These years seem like days,
Can't seem to shake this pain,
Because I know things will never be the same.
I claim to be numb since you left me
Tho, I've grown in to a man since you left me
Sister gone so who's next to meet death,
But I'm here and I'm blessed
A man on his quest,
I'm alive, but I can't say my heart is beating
Feeling like the living dead.
Don't dwell on the words I've said
Even though every last one I've meant.
Happy Birthday and R.I.P. Momma

Judge not
by "what"
so much as
"why" and "how."

----you never paid
much
    attention
           to                                                    
                interesting
                                places
until you became one


      you never paid
much
    attention
           to                              
                breathless­
                              thoughts
until you became one


      you never paid
much
    attention
           to
                happiness
until you became one


      you never paid
much
    attention
           to
                the worth of
                            someone's time
until you became one


      you never paid
much  
    attention
          to
                 secrets
                        hidden on journals
until you became one


      you never paid
much  
    attention
          to
                 love
until you became one

Not a possession

You say doctors will
make the best poets.
They will search your emotions
by the skin; cutting open to reveal
and revel
with surgical precison.
They will play with
heavy drugs and blades--
nothing shall hide beneath
the armors of bone and muscle.
They know the anatomy
of the heart too well.
They will find the things
you have hidden in your chest.

I say
doctors will never be poets.
They are too mechanical,
too fast with their edges
and ridges.
They cannot see the pain
as pain but merely as an anomaly.
That sadness is black bile
not melancholia.
They cannot sing to you
but only clammer in medical jargon.

Poets will use their imperfect words,
and perfect rhymes
to find the secrets of your rib cage
with ease.
They will find every flaw
of your broken body
and make it the best story
you've never heard.

Doctors,
they will put love to define as
a momentary rush of adrenaline,
an arrythmia for another human
caused due to an imbalance of the heart rhythm.

Poets will tell you
that love is the first jolt
of life for them.
They will say love is a state of euphoria
that takes those irregular rhythms to perfect symphonies.

Doctors say that
veins carry blood
devout of oxygen.
I say that they carry your broken emotions
to their feelings factory
to mend it within its beautiful catacombs.

All those doctors
will find and fix you
with perfect solutions.

And these poets
will do their best
to be your perfect solution.

He crafts the finest ever made

soft speakings of verse and prose

delicately hammered like finest gold

each fragile link formed and forged

by mind and heart with love and and woe

Words together in finest beauty

birth shimmering chains of golden thought

with pauses hung 'tween glimmering links

like iridescent shimmering pearls

Deep hued gems dripped from tongue

dance in jeweled and sparkling splendor

to decorate this work of art

hammered from the wordsmith's heart