Cut off my ****
So I won't be ******.
When I'm gone,
Tell me I'll be missed.
Reality and dreams
Like a knife and wrist.
It bites the dust,
Bites like a *****.
Is there any use fighting it?

Show them riot ****.
I'll crash from going
On autopilot.
I feel a silent itch,
Urging to be scratched.
How odd,
Like a dragon with a lit match.

Giving you rock swift rap,
I hope you don't miss that.


I'm tired of sitting back.
A liar a truth lacks,
Aspire the roof's track,
Pure emerald green,
Because I'm higher,
And I ain't even smoke that.

This is just the beginning,
It ain't over yet.

Originally written 3/25/11
Revised 10/17/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

I want to be like water.
I want to be amorphous ,
And transform into
Any shape I dwell in.

I want to be liberated,
I want to understand,
And to be understood. 
I don't want to be a
Mere, mindless structure
Obeying every demand
Of our societal machine,
I need to challenge this machine.

Why do people
Complain when it rains?
Rain is just as
Natural as sunshine,
It allows growth,
The soil is thirsty.

I want to be like the rain.
I want to soak the world
With creativity and inspiration.
I want to relieve myself
Of my sorrows,
I want to be purified,
I want to be like water.

Originally written 3/4/11
Revised 10/23/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

I miss you
As Charon revolves around Pluto,
And a lunar eclipse reveals itself for once in a generation....
For once in my generation...

I miss you
Like i miss me.
Siddhartha Gautama wandered
Purposely into a forest,
And learned a wealth of consciousness.

I miss you.
I miss you like arid land misses water,
I miss you.
I miss you like a mortal misses forever,
I miss you.
I miss you like I miss me,
I miss you.
I miss you like art
Misses a retired artist,

I miss you like I miss me,
I miss you...

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

(Originally written 12/21/10,
Revised 9/23/14)

The adrift addict
Lays ravaged;
Petrified upon the mattress,
Fixated upon his quick fix

From morning to night,
His reason is sacrificed,
So that Kamaraga
Can ascend to the throne.

4/3/14
Revised 4/3/17

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

The fierce thunder grumbles,
The marshmallow clouds precipitate.
Faded while sober,
Subjective perceptions of reality.

I am very fond of words,
As everyone should know,
But words have meaning
Without meaning.
They're silent parrots.

Originally written 1/15/11
Revised 10/19/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Whenever someone asks
What is wrong with me,
I am tempted to
Say in response,
"..Many things.."

(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith

May this resonate with you.
May you be alleviated
Entirely in the wake of the dawn.
I will fulfill your spirit
With my lambent presence.

In other words, the perennial balm
Filled the pores of your conscious.

We are immense and intense
Like the god-inspired galaxies,
And as passionate as Hades.

May we carry on as one.

Originally written 11/12/10
Revised in 2014

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Little Jamar raised
His voice authoritatively,
"I'm a man, and
Men don't cry!"

Jordan grabbed him
By the shoulders,
And admonished him,
"Men don't cry..",
He exclaimed.
"Boy who told you that lie?
Men do cry sometimes."
Of course they do.

My once serene friend
Lashed at me relentlessly
With blue black turbulence.
Before doing so,
He bellowed a roar,
Foreshadowing
Betrayal, and doom.

Originally written in 2007
Revised 11/25/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

I will remain,
I remain here,
The remains of star dust.

What are my
Ears telling me?
Mater, Pater,
What did you do?



Originally written 2/26/11
Revised 10/19/14
Revised 12/4/16

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

What lies in the future?

A statue of a grandson
Unbeknownst to my grandmother
Sound asleep under her covers

Fearless lovers of the night,
Ruled by everlasting hunger,
Inseparable like life and death.

God's glowing
White eye watches them,
But innocence and guilt
Are of no importance.
Judgment only pertains
To the fruitful fluid
Your body harbors,
A delicacy.

