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KB Feb 2017
blue roses and unzipped jackets, looks like the cold doesn't want to enter your skin again so its painting guesses on the corner of silver st. and goat lane, you thought that saying its all good baby baby would make your crown look bigger but the diamonds fell off instead
KB Feb 2017
the sun and the moon and all of the dust between the height of your wings, they used to be full of flight but now I can touch the ice of orange rays and the red of dented craters beneath the pads of my ever fumbling fingers and it gives off a smoke in my stomach that even bullet exit wounds don't leave behind. i'm craving fizzy drinks again to numb out the stars in my eyes that won't stop constellating the white hope in your burning palms, have you been climbing blue fences again? the night doesn't tire often but the last comet that flew by last January the 7th looked exhausted and it had something to do with the way you blinked away fire from the moments you forgot to count
KB Nov 2016
I am what you’re alive for, and I’ll let you start over,
And over again, before the last chance you have is done.
My name is life; though it’s not always fun.
I live in your veins and breathe in your heart,
My name is passion, and I am very smart.
You were born to use me,
To live by me,
And to inhale and exhale me.
My name is love.
You can’t run away from passion, life, or love
But this might inspire you to bring out what’s underneath to above,
To let your inner Van Gogh out or maybe, just your soul.
Pleasing anything and everything but you,
They made it your ultimate life goal.
You may still think that’s exactly what you want.
Engineers, lawyers, doctors with crazy fonts.
But you come to think that maybe that’s not for everyone…
And for that, they all make fun.
But maybe, you’re good for something that doesn’t need you
To memorize formulas, letters, numbers, symbols alike, it’s true!
Maybe you, need to be memorizing shapes, lines, colours, and words that rhyme.
Despite the way no one else has your kind of flow, it isn’t a crime.
Don’t worry about judges or surgeons, with their fancy titles and big pay,
They have their own light, their own great ways.
If you’re better with a paintbrush, then stroke away, or splash, or stipple.
Anything to show them that art is not that simple.
Its takes courage to speak out what the world craves to be said,
If one doesn’t write books or poems, there’s nothing that will be left to be read,
And children rely on stories, it’s what keeps them innocent.
It also keeps the rest of us wide awake and vigilant.
So the world bursts at the seams,
With people aching to fulfill their vibrant dreams,
Of being the ones who can finally fly; oh so very high.
The world is bursting at the seams,
With people craving to feel the colours in ungrouped teams,
That pop and crackle and spark when touched.
Turn into stardust and glitter but in the hands, are tightly clutched.
But there might be a need of people,
Who love dandelions more than roses,
Who stand strong, even as every door closes.
Who play with ice rather than fire,
Who from their risk takings, would never retire.
And who rather they feel the softness of the sand
When the wind blows it around on the beach in their hands,
Than the blankets that they sleep on.
Who look to clean the chessboard of their enemy’s pawns.
But what we see is mainly what we hope to find,
And if we look at life with love we can find it to be amiable and kind,
One can achieve their goals if they let go of the headaches for a second.
Impossibilities should never be counted, thought of, or reckoned.
So breathe; you don’t have much left of your fast travelling time line.
Recite; you don’t have much air left but your voice is just so fine.
Write and your fingertips will never stop screaming,
Just like if you run, you will never stop beaming,
Never hitting the pavement with the steps of wraith.
And if you can feel... then you will always keep close faith.
You have not badly slipped, or played the wrong note.
Because even in the midst of beautiful gardens,
Weeds were never remote.
And then you walk through the streets of love.
Hand in hand with a culture fitting you like a glove,
As the smoke draws you in a feeling not unfit;
Feelings your heart clenches; at least you can hold it.
Some have lost this rare, valued treasure,
In the waters of functions and formulas, always measured.
So never swim with them if you are one to tight line,
At the end of your life you can say, “This life is mine.”
Always one to dream, never one to follow
Never let them tell you the mind is hollow
Always experiment, don’t be the child of a shadow.
And they put art at the lowest hierarchies,
Displacing the solution to locks on creativity.
Saying art is nothing but they don’t know where we’d be
Had shapes not evolved and paintbrushes never
Met paint and gave birth to an image you can see.
That you mixed and threw together, you’re clever,
No canvas should ever be empty,
Odd reasons say still… there are plenty.
And only an artist can solve that problem.
Breathing life into objects, one can make into an emblem.
So now what you do without math, science, or neither?
Yeh… I wouldn’t give up either.
KB Sep 2015
you never left the warm feelings that floated into the veins under my skin, the ink that stained permanent marks a lot like your name did my mind, I remember how your eyes looked in the sun, on Sunday mornings you preferred pancakes for breakfast - ones with white chocolate chips - and you left on a windy winter afternoon for an acting gig you 'couldn't pass up', I guess you weren't that good if i could almost smell the seconds that you'd close the door shut; your scent once owned the whole place. I always knew mountains came with valleys but I didn't know that we were at the edge of the country where the city begins and another time in my life unfolds.
KB Jul 2015
sinking in tides that like the blue nights you spent smoking out dream after nightmare until they turned to ashes of shattered glass bottles that once held your dusty peace together only distracted you from the haze left behind from your speed boat of orange memories and endless applauses of accomplishments, you are not a failure just because the ink in your pen ran out of rhymes, you are a full solar system with planets to call your own, the ropes at each moon are yours to call home and no amount of broken silhouettes will track anyone to your tents of stocked up dried out flowers, even when your heart is being licked with cold flames of metals you still cant fail to pronounce with the back of your scorching tongue
KB Jun 2015
The night you zipped the moon open
All you felt was the silver wind sharp on
Your face and a hand around your left
Ankle to hold you in place from running again
Two weeks and a couple of swallowed rocks
Later you're telling lies soaked in dim
Constellations that bleed the sun and
You know I can tell.
The ways you begged your hands to let up the
Grip of danger is still not replaced by caution but
The road is not as purple and gold and this lets
The waves breathe a little easier at night
Colour your skin in stories that sound like
Orange nights and metallic spray paint
So that the clouds in your stomach will be
Able to guide the rough waters close to
Home but nothing about you is home
And nothing about me belongs to one
KB Jun 2015
It is He who turned the words that echoed through walls of built up ego into towers of strength made of faith and prayer, obedience and consciousness – the best architecture knew I needed a blueprint that wasn’t covered in mustard coloured stains and red pen marks that led to nowhere good
2. It is He who untangled the blackening shackles from ties to this sticky, messy mirage of a world entwined to these wrists and instead taught to braid ladders to the heavens on its way to freedom which looks like His love, love that is eternity and eternity that isn’t an illusion; it’s a vision
3. It is He who, through every turn, slip and fault, stayed closer than the jugular vein and fished the despair right out of this muddled pond the colour of dust and rusting metals, teaching to swim and thank for the air filled lungs taken for granted even when I'm drowning, the water became clearer and the air cleaner and He still held His hand out, better than a lifeguard, He’s a guard for life
4. And now I'm trying to find another way to Him in these blessed nights to heal this aching splintered heart and solid iron fists made from fires only the roughest wood could spark up; in His name does the stomach starve so the soul can feed, where the toughest times are handled with sincerity, everyone becomes family, and strength is found underneath His love, overtop the rest of the world
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