Sitting alone in one's room in the dead of night has the ability to provoke much unhindered thought.
If I could think to dance,
there would be fire ablaze in my eyes;
Something unnerving would occur,
and I would let go of discretion.
I would speak what I feel then,
like the fresh spring water that ever flows through my thought-process.
My toes would sink deeply into the Earth's foundation,
and she would welcome me happily,
her soil helping to fuel me.
I would root myself there,
and remain.
Among the many as I am,
a gray and faceless physical being --
the perceptive colors that I bear are of the mind.

Regret.
Regret.
What a solemn summer.

Many can fear the JOVIAL influences,
                         That shake and move their    {b o d i e s}   in such ways --
                                                            it is inexplicable.
The groove--
as well as the FuNCTioN forces our beings into motion;
Might as w(E)ll describe it as    
   U            
P    
   H    
    O
        R
       I
  C.

Conner is a lovely man.
He laces his wants through me with fine, pale features.
I cannot say what I would like of him--
nor what he would like of me.
Conner is a strange man,
with an accent that is achieved through a deep rumble in the back of the throat --
He is prideful of his home country,
which causes some sort of influence over me.
Conner is a man full of wit.
His expressions are comical,
words are snaky --
and have the tendency to make me blush.
Conner surely is not a stranger to admirers.

Sure.
I have those friends.
The friends that I share common interests with --
the friends that I laugh, and joke with;
Then I have her.
She and I,
we fight,
to speak the very least,
often.
Although,
our bond is unbreakable.
We feel the same,
yet we could not be more different.
We both strive for color, opinions, a voice, a reason --
Yet, we strive for it differently.
She and I,
we both love -in our own ways- until the very tendrils of our hearts dry,
YET, we are both selfish beyond our own comprehension.
We enjoy to live,
yet we hate ourselves in such forms that we are living in paradox.
She and I,
we endure the same --
YET, we endure the same differently.
It is inexplicable,
our bond.
I do not love her romantically, sexually, nor do I love her in familial, or Platonic ways --
Our blood runs that deeply.
I just love her.
Shavod *** Woodson.

You.
I apologize for all of the strive I have forced you to endure.
Sometimes you can be envious --
always wanting what you are not meant to achieve.
Still,
you are splendid with your light.
I thank you for refusing to die out on me.
You are what keeps my eccentricity on a radiant standard.
Thank you.
I amend you for always striving for what is best;
Competition is difficult,
but you seize to slow in your movement.
Thank-you for being fueled by compassion.
Whether it be by compassion for the Earth;
the human race;
Or even by that very naturally sweet scent that is repugnant from your skin.
Thank you.
I adore you for wanting coffee with your sugar,
for actually being able to appreciate the female body without feeling ashamed.
You are realistic,
goal-oriented.
Although sometimes you can be influenced negatively by those around you
-which inevitably results in your being a paradox-,
Thank-you.
You are beautiful.
I am absolutely beautiful.

It is not so difficult (sadly I've come to discover),
to embrace darkness --
it has been prescribed to those individuals who dare to harm me.
In the end,
they lack remorse.
It is only I who can take blame for such ignorant thoughts.
Ramblings are for the beautiful,
precision is for the wise --
segregation can exist in any form possible.