Their fangs will
Free you and I.
I am beholden
To them.
Their fangs will
Free you and I,
And the night
Will become
Our playground.

Originally written 12/6/08
Revised 11/19/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Cheers to us I'll say,
Even towards the obvious end.

Fashionably spelled with
Acrylic resin across my skin
As a daily reminder,
As if I would forget
Beauty's creator.

Your power of alchemy
First revealed to me
As a warped hole inside
A 6th grade English
Composition book.

The absence of friendship
Invoked your name.
You've epitomized
Loyalty ever since,
My work testifies to it.
I couldn't be any
More grateful.


(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith

A bridge lies ahead
For both of us to cross,
Whenever we happen to
Cross each other's thoughts.

Will you meet me half-way?
Answer yes and
I'll give you my hand,
And confess the poetry
I dedicated to you in discretion.

Point me in the direction of your time,
Anything more I need not demand of you.
To be sure, blame I am due,
For I am guilty of attempting to reinforce
That which connects my world to yours,
Regardless of its inherent potential to break asunder.

I fear if such a calamity should occur,
Our backs will be turned,
For the rest of our lives,
Which I am not ready for.

11/13/13

(c) 2013 Brandon Antonio Smith

One day, a decade ago, I came home from school,
And instead of starting my homework,
I showed my grandmother the picture I drew,
And my grandmother Edna said to me,
"Bran, you have one big imagination."
I grinned and shrugged, replying
"Sorry Grandma, I can't help it"

She knows who she is....
And I think everyone knows where I'm coming from...

Like all naive lovers, I imagined a happily ever after,
But Aphrodite discovered that i'm a functional disaster
Sort of like what happened when Wendy met Casper?
Silly, I know,
Well at least I tried to capture a little laughter.

I imagine her name as the name of a virtuoso band.
I listen enthusiastically to the band play,
"Eat your heart out, eat your heart out."
Yes, she's a band-aid.

I've imagined attending the salmon church with her,
Even though I don't believe.
Still I would do that for my Desdemona,
"I will deny thee nothing."

I imagined us getting married at an altar,
The honeymoon would be on the moon weeping honey.
Three years later, we have Harmony, our daughter.

My imagination is wild,
Maybe it's too far out there,
Where the wild things are.

Isn't it true that before you make something happen
You have to imagine it happening first?
Something like a self-fulfilled prophecy,

In time we'll see.

One day I came home from Mount Olympus,
And instead of professing agape,
I showed Cupid this poem I wrote,
And Cupid said to me, "You have one wild imagination."
I shrugged, replying, " I can't help it."
Cupid smiled and said, "You have a romantic one also."

Originally written 5/17/11
Revised 10/24/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Time passes,
The day gets dimmer,
And all I ask
Is for my soul
Not to get cold this winter.

The trees become leaveless,
And with her out of the picture,
I don't want to smile.

Don't want to smile,
Yeah, don't want to smile.
With her out of the picture,
I don't want to smile.

The Sun can't warm me in this chill,
I'll have to cover my head.
Conversations aren't followed,
I drift off from what is said.
Stuck in one position,
As memories lay at my side.
I'm not willing to move past this,
No, no I just watch as

Time passes,
The day gets dimmer,
And all I ask
Is for my soul
Not to get cold this winter.

The trees become leaveless,
And with her out of the picture,
I don't want to smile,

Don't want to smile,
Yeah, don't want to smile.
With her out of the picture,
I don't want to smile.

I look out the window,
Seeing everyone jubilant,
All laughing in unison.
I guess life is funny.
I'm out of place,
Oblivious to the present,
I only see yesterday.
Tomorrow shines at a distance.
The Moon watches me as

Time passes,
The day gets dimmer,
And all I ask
Is for my soul
Not to get cold this winter.

I look up for awhile.
With her out of the picture,
I don't want to smile,
No, don't want to smile,
With her out of the picture,
I don't want to smile.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith


(Originally written sometime in 2010?
Revised 9/29/14)

I'm like a pill,
Because if you swallow my well-being,
You will be relieved of your worries, sicknesses, and ailments,
But too much of anything isn't beneficial for any of us,

And too much of me
Could leave your tongue escaping from your mouth,
And the irises of your eyes attempting to meet your brain,
Which is why you should take me
Within considerate reason,
And not take me for granted.

Swallow me whole,
Wash away your pride,
Feelings of me running deep inside you.
I swallow you,
I swallow you whole,
I swallow you down.

You are the perfect pill for my ills.
I can see the comely contents of your character
Labeled on a container,
And as soon as it becomes empty,
You will see me rushing
To get a refill of your grace.

Ever since you were prescribed to me on May 13th,
I've never listened to my doctors
Who assume to know
What is best for me.

I consume that dear, special, deep word
Like a space cadet of an overdose.

I need you within my reach,
I need your relief,
I need your reassurance,
I need you to care..

But what I need the most of from you,
Is your affection.

Originally written 7/2/11
Revised 10/15/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Somehow the rest of the day
Fleeted like our fragile thoughts.

The preoccupied crustacean
Washed upon the shore,
Thanks to the high tide,
A swirl of earthly obsessions.

An old woman awoke early
In the morning to water her bonsai.
Who is that at the front door?
Who could it possibly be?
Was it the childbearing of symmetry
From a timid chamber?

Does a poet create poetry or does poetry create a poet?

Read and decide for me.

Originally written 4/10/11
Revised 10/18/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

You are without belongings,
Not belonging.

The long while
Longing,

Burning,
Until you
Disintegrate.



© 2016 Brandon Antonio Smith

Take a glimpse,
Let it linger like vapor.
Feed off its energy.
The human imagination is a nation,
Conquered only by dreamers.

It's a diversion and a refuge.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

(Originally written 10/30/10
Revised 9/27/14)

I walk a few blocks
Or so to the bus stop,
On my way to work,
Every morning,
Except for Tuesdays
And Wednesdays.

Each time,
A motionless possum
With a ****** mouth
Greets me, as he lays
Comfortably on his hard bed.

Each time,
Becoming more
And more impersonal.

A full coat of fur
Replaced with a
Grey mushy mass.
The undisputed fate
Of all living beings.

My possum friend,
Will not be the only
One who does not
Leave a legacy behind.



(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith

Disarm those in power,
The charlatans of politics.
Discover who you are.
Don't be fooled by mercenaries,
And adversaries,
Don't submit to their scare tactics.
Revolt.

Originally written 4/8/11
Revised 10/21/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

It's been a while since
I've thought about you.
To be frank, I should have
Written this a while ago.
Well, here goes.......

My brothers and I
Didn't know you
Like we wished to,
You didn't know us
As much as you wished to.
We only saw you every so often.

Our father would park
His dark green Expedition,
And open its doors.
We paced the hallways
Of the musty,
Egg white hospital,
It was a family mission.

Year after year you were
Constrained to a hospital bed,
Blessing us with your
Huge smile every time
We were there with you,
Even then it was
Still difficult to
Fight back a grimace.

You consistently asked us
What we wanted for Christmas,
Saying that as soon as
You left the hospital
You would get it for us.
The older I became
The more I realized that
It probably wasn't going to happen.

I could see that you enjoyed our company,
I knew we rejuvenated your spirit,
Despite the fact you were moving
Closer and closer towards death,
Then you died of diabetes.
I had no idea how to react to it.

Could your life
Have been prolonged?
What shames me
Is that I never truly
Cried or grieved,
I wasn't even at your funeral.
Was I indifferent?
I never spoke to my father
About how your death
Affected him.

Ever since he and my mother split
We've been estranged,
And my life has never been the same.
My memory is such a haze,
But I do sort of remember
Sitting in your apartment complex,
Staring at some peanuts and sea shells
On a mahogany like table.

I don't remember if you told me to,
Or if it was by impulse,
But I held one of the
Beautiful seashells in my hand,
Placed my ear to its open space,
And I swear I could
Hear the entire Atlantic Ocean,
I would savor the pleasant sound.


You suffered
During the last moments
Of your life,
But you're alive in me, in us,
Centered in our blood.
I love you Ruby Wilson.

Originally written 1/26/14
Revised 10/20/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

To flirt with the twinkle of Virgo
And joke with the great body of the Atlantic,
Is to lustrate fertility; self-worth blossoms,
A great thing to occur.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

(Originally written 10/29/10
Revised 9/27/14)

She quenches her thirst with
The tears of the inhabitants
Of sinkholes, claims them,
And gives birth to them anew.
Exhaling the winter wind, the
Scalding embers of December.

No one knows her name,
But you can confide in her.
Share your disarray, she will
Rectify you with her rhetoric.


She's seductive like suicide,
While I am as hung as a noose.
An irresistible demon, a potter
Shaping your every desire, a puppeteer
Manipulating the strings attached to your limbs.
Hailing from the same realm as Shang
Tsung, mortal anguish empowers her.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

The color of my skin isn't important,
It has no bearing on the flaws of my character.
The glasses I wear aid my blurred vision,
It isn't related to any intellect I may or may not have.
My hair is wild and my beard is unkempt,
This does not mean I sell marijuana.

Be careful when forming conclusions
Based on snap judgments.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Originally written 11/14/13,
Revised in 2014

Incognizant of the excrement,
I'm the dozing tenant of advertised adversity.
I ignore the fact that the world now is like a toilet,
And I avoid it, I avoid it, I avoid it.

Boy, did you get exploited?
How could we know we're
No more than numerical exponents?
Can consolation prizes console him?
We're not aware of the ventriloquists
Or their true motives.

Popular perfume conceals
The stench from the load of,
Finite excrement that
The suited men sold us.
They told us that it would be beneficial,
Not an imposition on our self-image,
Pinocchio before he found
Out he was artificial.
Is the American Dream a reality?
Why did I hear a dissenter
Say it was superficial?

We must have missed something,
We see no issues.
Meanwhile, my Uncle Sam designated
You as the mental missile.


Originally written 5/25/11
Revised 10/15/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

What is a "soul"?
Seriously, what is it?
Ambiguity obviates all simple and complex definitions.

If "souls" do exist,
I suppose my "soul"  is transmogrifying,
Transfusing the screen.
The key is Transition
Of a remote position.

Maybe someday a scientific physician
Will invent a tracking device to track its travelling distance?
Sounds sort of like a Stephen Spielberg novel
The genre of science fiction
Or is it?

7/18/11

(c) 2011 Brandon Antonio Smith

The soothsayer promised a resolution.
Will there be everlasting unity
Among us humans?

The lost lovers sung
Alongside the dying swans.
Their hands raised,
Longing to find each other's arms.

Redemption returns,
Possibilities alter.
The day of reckoning confirmed
A beginning to clutch--
The rivers reverse.


I ruminate,
Alchemic waterfalls--
A crash.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

(Originally written 12/23/10,
Revised 9/23/14)

What you've been waiting for.
The irresistible minerals of our afterlife
Awakened them from their recurring coma.

Radiation descended toward jagged terrain.

A deer was calcified.
I would be too if I was that genuine creature.
Pleading just pleading,
The impact depressed the earth,
Taking me down underground.
I'm outside of your eyes.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

(Originally written 12/4/10
Revised 9/24/14)

The thought of it horrifies me,
Even more so than what death entails,
It forces me to sporadically awaken.

I visualize myself taken away to a cold grotto,
Where I'm violated by strangers
And alienated, rather than uplifted,
For an unknown duration of time

I knew what might happen,
The consuming fervor,
My behavior will not be understood

Haven't I alienated myself all along?
Was it not I who voluntarily auditioned
For the infamous role of the outcast
As well as the acclaimed role of the golden child?
The critics may write their reviews of my performances

My petite hands peruse
Through the drawer's treasure,
The prescription pill bottle is
Considered as a future reference.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

8/2/14

Meaningless and insignificant,
Superbly impermanent,
The avaricious
Materialism of men..

"Progression" you say?
It's a squandering premise.

  Break through the stimulus
To produce a new genesis.
Break apart and break away,
To produce a new genesis.
Break apart and break away,
But be not the nemesis.

Originally written 7/21/11
Revised 10/20/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

A life sheltered and coddled,
A course of cowardice followed,
While the doldrums of yesterday
Are likely to echo tomorrow....

This cycle of idleness must be broken.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Originally written 3/13/14
Revised in 2014

This is my first poem,
I have no clue what to write,
But I will try.
I'm having my first child,
How will I provide for and nurture a life?

I have never been here before,
This is my first time.
There used to be a time,
When time didn't matter
To a multi-celled mass.

This is my last poem,
I still have no clue what to write,
But it will be easier this time for me.
This time around my eldest child
Must provide for and nurture a life.

I've been here many times before,
But this is my last time.
There was never a time
When time mattered to a multi-celled mass.

This is the first and last poem.

Originally written 4/26/11
Revised 10/16/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Minuscule cockroaches creak
Conspicuously around the crude crumbs
On the dusty kitchen counter,
And tadpoles squirm in the cremated creek.

The porridge poured itself
For the poor stray kitten,
Who was too spritely
For eureka's euthanization,
Triumphant in trespassing
The proximity of the porch.

Meanwhile, the revolving rover
Imitated the raunchy rocket ships,
Launching like fervent fertility
Interceding September's secret,
Sacred admirers of ethereal pyres.
The sepulchre's soma
Spread from the peach's center
Like the terrific thighs of a virile *****.

Jurassic travels ,
Machines running on ancient carcass,
Annulling the terra firma
Of its aloe vera-like virginity,
And courtesans adorned with jewels,
Pretending to be Aphrodite?

Just as Jupiter does,
Joy wears covetous rings..


Originally written 8/12/11
Revised 10/19/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Stories are told,
How everyone lives,
Yet no one completely knows.

I have a world to go to,
Not for the sake of being gone,
More so for the sake of being strong.

The wise made hints of self-discovery,
I didn't take in all what was said.
Right about now it would be essential to my quest,
But if it is in any way similar to a boomerang,
Then it will come back in the form of insight.

(c) 2010 Brandon Antonio Smith

9/24/10

I'll disappear
Out of this room;
Entering a foreign universe,
Humming a cheerful tune,
Befriending dancing lights
Who hardly notice you,
Vanishing into the darkness
Like a witch's broom--
Oblivion.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Revised in 2014

"I have turned around twice with my eyes sealed
and the woods were white and my night mind
Saw such strange happenings, untold and unreal
And opening my eyes, I am afraid of course
to look-this inward look that society scorns
Still, I search these woods and find nothing worse
Than myself, caught between the grapes and thorns."
Anne Sexton, Kind Sir-These Woods

Examine the looking glass
And confront the sleep-deprived coward,
Who wastes away his hours
In a forsaken tower.

Uncomfortably sporting skin I deprecate,
The skin of a hypocrite I've endeavored to escape.
Hankering for an empathetic reader to
Not pass these words by,
Because by circumstance, they can relate.

What state of mind would an artist
Be in without an audience?

One that is unfulfilled, starving, and jarring,
His or her work habitually
Unnoticed in enveloped darkness,
Then discovered a millennium later
Like a caveman's carvings.

But I am hardly an artist,
And that which is inducing your eyes
To sway left to right is not worthy
Enough to be classified as a work of art.
I am certain my mediocrity has worsened thus far,
Or it may be that I'm simply playing a card.

