This beauty that we see,
of the future; how it can be,
and we want the world to know,
so we fight and die to show.
But a flower of genius must fall,
So the tree of wisdom may grow,
And soon in Spring,
its petals in wild winds will blow.
With a message:
No power can build walls so high,
that can stop the winds of change.

I am the most beautiful person I know,
and I surround myself with  hearts equally as beautiful.
We embrace this beautiful gift called life, encouraging our souls to take flight so that we can make this journey the most meaningful.
We are reminded of just how far we've come when we take the time to rest out wings and listen to the ring of our heartbeat.
It is most inspiring.

If I told you once.
I told you twice.
Love can be so very nice.

If I tell you again.
Then things are going to happen.
And you're not going to like the way it ends.

But we can't predict the future.
It's truly hard to predict.
But I can confess I do love you.

And as long as you have me.
That's exactly what I aim to do.

I tell you this now.
Like I told you this then.
As long as you have me.
I'm going to please you through my effort of love.

Believe it.
Write it down.
As long as you have me.
I'm going to be around.

Meaning
        Do we even know
                       What that is?

We look for it
        Search for it
                    But was it?
                            Will we know when find it?

Will we ever get there? Or will we

Constantly

             Find
                              ourselves

                                                        being

Pulled back.
Halted.
Before we find
Whatever "it" is
That we are looking for.



                                                             ­        Wait



                                                     ­     What if meaning
                                                         ­               Has little to do with what it is
                                                              ­                                        And more to do
                                                                ­                                              With the journey
                                                                ­                                                             Of searching for it
                                                              ­                                                                 ­               And if it is. . .
So what?

We will never attain it?

If so, is there any point to looking in the first place?



                                                       ­              What if



                                                         ­                                            The journey itself

                                                         ­                                                                Is the meaning?

Love belongs in the back seat of a convertible,
Parked somewhere in the summer night's dark.
Lips interlocked and cheeks flushing vertigo
The ignition to her transmission is
Push to start.
He shifts into drive.
Limbs, like open roads, quickly spreading apart
His eyes mesmerized along the highway of her thighs...
Love doesn't always exist in the heart.
It exists
Behind the steering wheel of his ****.
The roadmap of her love canal is truly a work of art...
Voyaging between thighs so thick...
Parked somewhere, in the summer night's dark.

I'll study the demise in your eyes and wonder if there was ever a time that you cried
For your loss.
I'll copy and trace the structure of your face and realize that
I am you.
Then I will show you a picture of my Dad and tell you but
This
Is my father.
Your genome may construct the structure of my bones but
I am his daughter.
And I am my mother
And I wonder, if you'll find it any if at all meaningful-
When I look you in the eyes and ask you
How someone so ugly
Can create something so beautiful.
When God created you,
He created the creation of me
And all I know about my identity is that I'm half Haitian
But that limb fell off from my family tree.
I pray
That God finds it in his heart to love you
Because God doesn't love the ugly.
Fortunately,
My skin may be tinted from the sins that make me your kin
But from the outside in
I look just like my mother.
Do you remember what she looks like?
My name is Rissa Ann Perkins, and I hope that you can't sleep tonight.
I hope that you frame a photo of my face in your brain
And if ever again should you dream,
I hope you wake up screaming my name.
Are you ashamed?
I'm not here to blame you
I came to show you
Just. How. Beautiful. I. Am.
And I just have to know what it feels like
To know that
I
Am you.
You gave me life.
I am you,
And I don't even love you.
So I have to know,
Do you love yourself?

Calumny for extortion
Bias confirmation by distortion

Pitchforks and torches in the dark
The unleashed hounds of hell bark

Unbeknownst, the grievant scurried
Foremost the truth is buried

A self-righteous mob clamour,
incensed by allegations gossamer.

'Tis true, the devil dwells within
Pray who? 'em Beguiled by spin?

In introspection lies the key,
but they smash the door, to see

the ominous figure, in a hood,
is but a lover of faith, and good

actions in pursuit of greater good
are the easiest to be misunderstood.

But before the monster in defence spoke,
defiant torches took the house in smoke.

Midst falling cinders dawned comprehension,
blood scrawled: “it lies in self-ascension.”