all these fake *******
want to hit up my line
always crying on me
that they never get **** right

they talkin about how they
alone in this doggy dog world
yet can’t even ask a simple hello

all these fake *******
want to use you for your money
never think twice about the bills you have to pay

this is a call out to all the fake hoes
in my life that hit up my line
when they were bored of their ****
using me as a convenience

this is a call out to the *****
that cried crocodile tears
lied to me for months
and never showed their face
days after

all these fake *******
want to hit up my line
always crying on me
that they never get **** right

boo hoo motherfuker
get the ******* my line
take your *** back
to hell where you belong
get the ******* my life
take your baggage and clownery
somewhere else

i’ll send my last wishes
when you’re in hell

Blank pages
Tempting, yet terrifying
Should I take a leap of faith
Hoping I come up with an idea
By writing on you?
Or should I just leave you empty
Like everyone else before
Hoping someone will carry the burden of filling you up?
I am not sure
I have nothing to write about
No ideas.
No feelings.
Nothing at all.
Even if I did write
It would just be full of emptiness anyways
So why bother?
But something is calling me to you
Is it your charm
Or is it my helplessness?
Either way, it does not matter.
I have already started writing.

You little wise words jotted on scrambled paper
A moment's thought
Captured with sentences
Phrases perfected in rhyme n rythm
Telling emotions and pains

The ball runs on the field
Leaving prints of emotions to yield
Love, hate, anger, happieness on print they are sealed
Layer by layer feelings are reviled
Like onion each layer is pealed
In the strength of the ball stories are told.
In the resistance of the field feeling are shared
On the paper emotions are inked

This ink
Yes this ink keeps spewing what's in my heart and mind
This ink keeps bringing the past from behind
In narrow lines of sentences
The universe judges what the sentence is
Rhythm and pain
Rhyme and reason
What began as a grain
Has grown in its season

I give honor to this journal for it knows all my pains more than anyone else
I jot down every single event that took place when life kicked me down
All thanks to the ink and paper I picked myself up and dusted it off
It's now that I can say
This ink and paper is my bestfriend
For it has been with me through thick and thin