I met a young man he was unique but found it a bit hard to speak. He said it was because people thought he was a freak.

With no support from his friends, they were to busy calling him a geek.

He got so tired of his life being critiqued, it was making him weak and life was looking pretty bleak.

Well your life is yours you don't have to sneak, at your life just take a peek. When they look at you they see mystique.

You are more precious than the most valuable antique.

Where as keeping up with the Joneses is what they seek, only havoc on their lives, this will wreak

Because what they really see is oblique which is why they keep finding themselves up a creek.

For you were made unique, just spend time developing your technique and don't freak when you go on a winning streak and become chic.

Be Unique, Develop Your Own Technique.

Like an art drawn
Would you lend a time even till dawn?
Like a face sketched
Would you be by my side watching the sun on edge?

But sometimes I wonder
Is your love is like an ink?
That will vanish in a just a blink?
Or like my love, last until forever?

Like a clean white canvass
Would you find my love even if it's an atlas?
Or like a voided paint?
Losing it's might until it gets faint.

Like a picture on your mind
Look at me and you'll get blind
Like a spectacular nature
Love me passionately and you'll get allure.

Like an artist caresses his masterpiece
Are you willing to give me your heart just a piece?
Or like a painting in a gallery
Will your love stays true or will die hanging in melancholy?

Lay me in your special museum
Where I can only be your symptom
Put me in a treasure box of your art
For as I you've done painting, may I be in your heart.

set up a chair
at the end of a tree lined street
not just any tree lined street
the street with the nice houses and cars
the street where the rich have "made it"
sit at the end of that street
with the cherry blossoms or jane magnolias
or whatever
and watch every one of those "successful" types
as they walk down their tree lined street
from their house to their car
as they walk by you, through their tree tunnel
watch carefully their faces
the trajectory of their gaze, tightness of their lips,
the experience woven into their furrowed brows
watch them hurry through the world's dream tunnel
a persons state of mind can be brought to light by a tree
the beauty of bloom, falling petal, hugging branches
it jolts excitement through human sensory
and so, when you read the lined, tired, hurried
faces- the dysphoric vacancy we've all carried
at some point
smile
create space
share love
just for a moment

Can you remember the time
When the lonely winters wind
Went searching through our coats
For our skin
As the stars sang a silver song
A billion violins
Scattered across the depths
Of the indigo sky

One pair of gloves to share
Our naked hands trembling
Laced together and set
To fight against the cold
The only fire for miles
Was what burned
In the depths of us
Fueled by the dancing wisps
In our eyes
Bound by the ancient rythmn
Of the northern waves
Washing our souls
Back
Into the dreaming sea.

Shrinking as I wait for my shrink
Minuscule in appearance
Skyscrapers overshadow
Obsolete rock with tiny feet
Plants feed off the heat from nearby concrete
Each brick cemented by century
Droplet from the sky is opposite
Magnifies true irrelevance
Cross legged at the cross walk
Visitor at the cross road
Flickering light bulb thrives in day
At night it diminishes
At night it's just a fade

Hair fire red and tousled  beneath my fingers.
The feather touch of her mouth beneath mine.
The rounded softness of femininity yielding to my touch.
My pulse like a freight train in my ears.
Adrenaline flooding my senses until I am drunk with desire.
Her tongue , impossibly pink, slides into my mouth, hesitant at first...
Soft skin flushed and radiant, blue eyes inviting, challenging.
I am the humming bird.. drawn to this sweet elixir.
To delicately taste this female form for the first time.
Soft contours of hip and breast against mine.
Fleeting moment ... and yet it has awakened my senses.
A longing to feel those white fingers upon my *******, to slide between my thighs.
Slippery with passion, my river an ocean on which she must sail.
I smile a wistful smile..... I wait ....... no doubt she will return....

There’s so many things I want to but will not do in front of you *******.
                                No you don’t deserve it,
It isn’t handled within yet outside alone.

                                Mobbing and torching the whole way home, swimming.
                                Trembling in anger,
So much you’ll vanish and suffer yet recall.

                                 The kindness comes from their throats
And the face is the highest facade.
                                 The unwanted affection of strangers is elevated,
When they have knowledge of who you are. 

                                 What’s the use of spite originated satisfaction,
If it doesn’t quench any thirst or curb any craving.
                                 Like a bird ******,
Or any revenge.

                                 My real form is the poems,
The layering an example of my ever extending souls.
                                 But impossible is to be shaped so perfectly by creators,
That these are not perfect themselves.

                                 Instead, vulnerability,
And magic!
                                 And my god I use my my my far too much,
The only way I know how to **** is to **** through my heart. 
               
                                 And **** har d er th an e ver t h a n yo u kn ow y ou c an, 
Though these broken letters I ramble.
                                 Never again,
I’ll never talk again for I am speechless.

The Light...

Breaks through an ever-expanding wall of darkness and despair,
In order to peel away the mask of smoke and mirrors;
So I can bask in your rays
Of unconditional love and understanding.

Living is as important as dying.
Do not let words leave you, for once
They do they transform to smoke.
Living is just as important as dying.
Do not let the words build up inside you,
For, once they do, they turn to a ball of  
unpolished stone.
Living is as important as dying.
Do not leave this earth without, before
Crying out the words which, if not, will
Turn to sour stone. Because,
Living is as important as dying.

Then Narcissus spoke:
We are the moon
We are the sun
We are the stars
   Twinkling above.