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 Dec 2016
Love
Did anyone ever stop to think that maybe mother earth has anxiety?
We say that nature can be cruel and work in mysterious ways, but she is mute. A language is always mysterious to a foreign tongue.
Perhaps my dear mother earth has anxiety.
The earthquakes are outbursts like an autistic child’s, she is begging to be heard.
She screams with thunder and any words she can muster up are nothing but whispers in the wind.
Tsunamis are angry fists slamming down on the dining room table, but no one cares to listen.
She grasps towards the heavens in attempts for everything to stop spinning, so that maybe the chaos within her will depart in one single blow.
No one cared to listen to the mute child in the corner or the room, who has always been in the corner of the room, who has been ignored and forgotten, only acknowledged when something is needed from her.

We were the voices in her head.
Each individual person chipping away at her sanity, and leaving tire tracks in her down trodden forests.
Maybe mother earth had anxiety,
maybe mother earth is dead.
 Nov 2016
Tark Wain
I can hear you bellowing from a room that rests just outside of my imagination.
My skin crawls
as the wind quietly whispers
begging me to open the window
so the thoughts that once crowded my head
can slide back into bed with me

Nothing ever hurts as bad as it did the first time
each sip of the bottle is easier than the next
as I slip back into unconsciousness

I can hear the rain
hammering on my roof
relentlessly
again and again and again
wishing that maybe the next drop
will be the one that breaks the camel's back

melancholy memories make me muse
perhaps I lost a piece of me when I lost you
and if everything
God willing
must end up right
than Perhaps it makes sense
that you visited me tonight

I feel the flames
sneaking past the floorboards
devouring my oxygen
encapsulating my space
occupying my attention

When the past comes knocking on your door
remind it why
it doesn't have a place in your home
 Nov 2016
Mysidian Bard
Our shadows soon fade
Here beneath the dying sun
When the day is done
 Nov 2016
Ami Shae
Time's embrace has captured me
held me captive
where none can see
the bonds, the scars, the pain I feel--
but me and TIME both know
that it's all too real
and some day soon
I might escape to freedom again
away from this misfortune and doom
of an empty and dreadfully ink-less pen.#
A lot going on. Hard to write...
 Sep 2016
Latiaaa
I have taken dozens and dozens of souls before.
Drunks, sinners, convicts, killers, ******.
As soon as they pass on, in your arms they fall.
And to your mistress you carry them every time I call.
Your sensei.

My thigh high boots withstanding my weaponry
I am Kanye’s Devil in a new dress,
Personified.
I’m pure lust,
Unholy desire.
The underground *******.

I see the evil in your eyes.

But hey, I miss the bleachfumes.

I’ve been up all morning just writing and ****.
“ONLY DEATH IS PROMISED”
“CHEAP ***=CHEAP PISTOLS”
“ALL I NEED IS CIGARETTES, ****, AND COFFEE”

Scamming is truly a habit.
Its pleasure after pain.

****, you’re the ****.
I’ll rip my heart out and just hand you the ****…
Like I said, it’s pleasure after pain.

You are not worthy enough to see the face of your tormentor,
You don’t want war with me, *****.
We’re all mad here,
An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all.

Stay ***** and individualistic as ****.
 Aug 2016
Latiaaa
There was Rebecca,
And there was Jon.
Rebecca lived in a peaceful neighborhood,
Where the wind blows through the trees and the sidewalks were brittle.
Jon lived across from her,
They never spoke, never glanced, never shared a laugh.

Rebecca was sporty, very loving, and loud,
Jon was poetic, mellow, and very quiet.

One hot summer evening, Rebecca was sitting on her front porch picking pedals,
Jon was leaning against his window, drawing tallies on his wall.

There was a moment of silence,
Everything stood still.
Jon turned his head towards the window to the sight of beauty,
Rebecca, sitting on her porch picking pedals.

Her burnt-sienna hair glistening in the sunlight,
Jon's eyes were locked in place, he was drowned in her bloom.
Rebecca looked up, locking eyes with Jon.

At the same time,
They stood up and glanced at each other.
Jon racing down the door while Rebecca jumping up from her porch,
Her pedals fluttered off her dress.

Across from each other,
They both walked up till their noses touched.
Rebecca's hands locked in Jon's,
Jon's eyes were lost in Rebecca's.

As the days went by and the weather shift,
Rebecca and Jon were inseparable.  
Jon would pick petals with Rebecca on the porch,
Rebecca would sit by the window writing poems with Jon.

The more time they spent,
The more tallies appeared on Jon's wall.

When the skies became grey and the wind was ice cold,
Jon couldn't pick pedals with Rebecca on her porch.
There was days when Rebecca couldn't write with Jon at his window.

Jon would stay in his room,
Twenty more tallies covered his wall.
Rebecca was sick at heart,
Lingering in her house.

That didn't stop the love between Jon and Rebecca,
A month flew by.
The snow started to thaw off the grass,
Everything became greener again.

Rebecca was ready to write at the window with Jon,
She wanted to pick pedals with him every second.
Rebecca wandered onto her porch,
She didn't see sight of Jon at his window.

Her thoughts start to worry her,
She leaped from her porch and scurried across the street.
She ran through muddy puddles and skimmed on the dewy grass,

Rebecca knocked on Jon's door,
No reply.
Rebecca's days were lost and sorrow,
She felt no life in her.

When summer came back around,
Rebecca was back to picking pedals by herself.
She looked up to see a surprised guess at her porch,
Jon's mother.

Rebecca, with all love and respect,
Jon is now walking on the other side.
He's where the sun shines brighter,
It's been months since he's been ill.
Jon's been counting the days he's lived,
It was only 122 days, counting the tallies.
The more you came over,
The more it was hard to hide.
He was pale, undernourished,
Too sick to come out.
The thought of telling you was too grievous,
He didn't want the love to end.


The mother walked away,
Giving Rebecca her moment to grasp.
Even though her love for Jon was bare,
122 days was all she needed to know she had someone special.

She promised herself to always pick pedals on her porch every summer,
Just for Jon.
 Aug 2016
Latiaaa
No matter how much your skin tingles, or your face heats up,
You can never stay mad.
You'll throw a fit and say the God's sins,
But you never mean it.
Your hatred boils and overflows with the rage and anger of a thousand devils,
It goes away.
You forbid to speak the truth and blame your anger on the innocent,
You know you don't mean it.
Your mind doesn't want to open up and see life differently,
Eventually you do.
No matter how much pain and integrity you're in,
Your grudges are temporary. They'll never last.
 Aug 2016
Latiaaa
Peter Craw was an ill boy growing up.
He was sent to the hospital at the age of six for many problems.
They put a straight jacket on him, but he was able to escape.
He escaped the hospital and went on a murderous rage.
Before that, they put a muzzle on him too, so he wouldn't bite anyone.
The muzzle was soundproof, he wasn't able to take it off nor talk what so ever.
Peter Craw carried a pitch fork in order to **** his victims.
He found it at the hospital.
He's been on the loose since his escape.
No one knows where Peter Craw is.
They believe he's still out there killing.
If you see a psychotic man on the loose, call the police.
Peter Craw is a sick man.
 May 2016
ej
The illness catches branches low,
heralds beaten unseen woe.

It grows inside me, spark by spark,
a fire in my favorite park.

Jewels forgotten, rivers clean,
mark it by the ashy sheen.

It's gone again; it's worth your while,
stab yourself and spit up bile.

Your days are done and I will rise,
I am back to claim my prize.

///

Bigfoot is real and the government is
Run by lizards dressed in human skin!

Wake up, sheeple! We're being invaded by
Beings from beyond the moon who want to
Steal our culture and **** our land!

Chemtrails are killing free-thinkers by the thousands
And we'll only be safe if we retreat to that commune
In the middle of Utah

Brothers and sisters, you wouldn't think a
Blanket encrusted in ***** could do so much
Damage but clearly we've underestimated the power of deceit

Brothers and sisters and everyone in between,
The land isn't ours and it isn't theirs, and it'd serve us
Well to remind ourselves that the land has always belonged to
Itself and that's never gonna change

It's been several generations now but the blood is still
Fresh and nobody can blame you for being
Sour, but for the love of the gods, it's high time
We transform that anger into motivation

We're more than hokey voodoo magic and
Prophecies about reclamation or apocalypse, or
Cheap drugs and casinos

We're back now, we were never gone,
Just buried
 May 2016
Latiaaa
Name falls from the ancient Greeks.
The Sound of Thunder,
Is what they preach.
I like to think of you as a classical human being.
Your mother and father welcomed you here on earth February the 4th 1998,
A water bearer,
Ruler of Uranus and Saturn.
You’re unique,
Built in Texas and fell right in the Chi.

You know what people like about you?
The communication you bring.
You communicate with your eyes,
Ears,
And mouth.
You know what else?
Your humor.
All the unsynchronized clocks in a watchmaker’s shop stops.
Your smile.
It relinquishes the fear in people.
Makes us feel safe.

You idolize the melodies of Mr. Kendrick and Cole,
You’re picky in your own nature.
Can’t have chocolate Oreos without milk,
Doesn’t dare touch greens.
You’re the element of air,
A handsome Phrygian youth.
Nobody is as witty as you,
Clever and rebellious.
Like spicy chili Doritos your mind is as far as the eyes can see.
You’re beyond on what you know,
Ahead of the game.
Filled with paradoxes.
You’re interested in the opposite ends of the spectrum.

If you were to leave town the next morning
Save me your lucky Krispy Kream sweater.
It smells like…you.
I want to hold your hand as you voyage all over the world.
You’ve been to Egypt before,
Go again… with me this time.

To my panda,
You will go out of your way to help another.
Live with no strings attached.
Like Po,
Very unconventional and always full of excitement.


You truly do have you and your beautiful soul.
 Apr 2016
Frankly Undesirable
silence and stillness
through thin branches, past small leaves
white crumbs in the pitch
 Apr 2016
Ja
Happiness, is like a flower blooming
Its petals hid, its beauty looming
Then it unfolds, in all its splendor
To makes us feel, so warm and tender
WIZDUMBs BY JA 355
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