a dot of living colour
waving on the breeze
peeking through the window
is all it takes, sometimes

Sometimes people
                                   don't know how to take,
                                                                ­           the works of art that I create.
            
I don't understand
                                  how knowing who I am
                                                                ­           causes the problems at hand.

They think that I am
                                    living in a dream,
                                                              bu­t  there's truth behind what I say,

AND how they make me seem.
                                    I can still say to the whole world
                                                           ­       I know the meaning of C.R.E.A.M.

But cash rules nothing in my world,
                                     I care less for the dollars
                                                                ­   And all about the DREAM

But I wouldn't mind the paper
                                and I am flattered by the follows
                                                       Because not even evil is all that it seems.

I hate using fullstops in my poems.

I want you to smoothly glide
Line to line,
Perhaps let a comma guide
You here and there
But no stops,
Just inhalations,
Imbibation
Of free flowing sentences
That carry you comfortably afloat,
To the fluid denouement
Of the poem I wrote

testosterone is not so inspiring
give me a bottle of red,
conversation, easy