& then i let the music take control of me
I let him control of me.  he was my writer and I was his poetry
I was his rider and he was always driving, I let my heart think for me
I'm naiive, I close my eyes and let my heart see for me
I see you.

See I know. love is always wanted.
rarely given, but always made.
but you don't need it.
You a ****,
You let hoes hold your relationships back like leashes do
And ya homies the same counselors in ****** up relationships or they single

Sellin false images.
you counterfit.
& it's not my fault if the shoe fits,
not my fault that i'm preaching in general and you sittin,
thinking... "****, i do this"
I'm just throwing it out there, & when it lands, I can't help if you get hit
I'm just tryna educate, but the price to pay is knowledge
and that's too expensive
so most of yall won't buy it
you'on need love?
maybe you just can't find it

A shawty that's
down with the lectures when you need to talk
and the shade when it gets hotter
She'll add the seeds to ya garden, then money showers for water

What are your weaknesses? What are her strengths.  Are you..strong enough to be the sand and allow her to be the open hand...you, seep through, can you trust her? can she see you.  you see a woman is someone strong enough to bare the adolescents that men carry, crafting all the material


See, love is like a dream fixed in hell
you've got to take your time and exhale before you
excel your highest peak
gotta hope she real enough to hand you her soul
like "here baby take peek"

open up this box of secrets, and you'll see how a rock forms into a diamond when compressed under the toughest terrain, cause unlike this diamond, your thinkin like a pebble... like the hard of the floor, put your heart heart on the floor and kneel before a queen,  your faith
Love. Love is sometimes idolized but, idle eyes will blink past  the lightning in it's strike but
I get it, you young
yeah i get it, cause that love **** ain't always sweet
and love ain't minute maid

no matter how many lemons life gives you,
you ain't goin far if you can't learn to make lemonade.

Tick Tick Tick.
3am.
3am. see. that's when the
clock broke and I broke down
Put my pride aside and
decided I'd take ink to my crumpled up heart
to write you a letter
with the tainted blood you left flowing through my veins
the, clock broke and now I'm wondering when mourning you ends
and morning begins again
3am and I'm accepting the apologies that I never received
3am and i'm coming to terms with the lies that I never believed
I was always blissfully ignorant to the truths you kept as secrets
painfully aware of all the lies you cowered under
3am and I'm simply searching for the
truth in real ties and the pleasure in pain
Can you give me that?
I'm fixin' on how to rewind time, and fix the
hands on your clock
you know
so that they match mine
my thoughts sit on a grey cloud in my mind
and I realize.
I can't write anymore.
without you--I can barely even breathe
so tell me...how am I
supposed to place two words standing together
while this whole time I've been on my knees
tick. tick. tick.
3am, that's when the clock blocked and my hand stopped
how am gonna finish this ?... I guess I'm not.
****, writer's block.

Hey.
I just wanted to let you know that I’m done.
If I ever loved you at all… I don’t love you anymore.
True, lately I’ve been lonely, and if I told you that I missed you, I don’t miss you
I promise I’m just bored.
You were already here, and I needed a muse. I was trying to talk to you
But you wouldn’t listen.
I was getting tired of the “Miss Yous”; they were starting to feel misused.
So I cut you loose.
Cause I was tired of the lies as well. No games, we both grown.
And we both know **** well that nothing resembles the truth more than what is true
So what does that make you?
Maybe I’m a fool because I didn’t listen when they tried to put me up on game about you.
Let’s play a game, and for once let’s not make it about you.
I dare you to tell me the truth…and while I wait, I’ll tell you mine.
1. What’s true is that I’ve been lying to myself while making up excuses for you.
2. I ignored every lip stick stain, 2am phone call, and deceit-scented fragrance...thinking that made me a rider.
3. I even decided to dedicate my poems to someone new, but two wrongs don’t make a writer.
Maybe I’m a fool, because I always end up giving the wrong people the right pieces of me...
Remember when I used to tell you that I was fat? And you’d reply, “No, you’re beautiful”
I wondered why I couldn’t be both.

Remember when you told me that you loved me, so you’d never cheat? I wonder why I didn’t think you could do both.
You were looking for real, while real was looking at you.
You were QUICK to give up something real when something close started looking at you too.
You reached into my soul and removed my vital organs.
Broke my ribcage to make a home for your heart…now tell me
WHAT THE HELL am I supposed to do with a broken ribcage and an empty space?
I can’t even blame you…by always putting you first,
I’ve taught you that I always come second.

I made your love home, my favorite place
& on the weekends you made HER home, your favorite place.
You were my poetry, my safe place.
My lock my heart up and don’t tell anybody where you keep the safe…place.
It’s funny though, because it seems that we had galaxies between us
And yet you still needed space.
Shout out to the pain that gave me understanding
Shout out to the pain that helped me realize what space meant.

I remember pretending to be every girl that you’ve ever been with,
Like you were a ******, and I was your first.
Like you were an atheist and I was the first church you ever stepped into
I loved you. Bruh, I talked to God about you.
I pretended to be the only girl you ever encountered so technically I was the only one, but I was never the only once because I was never the only choice that you had to choose from.

I remember you telling me that I would never have to compete with another soul.
I wonder why I believed you…hmm
I guess I was scoping the competition with my eyes closed.

Not closed too tight to notice you trying to pull wool over them though.
In my mom’s hopeless attempts to console me, she told me that time heals all wounds…as if she forgot that all wounds still hurt for some time.
But its fine... my palms are too small to hold grudges.
I’m done. It’s crazy though, I swear I could write journals worth of poetry to you
But when it comes time to speak, my voice gets caught in my throat every single time.
Not this time.
Baby our love was like a poetic metaphor.
It was either me or her…I guess you chose who you were riding for.

Tell young girls
The truth about love.
How it is almost always lost.
Almost never enough…
That it is often just that. almost.

And “almost” is a poison
Will taste good on the tongue
But bitter in the throat.
Will sit in your stomach like question.
will never give an answer for the tears
It makes of you.

Tell them of the tears.
How the tears are happily ever after’s
They are prince charming’s and glass slippers.
They are romance novels and first kisses...
Running away from us.
Leaving us with our wounds and wonder.
Force-feeding us reality in its heavy muck.

Prepare them for reality.
There is beauty somewhere in the pain.
For we are a pained people – us humans
a crumbling city conquered by our wants
A wanted mob fiending for the delusion of love
that love is perfect. enough.
no matter what we smile
through in the
daytime.
none can escape
The late night why’s.
None can escape the irrelevance of
our lies.
Nor the cold pillow
Nor the moment of clarity
In our beds
Where not even touch
Comes close to enough.

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.