Either way, I would not blame
The aforementioned, hypothetical reader
For not making it this far.
My apologies, the blueprint I had in mind,
In the process of writing,
Became unintelligibly marred,
Like an optimistic womb-man
Relinquishing a newborn
From her blood-splattered ******.

A month or two ago, my oldest brother Tay
Directed a question towards me.
He inquired as to whether or not I loved myself.
I was ashamed to give him an earnest answer.
Yes I could have lied, but a lie only does so much concealing....
I have said too much already,
And I realize what you're reading is much too revealing,
Loathsome and lonesome as I am...

For Anna, poetry was primarily
A psychological exorcism of inner demons,
And for me it's the same.
I also throw parties for them,
Which are organized by someone very close to me,
He goes by Pity.

It's possible that he has inspired
The spontaneous, salty droplets of water
Emerging from my eyes while I sleep,
Explaining why I've occasionally awoken with damp cheeks.
His most cherished companion is a former Christian
Hell-bent on personal redemption.
It's quite easy to see how my interdependent desires,
Thoughts, and actions are in continual contradiction.

I dabbled in a taboo I'd never thought I'd stoop to,
And consequently I'm confronted with
The stigma I've been reduced to.
I pursued a thrill until it
Transformed into an obsession,
Now I glance at the looking glass,
Unable to bear my own presence.



Originally written in 2013
Revised in 2014


(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

I open the door for you
To be perceived as polite.
I don't brag because
Humility buys prestige.
I've earned virtue.

Why lie when instead I
Can wear the truth
As an honorary badge?
I donate portions of my wealth
To charitable organizations, so that
Everyone will deem me a great person.
I've earned virtue.

I obey all of the commandments
To receive God's unconditional love.
I observe each and every precept,
Climbing a ladder towards the sage's status.
I've earned virtue.

I serve the community to woo
Universities and potential employers.
I'm a law abiding citizen
Because I fear imprisonment.
I've earned virtue.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

A black ball point pen.
A crumpled pad.
Words rolled from
A hand of birth
Like a pair of die,
Aware of why,
And what and such and such.

I have adrenaline cheeks,
They rush and blush.
Dukkha's bulging bullet eyes
Are at times too much to duck duck
Goose mother comes to
To try my luck for a dollar buck.

In disappointment hear me holler "****!"
Followed by "god ******!"
If Chuck is stuck,
Why won't he cram it?
I must be Chuck,
Because I don't understand it.

Originally written 1/14/11
Revised 10/20/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

He said, "Right now I'm gonna cut you into pieces."
He put my mother in a bag,
While my father was still sleeping.

The crosses and flags lay on the floor
The crosses and flags lay on the floor
The crosses and flags lay on the floor
The crosses and flags lay on the floor

My tears oh how they bleed mercy,
And I can't seem to find any of my sisters.

"Before this day, I never knew hatred...."
Were the last words of my grand mother,
She was too sweet for human hunger.

8/2/11

(c) 2011 Brandon Antonio Smith

Sleep does not seem to
Be an adequate remedy
For my lethargy.

I long for the deepest slumber;
A coma's freedom.
Rest not only for my eyes,
But for my conscience.


(c) 2016 Brandon Antonio Smith

To return from Hell to Earth,
I sold my soul
In exchange for a curse.
I believed it was worth,
Seeing and embracing you again,
Not realizing I was
Further embracing sin.

I'd **** anyone to protect your life,
But you can't recognize me behind,
This red cloaked darkness,
And these horrific green eyes.
I'm better off winning you over
In secret, with a familiar
And lovable disguise.

I'm not who I once was,
Yet I am that man.
I lurk the rat infested hallways,
Praised by the socially ******.

At odds with both Heaven and Hell,
God and the Devil,
And forbidden to return home
And live my former life with you....

