said she said text read
Another person’s confidence dead.
But I can solve the California water crisis with the tears that I have not shed.
I wear my emotions on my face, but do not be confused by the lack of emotion that I show.
See, whenever you’re invited to a funeral, we all know that you’re supposed to go, but we do not cry for the ones we do not know
What are you worth?
You are a slave to your mind and can’t see what is, for what it is for.
Helloo, this is the 21st century and we don’t need chains to make slaves out of people anymore.
If you’re lost, insecure, and feeling worthless, give yourself a worth test.
They’ll call you dramatic, but I’ll call you my living protest.

I love you like a shooting star.
I love you like I love a day where everything goes right.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved.
It’s a secret, between the shadow and the soul
As if you were your own galaxy in itself
The moon lives in the lining of your skin
I love your lips.
Our awkward stares
I love your passion
Even though you probably fail to see it
I know it’s there because…
Just like shooting stars, not everyone gets to see one in a lifetime
But that makes them no less real, or any less magnificent.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or why, or where
Where do these feelings come from?
I love you without insecurities or pride
I love you like I love the thrill of pure infatuation
I love you like R-J loved Kim K for 42 minutes and 12 seconds
I love you like XO
I love you from the grip of my soul
I love you like a shooting star
But I don’t love you like I loved you yesterday

In order for you to receive me in the most beautiful light
Flip switch the theory of imperfection
To mute unassuming dark
So that I may be unconditional sound between you
Like a vortex of grey noise
A pool of dead strings tied down
Drowning in a found harmony
Besides the scripture
Binded in your fingertips
Besides the god in your touch
Besides the soul splitting of your stare
The fixed mess of your hair
The growl in your whisper
The rain in your voice that rips, so heavily through the silence of air
Besides the storm of your kiss
Guided by the lightning of your tongue
Besides the sun sleeping in your smile
Making my every night want to be a day
Dreaming.
Beside you, I lay dissolving in an aura that burns like love.

If prayer was just a string of 5 letters
That bound your name together to be scripture on my tongue
I would find a way to speak to you
From the grip of my soul
From the blues in my knees
From the hard of the floor
Put my heart on the floor
And I kneel before you
My faith.
Love is sometimes idolized
But, idle eyes
Will blink past the lightning in its strike
Love, there is no braille on your body, I will not read
Love, there are no cards in your smile, I will not fold
Love, there is no religion, in the way I want to sin with you
But I find my faith in your sunrise, and
I pray that we nightfall.

Her soul is blind
As her body is imperfect
Her stretch marks were written in coded language
She’s so pure that she’s toxic.
Braille:
Only passionate readers understood her vibe…her stories.
Written in coded language of cracked walls and extorted minds
You know... Extorted minds.
Extorted the way we extort morphine to coke fiends
Cracked walls. Matching the cracked walls of our unity.
Can you read her?
Can you, dig deep and fill a human being with that
Refreshing feeling we should all get after engaging in a
Dope *** intellectual conversation.
Read her, fluently.
Intelligence is so attractive.
But…after talking for hours it’s apparent that your mind is shallow.
I don’t know what’s left to do.
Tell me…How long has it been since someone has touched you entirely
Without having to actually touch you?
How long has it been since you’ve silenced your mind?
& let your mind be where it already is.
Leave it alone. It’ll quiet itself.
Her soul is blind.
Her mind is hungry.
Seeking the unknown.
Deep in the depths of what doesn’t need to be retrieved.
She wonders how far tomorrow is.
Today is an illusion.
She is not worried.
Her soul is blind.

I feel like an empty coloring book.  
Just brought out the store, still in the bag
and I require every single crayon in your 64 pack to be filled in.
Completely.
Yet you could never color me properly,  never able to see all of me, I know that all of John’s lyrics were just legends
Cause we would, never have been able to adapt in the environment we were set in.
I promise, we were destined...to fail.
But In this moment, at least try to stay in the lines..
maybe squint your eyes ..  take a closer look at how damaged my pages already are.
I never asked you to be neat...
I only advised, that you at least try to stay in the lines.
But really, who am I?...
Giving advice, but never take mine..  
Living for the moment, when i should take time
I  move fast.. like smooth winds, grooving through the motions but
               I…move too fast
             And I  spread myself too thin.
    Like, weak things & wheat thins, we could never break even.
 
Even when I'm looking for happiness in the same place that I lost it.
     If you weren't gonna color in this book then why you got it ?
            I refuse to be a coloring book kept in the closet
              & I'm tired of being patient, so color me in.
                   Shades of chivalry is not dead yet
                   Of you making my cheeks red and
            Shades of “is the sky black… or blue at night?”
                     Of “my love goes on for light years”
& I'll be loyal like Woody, If you'll be my Buzz Light year.

       Shades of“did you know that violets aren’t really blue?”
                                       Of confusion.
    Color me in shades of understanding, and sympathy.
                                Rose red.
                     And violet. Purple. Not blue.
                           Color me in shades of cliché.
                                       Frame me in calming hues.