Were made to think we can’t express how we feel.
I howl at the moon while tossing a bottle at a police car.
I scream my lungs out on top of a hill for the world to know I’m real.
Tell me I’m worthless, play with my emotions, **** what makes me, me.
Perfect! I’ll use that as strength to make beautiful poetry.
See I turn negativity into positivity. Ugly into beautiful. Hurtful into hopeful.
My homeland is poverty rooted by racial diversity but if the people united we could create a better community.
Guns are directed on neighbors because their flag represents a different set, yet every man bleeds red except for the politicians they bleed out greed.
I know I can inspire more MC’s, writers, artist, musicians and straight passionate people if given the opportunity instead our so called hip-hop creates more plain generic and unrepresented music for our peeps.
I’m not saying hip-hop is dead I’m saying the music industry controls everything.
I walked through flames and came out burned. Avalanches covered my body and I still came out warm thanks to what I past learned.
The pain hurts but I rather go through it than be sedated.
I rather continue to spread compassion than have it be taken.

Give me half of what you love.
What you let yourself be devoured by.
Spanish romance, drunken cantinas, Men cry.
Persuade the un-driven only through sacrifice.
The Vices the heart speaks are your impulsive desires.
Light my fire, Light my ******* fire because it's in dire need of an aspire.
By Christian Ek

I ask you to show me art.
Tear the normal apart.
Weary first impressions, I want to see you fall apart.
Smeared make-up like smeared paint on the artist hand.
Let’s save time and truly start.
I have notebooks full of holes.
Little do we know until one shows.
Their insides spilling out insights.
Spark an incent, in a instance, the smoke clears the tense and suspense out of a safe room where your nature can be exposed.
A cup containing wine acts like a truth serum.
Songs meaning equal same rhythms.
Candle light dancing paradigm.
Here we will meet on the same page.

We are the writers who defy being told what to say, how to think, or express ourselves. We write not for the glory of recognition but for the sake to give words meaning. For all you outcast that have ever been told you are not a poet, were out here too, waiting to see what you create with your pen. - Christian Ek

Nocturnal night vision and these visions are hard to swallow.
Blanket darkness, sleepy hallow, listening to the owl.
Emptiness is out and about, on the prowl.
From the bowls thoughts become foul.
At night they release their most powerful howls.
The sun kills the imagination like the reaper.
Sleep paralysis and my body becomes weaker.
Uncontrollable dreams take a toll on me and
I want to know their meanings.
I stay up thinking about the day like a movie replay.
It’s hard to rest my eyes when nocturnal night visions turn me into prey.

"Turn your back on what doesn't keep you moving forward."

" He brought back life into places no one thought could still put up a fight."
- Christian Ek