Usually, I let words come to me,
tonight; however,
I am going to formulate something.

I am tired of whining about love - the lack of it,
really;
in my life.

Tonight, I'll whine about, countlessly, contemplating.
Countlessly desiring;
countlessly yearning;
For - your physical touch.

My placement of my hands on yours.
My placement of my hands on your body.
My placement of my lips on yours.
My placement of my lips on every crevice of your body.

Tonight; I whine about yearning to touch you.
I whine about your lips, softly - sensually;
rubbing on my face, lowering -
Mine, rubbing on your forehead - as you lower;
down -
my body.

Tonight; I whine about my lips, yearning -
the taste of your body.
Your skin rubbing against my tongue;
Your skin, satisfying my taste buds.

Tonight; I whine about the love my body has for yours.
The love in need of no words;
the love only touch understands.

Tonight; My body wants yours.
I hope you are shivering, in hope -
that our bodies will quench the thirst causing tension between us.

Always In Love.
As we lay together
In bed your
Head on my chest
My arms around you
Keeping you warm
Safe and loved
Our hearts entwined in
True romance
We embrace in a
Passionate kiss
Our hands together
Our hearts beating
Together in perfect harmony
We shall truly always
Love each other
Forever in
Our perfect little
World we shall always
Be truly deeply in
Love.

What does a black kid who wants to rap write about well if he's from the suburbs he'll probably leave the pages white like the folks that where out.  

Since there is no poverty, gangs, or death to report on. I guess he'll sit in his two parent household and be put down cause that's his home, and try to figure out that why in order to be black does he have go through struggle, live on 64th and Sangamon Chicago that's just asking for trouble.

Why aren't happiness and good times associated with the black culture, instead we like it when we're known for stealing, killing and getting over. I guess it's why light skinned people want to claim different races, why dark skinned woman aren't beautiful because we don't like the color of there faces.  

I guess that's why Mike wanted to be white, why every black man woman and child believe that they have to fight, but naw not injustice and poverty, one another the same person you grew up calling your brother.

But what does it matter cause you don't hear my words. I'm just another black man from Richton Park Illinois so I remain unheard.

She loves me,
She loves me not.
And then she
Loves me.
Then she,
Changes her mind at the drop of a hat.
Fight all the time, how ****** up is that.

I may not even be an adult yet. But I still know what I want. I'm not asking for perfection. Quite the opposite indeed. I'm looking for someone who knows how to fall. Who knows how to get back up. I wish for a girl who would love me with all her heart, for I would do the same. I hope to find a girl who doesn't care about ***, someone who is fine with just cuddling and being close, no promises of promiscuity. I wish for someone to call my own. In turn, I hope for someone to call me their own.

enraptured was he,
enamored and taken aback,
eyes glossing and fingers trembling,
effortlessly pouring his soul to top her glass.
she was wild and equally fragile,
strong in her vivacious convictions-
stubborn and quiet and barely content,
sharing a love of fiction and faith and fire.
they danced and watched the skies,
tangled together in hopes and dreams,
tossed to the world by the winds of their cities,
trying desperately to get a grasp on growing up and getting out.
her favorite memory of him:
he had headed into the fields to gaze into space
half shivering, half dead,
holding out a rose to her-- his favorite scent.
night fell and so did they,
nodding off with heads in the weeds,
nurturing each others' wounds and bruises,
nearing dusk with new determination and confidence.