I stand for a people who's voices have gone silent; not by the waves of hate from others, but the waves of hate pouring from their own mouths. From their hypocrisy to those whom they are sent to love. You probably know who I am talking about by now. So for them I say sorry.

I say sorry to the same-*** couple who are denied the right to marry in many states and many places of the world. I am sorry for the constant currents of hate we have place toward you. Our God teaches to love all, but it seems we have forgotten about you.

I am sorry to the orphans of the world. We try our best to help, we really do. But here in America, we feel there are more important things to worry about. We have the money to support you, but we are stringy here in America. We stand wholeheartedly that 5 cents a day is enough to feed a in another country, but a 5 dollar big mac sounds good for lunch. I find myself wondering, why was this money given to me? Are we not told to give to the poor? Support the fatherless and the widow? I know these are given to us as commandments, but I'm going to use the bible for my own benefit. So I am sorry for our selfishness, please, don't be offended.

I am sorry to people of other faiths. We are to love you just as much as anyone else. But since you believe in another god or the absence of one entirely, we feel you are void of this command. So forgive us if we stereotype you, at least God still loves you.

To the teen mom; I apologize that so many of you live on the streets. But your failure to abstain leaves us with no other choice. Obviously the best we can do is disown you as our daughters and cease to love our little princesses. Plus you have made us embarrassments as parents, and we are always first before you.

Lastly, I am sorry for us hating anyone  that has messed up in life. It seems we have forgotten what it's like to be human and knowing we all make mistakes. It seems we have taken what was known to be holy and morphed it into our own little cult. Something we use to make ourselves look and feel better. We forget to be human sometimes, but I ask you to be tolerant of us. Because God loves you even if we don't.

Humbly, I'm sorry to you God. I pray you have mercy on your church whom have made  a mockery of you, your son's sacrifice, and your plans for us. I know I believe you love us, and because you love us we should love others, but I fail all the time. Forgive me of that LORD. You love all, so we should learn to have eyes for the broken, and hearts for unloved.
Yours truly,
A convicted follower.

As I fixed your collar,
my fingertips barely
grazed your pulse
but it was just enough
to feel the blood rushing
underneath your skin.
Pulse quickened: check.
I only had to make
brief eye contact,
look up
and down again,
to see the expansion
of your pupils.
Eye dilation: check.
Don't think that
I didn't
hear or feel
the breath you didn't
realize you
were holding in.
Shortness of breath: check.
Hmm.
Interesting.

He casts his fishing lines into the water and waits patiently
.. what shall be the catch for tonight?
He needs something to breathe life back into himself; get his creative juices flowing again.

This is what feeds the Artist after all.
He does not need food or water;
he needs inspiration.
Good, bad, ugly.. it matters not.
It must be something- someone-
that affects him intensely,
that reaches deep down beyond his self-imposed armour,
and grabs at his soul.
He needs to devour in order to survive.

It is not long before one bites, and then another.. and maybe another.
He gently coaxes, drawing them in with his seductive lures.
He knows this art well.. knows what to say, what to do, who to be.. or not be..

He examines.. tests them..
… a little subtlety here.. more boldness there,
     …… but tempered,
                with a laugh,
                a smile,
                  a chuckle,
                    a wink.

He doesn’t quite want to scare them away,  but he wants to see how far he can go.
What boundaries can he safely breach..?
He pushes, he pulls..
He engages, he retreats..
He shares, he takes..
He tugs, he releases…
     … and the dance continues until his search is satisfied.

And then when he has determined which shall be his catch for the night,
which of these waltz partners is most ready to be broken – open-
he gently releases the others back into the waters…
gently Discarded.

Perhaps they will be led back to his watering hole another day,
and perhaps they will be the ‘one’ at that future time —
or perhaps they will never be seen or heard from again.

It does not matter.

What matters is Now.
What matters!
         is what it takes to feed his desire.
What matters is this moment.
Everything is in this one moment.

This is practice after all.. one must practice in order to perfect the technique.
One must perfect the technique if he wishes to be claimed and devoured by Bliss.
And who does not wish to be devoured by Bliss?

“Enjoy the practice, perfect the technique”.

he says.

My poems never trend.
I usually never get likes.
Repost is not in my vocabulary.
Having my poems added to collections is a very rare thing.

I don't mind.
My thoughts weren't meant to be read anyways.
I'm not so special.
I only have two followers who I want reading my poetry anyways.

If your poem won't trend.
If no one likes it.
If its not reposted.
If it never graces a collections touch.
Don't feel sad or unwanted.
It just means your thoughts are too perfect for words.

Found an outlet
where I can
SCREAM
eloquently, passionately
POETRY

born poverty stricken, 
she lay her head on no mattress..
still she sung along to mary j. blige, like religious practice..

Stronger with each tear was the motto,
&so; she shed..
Because its hard to have dreams when you don't have a bed..

Its hard to have food for thought when you cant afford bread.
& the local Goodwill is dead..

Her speech was absurdly intact, & well spoken.
you would assume a girl trapped like that, wouldn't be open,
Yet.
Just 14, she showed potential of a graduate, beyond bachelors.
&& in our city record deals are the only time we owned Masters.

beneath those hazel eyes. there lies an old soul,
told, 
by her surroundings her future was a pole. 
bold, 
in her approach, how she stripped away the cold.
now dances in the daisies, dodging Hades, never sold.

&this; is no figment of imagination,
how her eyes hazel pigment, 
had the power to judge a nation.

Because she woke up daily, prepared as **** for that math test..
Though she was born poverty stricken, lay her head on no mattress..




-afj

Give me one world at a time,
I am doing the best I can
but there are still so many things
that I will never understand
and all I have is myself
yet I don't know who I am,
I'm still trying to accept the fact
that I am only human.

Now you may be thinking
Nero? why are you attacking TV?
why can't you let it go, let ratchetry be ratchetry?
well I'll tell you in this well planned verse
I hate reality tv, go ahead, get the hate mail out and curse.
I hate reality TV because it isn't reality
just a bunch of talentless people fighting, setting impossible standards didn't speak to me
now if the show is a competition then I'll let it slide
at least you have to have a skill and not just be easy on the eyes
But love and hip hop, Mob and Basketball Wives
should really be dead by now, I'm really surprised
that they've lasted this long what's wrong can you see they're about as smart as a rotted log or a concussed king Kong?

Red hair falling over shoulders and short pretty curls
All of her weaknesses are everything you ever were
Thunder and lightning might just deserve each other
Because when the storm comes everyone wonders
And everyone watches
And you both like that

With her fake smiles and your attention deficit
Not even perfection deserves imperfect
Now she thinks she's perfect and I hate to be the one to break the news
But the only one that's closer to imperfect is you
Get out while you can neither of you can put glass back together
Because once it's shattered it's gone baby and it won't ever come back
You can try to glue until all of your fingers bleed
But either way it will cut you open when you try to sleep
I shouldn't kick a dog when it's down
But hell you can lie in the mess you made
Until every piece of yourself is ripped away

Maybe you two are just a perfect match
With her bruised knees and your spineless back
Go find each other and go run away
I'm so done caring and I'm so done with the hate
Times up. Game over. She won.
But when everything falls apart don't come crying to me
Sobbing out that she was your first one
Because you like the attention
And you like the lies
And everyone is watching
You like them staring as you walk by

So I'll watch from the side as it all goes up in flames
Because in the end you won't even be able to say her name
And what am I going to do about it?
Nothing because I don't care about you or your attention deficit
You can move on and I'm over it.