if you're gonna love me make sure you'll include to love my family, friends and the people around me just how much i love and treasure them most.
But if you can't is just so disappointing.








**sincerely, real talk about love

Say my name
Say it gently
Use your words
To caress me
Speak your thoughts
Speak them out loud
Confess your love
Amidst the crowd
Scream your wishes
Scream your dreams
Make your reality
Better than it seems
Whisper your pain
Whisper your fears
Release the tension
Wipe away your tears
Open your mind
Open up wide
Let my love in
Let me inside

Kitchen-hungry red
Ocean-water teal
Blacks bonded together
Stitched and adhered
   contemporarily
Symmetrically
    stacked
  to lay flat
on my kitchen floor
Crimson 50′s clock
quietly going tick-tock
during rests of audio activity
Wrestling with dogs
during the turning of cogs
to unwind pent up energy
The day of rest and solitary conquest
puts me in no hurry to leave this nest
For I appreciate and want to bathe in
everything I have...for now.

Take all of my belongings; pictures of
Beloved ones and grandmother's bible.
Just leave me a piece of paper and my
Will to describe the memory of my losses.

I take the pen for granted, as one does when
Leaving a bank in deeper debt.
One man's advertisement is another poet's
Tool.

I, Poet, would arise in the morning and praise
My tiny square of window, even with its
Iron bars.
I'd find poetry in prison wall profanity.

I love losing. Crying over love, over
Tragedies the size of full history book pages,
Timeless art lost in gallery fires, bad poetry
Gone viral and unpublished classics discarded.

I, Poet, laugh out loud in disbelief at sunsets
And other banalities.
Take spring rain showers and act at times
Like a hipster on ether; a hippie kissing his  

Last tab of acid with the heart of his tongue.
I care less than the unfree.
Drink water; wash my feet with wine    
And walk miles and miles of fire.

I, Poet.
Ink in my veins, fountains of blood on my
Pages. I write no diary, keep myself between
The lines.

The areas of white between the words.
The opposite of
Nothing. It is where gods,
Truths, and the poet's way of loving

A dual life lie. As
Unseen as
Unhidden, in
Broad daynight.

I sit with beer, all destitute, to write this alcoholic poem,
Tomorrow's far away, but a catastrophic omen
With beer in front, the task at hand, I should not have a chance,
Yet goggles clear, my writing dear, with future shaking hands,
I'll give a cheer, I'll down my beer, haste towards the achin',
So then I'll wake up, fill my coffee cup, and make some ******* bacon!

into the world
of shadows
that fantastical
garden
adrift in the
night

underground
in the
ether of
haunts
the boatman
still demands
payment
and
the
river
still

flows

fade
into the other side
of midnight's

nightmare

SS 9/9/2015

No
It's cool.
These things happen for a reason
And every time I rehears those words I almost start to believe it
Because my naive heart just needs something to believe in
When nothing feels right
And I start to lose feeling
everything that's wrong
starts revealing
You made it all worth living.

~
The death of that innocent child
Changes the map of consciences, not of the world
Again proved that our education is wrong
The religion of the people turns to transgressions

When blood stained in the sky
Our love has become non-existence
Teaches me to think of another new war!
For the New Earth a habitable
~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen