It's knowing.
It's knowing that stalls you.
It's knowing what steps to take.
It's knowing what promises to break.
It's knowing how time should be spent.
It's knowing there will always be regret.
It's knowing what seems perfect is desperation.
It's knowing that there are boundaries for relation.
It's knowing what it means to be a friend.
It's knowing there isn't need to pretend.
It's knowing how to be spacious.
It's knowing how to be gracious.
It's knowing that leads you.
It's knowing,
in the end.

The body goes through changes.

The mind grows.

Eventually goes.

There is time spent knowing...

knowing about one's existence,

what love is,
what it isn't.

Feeling

With feet firmly planted on the ground,

it becomes frightful to think of being beneath it.

Food for the Earth, we are.

We populate our planet,

and we have come far.


We've documented man's evolution.

The evolution.
The enlightenment.
The ecosystem.

However, we forget about the gift we are given.

Spinning on an axis.

We're egocentric.

We put ego over eco.


We're contained.

Entomology, of sorts.

Maybe Darwin was right.

My hand rested perfectly,

on your chest.

I made time with your heartbeat.

Rhythmically intertwined, you settled.

For me.



The small of your back.

The hesitation in your breath.

You became lucid.

Your ***** was wet.

Tripping.
Tripping,
Because…
Because society says so.
That’s why.
Tell me I’m wrong,
When…

You have war in the streets, but
I’m wrong to complain.
And you ridicule,
Free thinkers,
And you call them insane.
When you try to take liberties,
That are permanently engraved.

And sell us consumption;
****** abundance;
Utter redundant,
Dreams among us.

Marketing schemes,
Big budget dreams,
Jobs that disappear,
But,
Keep optimistic,
Don’t fear.

Take a trip in your nation,
Consumed with corpulent creatures,
Once known human,
Easily seen,
Wiping Big Mac sauce from their lips,
Clutching Old Navy Bags,
Drinking Starbucks coffees.

Little change do you receive,
From a store,
When it all goes on plastic.

What people don’t realize,
Is that credit,
Is misplaced poverty.
And people speaking their minds,
And making a difference,
Are treated with disrespect,
It’s humanities ignorance.

So next time,

You see a man on the street:
Playing a guitar;
Singing a song;
Painting a portrait;
Projecting a message;
Getting along.

Think this:

There are a lot of way to describe credit.
Only one for money.
You can want to make money.
Or you want to deserve credit.

It only depends on how, you
Think of that.
But one thing that’s always true,
Is the sound of change,
Hitting the inside of a cup.

Children know not,
what love is,
yet.

Just as their parents,
did not,
when they were small.

It is something passed along,
generation to generation,
to use, exceedingly,
when old.


Such a foreign concept,
when not taught.
And yet, when learned,
it is a power.

A force that can overthrow,
ignorance.

Love is impressionable.
Love is always justified.
And love, can
sometimes be malicious.

It is passion. It is security. It is an honest belief.

What is love?

It is a wall between two cities,
the rocking chair in the corner of the room,
and the recipe book shelved.

It is the wine glasses,
the lover’s warm breath on your neck,
and a locked bedroom door.

It is a book,
the men following footsteps,
and the flash before detonation.

It is strained vocal chords,
the incessant ringing of a phone,
and frown lines etched in a face.

It is the sirens announcing defeat,
the tears that become screams,
and doors being kicked from their frames.

But, one thing love is not,
love is not a heart.

Love can never be a heart.

Love is a key.
Love is changed locks.
Love is a blown bulb.
Love is the smell of rain.
Love is a river overflowing.
Love is a torrential downpour.
Love is the ups and downs.
The good and the bad.
The old and the new.

But one thing love can never be…

It can never be a heart.

Save the date, the letter reads.
The date staring me in the face,
with the time right beside.

I remember our time, although
it was never dated, only stated.

My face gleams,
reflected in the gold embroidered letters.
The date and time leaving an impression.
The letters and words sinking in.
Permanently pressed.

The letter sealed two fates.
A celebration to connect two souls.
But no room for a third party,
at the party that is.

Guests will arrive with gifts,
setting them atop the table.
As I find room for my excess baggage.

Perfect gift to receive before the honeymoon.
In my eyes, not others.
As they approach and say,

“You ruined her day! Do you even care?”

And I reply, “I do.”

It seemed as if,
you fell into my blade.

Searing pain, screaming
my name.
Hand gripping chest, and finger
points to me.
I'm to blame?
I'm to blame.

Bitter.
Sweet.
Your eyes running,
while you stay stationary.
I lick your tears,
because...

I've waited;
menacing stares are dry,
there isn't need,
for moisture.
Solidity gone, against,
soluble grain.
I've waited for your tears;
I've missed them.

But in the end,
when your misadventures,
become takes of legend,
I will take pleasure.
A tale is a tale,
but a corpse is a tally.