Rather, forbidden to
Live a new life with you,
One without suffering and bloodshed.

5/10/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

I can never compensate for the poems I have misplaced,
Yet I proceed to shed sincere ink upon an empty canvas,
and revert towards elusive answers.
I once again resort to the preferred instrument,
And stumble into a liberating trance.

However, genuine introspection often
Unearths wretched recurring recollections,
That have served as the creative source
For previous poetry collections,
Some of which cannot be read
Without a deep sense of dread,
Hence I flinch from acknowledgment instead.

How disoriented am I?
As disoriented as 20 year old Kimberly
Her derelict of a son is an embodiment
Of her youth blues memories.

How aimless it must be to venture
Amidst the sanctum of stagnation.
It was not long before even the architect
Began to disdain his own laborious creation.

Why wouldn't he?

He was a fool to build
A foundation out of complacency.
The structure is able to endure
Since it thrives off of a perpetual tragedy
Of self-defeating beliefs, lascivious senses,
And misguided aspirations.

Unfortunately, whoever it houses
Collapses out of utter exasperation.
An inevitable predicament I predict
Will confront me as soon as I deteriorate mentally.

The sanctum itself testifies to an aphorism
I recount hearing during a melancholic plight:
Truthfully, throughout the ages,
Fallibility has always been
Among humanity's playwrights.

6/18/13

(c) 2013 Brandon Antonio Smith

Your life is over-rated,
And my death looks
Attractive like a magnet.

To think for one self
Is such a rash habit.
No, not really,
Pardon the sarcasm.
Whenever I rap I have
A spiritual ******.

The Truth
Isn't a fashion.
The day I was born my mother
Should have named me Blasphem...y.
We think we have all the answers,
Without applying the questions,
We don't even ask them.

We must ask them
Like wisdom's passion,
And put theory into practice
Because kinetic energy can only
Be expressed through action.

Originally written 6/9/11
Revised 10/14/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

The pieces connect,
Scrawled on a nonexistent map.
I must protect the pieces,
I vow to comprehend and understand them.

A most mysterious mentality
Appears to be a gravel road extending past houses and caves,

Inciting my foot steps.

Originally written 11/5/2010
Revised in 2014

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

I cannot tell--
Whether you are
Walking towards me
Or walking away from me.

Every hello entails a farewell--
No one can avoid its inevitability,

But I have always
Been an isolated isle,
A timorous turtle withdrawn
Into the shelter of my shell,
Indigent of affection.


Written 5/30/2015
(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith

I want reverence and paradise.

I attest to formerly
Conspiring to become a sage.
Chastise me you might,
But observe the foible,
It is not idiosyncratic of me.

Sages are misinterpreted by many
As models to be emulated
For the sake of love and happiness.
The real sage is the seasoning
To be incorporated from
Rebel Truth's fecund message.

You, the seasonal visitor,
Let go of your habitual luggage,
And traverse the transit.

Originally written 9/27/11
Revised 10/21/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Spinning and twirling,
Twirling and spinning
In a dumb-founded stupor,
There's barely a sense of balance,
Wobbling abruptly on my feet.

Someone called my cell phone restricted.
I'm sorry, I wasn't aware at the time,
I'll catch up to you later,
I'm not much of a talker anyways.

Tossing and turning,
Turning and tossing.
I don't want to go to bed,
But i will eventually.
I might be forced to.

It won't last too long
As any other night.
My consciousness
Is a vampire bred with a werewolf.

I'm thankful for our Great Star,
Providing light for so many forms of life--
I still long for Luna.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

(Originally written 12/5/10
Revised 9/23/14)

Now that up is down,
That would be me,
The fusion incites a composition for the muses.

Aren't your ears intended to listen to
The cherubs and behemoths on your shoulders?

So much further up,
So much further down,
Emerge and sink,
Sink and emerge,
But come out human.

Originally written 11/10/10
Revised in 2014

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith