I hate talking...

But i have a lot to say.

Im very rude...

But i tell people i dont know to have a nice day with every ounce of my heart.

Im very shy...

But im inquisitive, curious, amicable, funny, and usually the conversation starter.

Im cautious...

Yet completely impulsive.

Im clean... And neat....!

But sometimes im too lazy for a shower......

4 days at a time which is repulsive....

Im energetic...

But im too in love with my couch to show you.

Im aggressive...

But im too empathetic and laid back to hurt you...

I love my life...

But it hards to accept the trials...

I want a wife....

......i dont want a wife.....

I want a family....

But its hard to make one when youve never had one....

Hmmm....  

Maybe i should wait....

There's a smith.....

I think about how you skim and past my sentence's of deep thought

if you could meet me and I you,
what would I say that can interest you?

should compliment the fact on how gracefully you wear, wore, have those shoes,
or stare in your brown, green-blue-hazel-crystal-transparent eyes e.t.c
speak to you about what you do.
speak to you about what you think.
show me a sign that you exist. exceed my imagination as I try to bring you to life through pen an ink

im a nice person

I think about how you skim and pass my sentence's of deep thought.

Ask yourself questions that only God can answer.
Ask yourself.
Ask Yourself.

my pace rhythms in twos as i walk with two ton shoes.

i sing these beautiful blues.

i saw that my clock didn't bother to wake me
and down the stream of dissolute sleep my dream took me.

i lived these beautiful blues

i rushed out of my empty apartment slowly.

i viciously pushed the elevator button lazily.

my world is bathed in contradiction.

I love to think about you.
9:41 pm
Traveling along route 222
In the back of a uhaul truck
Thinking tragic thoughts of possible accidents,
I love to think about you.

I get nervous.
I get anxious.

This matress is very uncomfortable.
The fouton we slept on was too.

I remember kissing you gently on it.
Lean to the left too far and it would flip.

Then on the floor we locked lips.

I love to think about you.

I hate the fact the minutes pass two,
Without me missing you.

Your warm embraces.

How you smell my neck.
How I embrace your scent.

I hate to love like a mindless fool.

I'm a coward when you touch me.

I would love to be Kim Jong (Yung) Un.
    fat, rich, and powerful,
              make my people believe our world is indestructible,
                           all the while keeping them malleable and gullible.
I could keep my people stuck.
         make them sleep in fear,
             if I manage to hear they don't like they way I clean my ears.
ill be terrible with criticism,
          make terrible decisions,
                and I'll also build hotels for no one to live in em'.
Ill try and start **** because I'm spoiled and have this strange pride in which I think I covet something when it never was rightfully really mine.

   But its alright,
I am who could be heard,
who should be feared,
and I should be the center of attention,
                          in an auditorium where everyone was taught                  
since birth to praise me and my family.

but im pretty content with the fact that I can type this and not get my skull bashed in by the militant police, because of political scrutiny.

*** is.....
My finger tips touching your skin.
*** is....
blowing air on  your abdomen.
*** is....
kissing your chest.
*** is....
*** is....

I broke my knuckles and hands on those who raised their hands in disrespect,
Towards
you,

For you I've monsooned enough tears to fertilize dry lands so that you may prosper.

Because of you,

I may become the man both of you have waited so patiently for I to be.

For I to become.

i have the tendency to say more than what will make sense.

i tend to lose more than what i wish to gain at my own expense.

i know as a person i can be terribly dense.

i know that i love someone who probably is afraid to face what i fearlessly face.

big mama told me
its undoubtedly obsession

i told big mama
mama its passion

big mama told me
im trying to pull you out of a hole

i told big mama
i want to keep digging

i know ill find gold

i was told that if can
            search hard enough
                       love hard enough
                            believe hard enough
                                 fight hard enough.....
and if i endure long enough i would receive what I've always wanted.
but i want is acceptance.

i want the world to recognize that
the woman i swap spit with
and trade secrets with
and touch privates with
and trade tears with
and write letters to
and whisper in her ear "you are incredible"
and keep her in my embrace until i seem desperate
and i look like can never release you
because i need you
if if i can only see you for a little bit...

she could be the woman i will live with
the woman i joke with
who gives me feelings that i choke with
the lady i am in love with...
                          could be slipping out of my finger tips...
and all of these things that i so carefully thought of and said....
                                        
               ­                        could all be *******...

   i have the tendency to say more than what will make sense....
  


and that concludes my 4:00 pm appointment

I kiss a cigarettes *** more than my boss's

But hey, its a habit for me.

Let me take a breather,
Release a bit of stress,
                           ....later
                          .....only later I regret.
"**** I have to quit" I whisper to cigarette,
As I inhale what's left of it.

I take a match
Light a match
   Scratch a itch
    Smoke it fast
      In and hale
        Ex and hale
          Anxious
Yes
I'm going to hell.
I sin inside a body of nice.
There's more worth in a box of mice,
MORE THAN ME frankly, because I can't have the bravery to stop myself from killing myself indefinitely.

Hell...nicotine addiction is practically slitting the wrists  of your lungs.

The sweet splendor that is the saliva that trickles on your lips.

The undulating waves of your bosoms shake with every whip,
Of my hands to your bottom.
Applause for the naughtiness that soon has gotten,
My love so rotten to the core because of me.
Vexed due to *** of quite the variety.
Shake the squeaky bed and step on creaking floors.
Lifting her to ceiling.
Scratch marks on cheap floor.
Must lock door,
Must wrestle to bed.
Leave the this beast alone,
Give in to selfish request.
The likes of ***** love is not like what it seems on tv where apparently love is shaped cylindrical whilst my millions of my children race both aimlessly and innocently only to be flushed down through a porcelain waste disposal drain.
What if one my daughters and sons have the potential to be the next leader of our race.
Their race to *****, blocked by latex.
My guilt, my awkwardness,
Lead to guilty ***.
How not she cares of pain in her abdomen.
Give it to me daddy, she whispers down my neck.
However gradually I forget, moments of quiet where rain trickled in our eyes as I whispered words that should be said when someone is about to die.
I wish I could spit out those words as if lie.
I try.
But words of three I mean seriously.
But words I've spoke a time of many.
But words of meaning...

You tell me.

the kisses she blesses me with are like kissing marshmellows

When I was fourteen,
I didn't know how to treat a girl.
                                                         ...let alone pleasure one.
This worried me.
I needed to practice.
until I found she.

oh, she smelled of Clorox and had the fashion sense of a child.
she had a gap in her teeth the size of mountains creek,
her body had the texture of a water bed...
however....
                   ...so did her *******.
but nobody was going to know or notice,
the filthy swine would ****** a bovine queen with huge *******.

thus began an unforgettable experience of ******* and false intimacy.
the experiments,
the tests,
of making love,
or forging ***.
making memories, forged with regrets.

she put up with my exploration and experimentation for nearly a year.
or two....
                 ...three...
however discrete.
I was embarrassed of walking down the street with my hands clasped with hers.
But, never felt bad when it was under her shirt, or skirt, *****...
I was (and am) a pervert.

I remember I told she sweet things, just to get the,
two *******,
two thighs,
a cannoli for she,
and finger food for me.

I took she behind buildings,
in parks,
in woods,
in dark,
behind a bank,
in alley,
but almost rarely...
                                  ...in my house.
hmm...

when I was fourteen...

"how does it feel to be an adult?" someone asked me.
I said, "it feels like I didn't sleep for days"
           ..I mean..
              ...child is what I wish to be...
                                                           ­       ...what I wish stay.
how I miss the way I misbehaved like wild animal.
how I was really ignorant and irrational.
Most of all,
I was optimistic and positive,
carefree on how life was to be lived,

clueless about what aids did,
happy with a Chico-stick,
instead of being worried about where I was putting it.

someone asked me, "how do you know you are a man?"
I said, "well ma'am, excuse me while i look in my pants, ill show you an example"
I will become one, when I want to Raise one.

A plane made of tin cans soars in flames through the sky.
Black smoke trails its tail as it plummets to ground.
I stand.
I watch.
              unfazed.
The nose of the jet crashes to  the earth and it burst,
into tin butterflies,
which undoubtedly, to the skies they return.
                                                         ­                      I wake.
in the same room,
in the same bed.

the same place was I, when the sun rose,
and dove into the horizon.

the same sky,
the same clouds.

the same smell of the sewage rising through the streets I trek.
the same people at the corner store that check,
for loose cigarettes, gossip, trash talk and street knowledge I bet.

I forget.
I'm confused.

What may be normal for you may differ for me,
when gang members intimidate everyone they see,
on the crowded concrete streets of Broad St,
bums ask for change for something to eat,
then run to store like ***** for cigarette.

Is this "Normal" for you?
for me, its as plain and repetitious as a scratched CD.

I wish you could borrow my soul to understand me.

My tongue turns numb to excessive drinking of cheap liquor and ***.

Cold Fire Liquid touches my lips,
dances with my tongue,
slides down the chute of mine throat,
into the pond of digestion.

squinted eyes, foul breath,
cup in one hand while the other cups breast.
sit in daze while animals make mess.
start conversation I will surely forget.

forget what taste tastes like; all tastes of leather.
must try to dance with grace of feather
a curios thought and sentence of irony,
"this is a night to remember"

finally I take off to home of mine.
time I check on mine wrist,
words rise from my watch and say, "BLISS"
then dissipate into a "liqoury" mist.

I treck cracked streets like creature risen from grave.
I ***** through the streets.
give route was what I gave,
to crack fiends, thief's, hoodlums, and they
saw a sloshed 17 year old and thought, "mah boi chillin tadai"

but just to be honest that never happened...
                
...but it might today

Sweat rolls down my back in a hot white room.

A very large fan that blows nothing but more hot air.

My lights are off and into my t.v I stare.

i'm restless.
I cant sleep...
                       ...I didn't eat...
                                                 ....did some laundry...
why don't I feel clean....

I shower...
                 ...the dirt on my head
...on my chest...
...on my arms...
...travel with the water to the trunks that be mine legs...

..naked...wet..
                          ...free...
          ...content...
satisfied?
                ...I am.
I begin to sing...
                            ...random words that a warm shower can bring.

my soap; My mic.
my shower head; My camera man.
my bathtub; My Stage

reluctant to turn the *** of my shower, I am.
but I do.

I step through the thick layer of steam,
that makes it slightly difficult to breath.

but I wanted to stay with my heat.
the heat of moisture and steam.

I sit on my toilet and enjoy the tropical atmosphere in my bathroom.
I begin to whistle an exotic tune.
I tap my feet to the rhythm of my hands.
now I've become a one man band playing for kicks amongst an island in the Caribbean.
salsa,
          merengue,
                             bachata,
all of a sudden I noticed how warm and calm I was.
how happy and jolly I was.
how I felt so "irishy" and "springy"

I dress myself without drying my body and I stare into the mirror with a smile on my face.

I open the door, everything became dark again.
I put my dirt caked clothes inside my hamper.
my clothes felt damp.
I took off my shirt.
I turned off my lamp.
popped in a dvd.

and stared into the portal of entertainment intently.

Sweat rolls down my back in a hot white room.

A very large fan that blows nothing but more hot air.

My lights are off and into my t.v I stare.

i'm restless.
I cant sleep...

a bucket of water is in front of me.
half full to be exact.
my mother was sick in her room.
I knew how to bring her health back.
a handful of dirt
                              ....dandelions and moss fluff...
              ...a bushes leaves and some other nasty stuff...
puddle water and my dogs chew toy...
                   for flavor...
banana peels and orange peels
and exract of rose...
i amcompletelety sure this will make my mother feel 18 again...
       or so my 5 year old brain assumed.
the fume of my potion smelled of a polluted ocean in a very unpopular beach.
the smell of low tide and the texture of as snails body.
mommy was sleeping.
pacing my steps
                            ...very....
                                           ...quietly...
                                                             ...i apprached my mommy with the ocean potion...
                        ...dipped my 5 year old hand in the pulpy potion with chew toys
peels
mud
   ...shivers reeled through my skin...
but i had to make sure my mommy would be mommy again.
    " mah..." i whined
              "maaaaa..MAAAAAAAH!"

as quickly as i screamed was as quickly as she awoke

she saw the potion and took a whiff of my improvised concoction and bolted to the bathroom

"oh poo.." i thought. "i shouldve added mushrooms"

I have no reason to write.
however my muscles move my fingers,
my muscles urge my wrist-
BLAH
          BLAH
                    BLAH...
the pathetic attempt of sophisticated literary rag tag rhyming is giving me a headache.
why should i tie words with words of little meaning?
why should i disturb your peace with problems ive released to millions of strained eyes staring at a computers screen.

i apologize...

to make you read about what annoys me...

Reader...
             ...forgive me...
now you know i think pesimistically.
along with all the other millions of strained eyed thinkers like me.
    how i think that if i invite thee to party within a profile  of this website so you could see that i cant sleep and tie words with words of little meaning.
crazy me.
thats what i be.

what would life be like...
                                        ...if we lived for one day?
How would you...
                                 ...waste away?
What could you do...
                                    ...that didnt seem like such a waste?
Would you spend the first-day-of-the-last-day-of-your-life texting....
                                                                         ....or watvhing t.v?
Making love?
                                                                                                ...or having ***... very roughly.

Make yourself a memory for every iris to bloom with you in mind?
                      or be a nightmare for your generation...?
**** their Rest in Peace.
                                            ...they will remember me....

Im not so sure when it comes to me...
                                                                 ...frankly for 17...
                                            ...I do nothing...
I write poetry...
pollute my lungs daily...
read?  maybe...
make love to the lady i promised myself i would marry?

Donate my organs...
                                     from every vein...
                        ...to every synapse in my brain...
                                  ...let me be of use...
OR START A WAR AND GIVE THE WORLD HATE AND BLOOD.....
no...
thats silly...the opposing sides will be dead on the same day they decided their differences will make their faces remebered someday.

peace...
             ...instinct...
                                 ..could lead us..
..calmy..
no time to learn nor explain

Let us..
             ..birth..
                          grow..
                                     live..

and die....

i have yellow teeth from smoking cigarretes.

every time i inhale to breathe
as an exhale leaves my lungs.
a putrid and foul smell excels through my blackening lungs.
the smell of cigarettes and the cotton mouth i forget that i get.

but things like that dont:
bother me
upset me
things dont get me worried.

i have the tendancy to ignore all that is flaw within me.

actually i embrace these things proudly.
oddly enough thats the stuff i need to be pretty.

nicotine breath
worsening health
my minimum wage wealth that is gone before i can say cat.
THATS A FACT!
it bothers me to see how uncomfortable people appear to be when they simply all but just exist.
thats how it should be plainly seen.

i mean you exist....
EXIST with purpose that may surface to your unknown dome that holds this unrequitted idea of flaw.

hell if i think im pretty with my flaws, i hope you could imagine me in my draws. ;)

a smile is health.

but first,
                                              accept...
                                                          self...

there are old men who scratch lotto tickets more often than a monkey scratches its ***.
   even though the chance is slim, somehow...
for some odd **** reason they are so sure of their chances.
that maybe Just MAYBE.
they'll win.
   there are old men who play piano blindly; beautifully.
then there's a young man who sees perfectly; plays terribly.
there are men who know no knowledge of high school and or college but are certified with life.
its usually the student who asks the elders of their previous endeavors who seek answers to current questions of the time grandpa lost all of his money and life during the depression.
who knew?
monkey *** old man better win the lotto.
he deserves it.
  every man his age deserves a strike of luck....
                              
                                  with 1 buck...

my fingers tickle keys about pointless topics that many strangers read
   i try to impress those with a rythm i attempt to keep
i think of impressing others even when i sleep
  but it gets tougher and tougher when the same **** keeps happening.
talking about crimes in streets
thats redundant
talking about drugs
thats redundant
talk about depression?
  PLEASE! we're in a recession.
if your tears aint making me money
start walking honey
because starving yourslef to skin bones isnt worth that emotional sydrome.
we need to get grown and become logical, not philosophical.
what if is just some ******* that will make smash into an obstacle pretty quick.
im sick of the same ****
same ****
same ****
same ****
same ****
same ****
my days are painful and slow
they treck alongside me like a snail in a hurdle racing a turtle.
there's no prgression
no incentive
no reason to be inventive
because its all about the money not the culture
as the vultures tear us to ribbons
rich ******* sippin on lifes bosoms is cushioned with oppurtunity.
all i would like to say is if you plant a seed
give water.
not need.

Put my soul on the waiting list of life and death my dear god
I want to explore the world with awe the way a toddler does my god
I want to question the sole purpose of existence the way a child does my god
Why can’t i be optimistic and or stupid and ignorant and happy the way a 6 year old is my god?
Why must you build us men and women with the ability to learn more of the ugly than the beauty my dear god?
Why do your trees and your mountains reach for the heavens when your gravity keeps us imprisoned to the soil you so carefully made for my feet my dear god?
Why do your care for me so, when the world you created is slowly being devoured by the very men and women you spoil with your fruit my god?
why do i feel that you are so proud of every single one of us that you will let us destroy each other with the very gifts you’ve bestowed us with my dear god?
An idea is a weapon.
A talent is ammunition.
A story is a religion
Infinite
Omniscient
But distant.
Why do my ideas resemble that of a seductress my dear god?
Easy to have, but hard to keep.
you speak to me so much that I’m never able to sleep.
i forgot what a dream is supposed to be.
but terrified i am at three at the devils hour
i feel his power all around me.
every time i see a sound or my sleepy eyes race back forth frantically i begin to hallucinate crazily of the evil that is trying to take me.
But from a dream i awake.
Granted my life i take
Awake with thanks i do
To something in the sky
Do i thank?
I do
Many believe god isn’t what is to be thought of as omniscient.
He’s just as beautiful as the man who appears every night around the world on a fateful day called Christmas
I’m guessing the purpose of a belief has missed us.
Hoping for something is the thing that keeps us living.
That drives.
We live for something
Always.
We live for our babies
As men
Our ladies and queens
As women
Our families and children
As children
Our hopes to live as men
Our hopes to live as women
Our hopes to live as man and wife
Our hopes to live as man and man
Our hopes to live as wife and wife
To live as mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers
To live as blood cells swimming through our veins
We are the blood of the world.
We are coursing through the veins we call streets.
Now you tell me.
Isn’t blood red?
Isn’t it all the same despite the its type
Alive it keeps we.
The only difference is the type and still **** aint change
Because no matter what
WE GIVE LIFE.
Let’s not differentiate
I now pronounce myself human and life.
CAN I LIVE?
Amen-

Unfortunately....there isnt much to see in new jersey.
.....well at least in my county.

All i see are leafless trees waiting to be pollinated by bees.
....well the small ones with pink flowers at least.

All i feel is a gentle breeze coursing through my finger tips to my forearm. Its pleasant.
....Now its hot...what a tease.

i tried to decribe what lies behind my window screen.

But its a mini project.
                                      .....there isnt much to expect...
                                                                ­                               ...or see.

It could be the morning or the afternoon.

January or maybe even june.

The sun may rise and shine my face.

Or it may fall as the moon rises with grace.

There could be a blizzard that blows glass shards for snowflakes.

There could be an april shower that rains pumas and wolves instead of cats and dogs.

It can be calm and quiet and sleepy.

OR BE LOUD AND BUSTLING LIKE NEW YORK CITY.

You could be content with your life as a person....

I could be comfy with knowing im a mistake.

I could be comfy knowing that my mother was *****.

I could be comfy with knowing im a spitting image of my father.

I could be calm with bare skies

I could Have ravenous thunderous eyes as it rains pumas and wolves.

I could be apathetic as i blow glass shards from merciless lips.

I AM the mistake that painted a portrait by mistake when i saw your fists touch her face.

I AM the mistake that sings with faith and hope to the sun knowing that a better day will come.

I AM better than what i was and im glad that i am such a mistake.
               ........because in all reality...
There is no such thing....

Dreary and stormy clouds rain with me whenever  I speak.

The ominous clouds recede when I notice her concern for me.

How she looks up at me only to feel the cold bitter wind of my pain howling, and my salty raindrops dropping on her flawless soft cheeks.

I...try to.....think, "why and how do you manage to console me successfully with each attempt?"

Her....optimism.

My....pessimism

Her smile.

My wrath.

She tames me easily and gracefully.

gradually the fury I acquired is forgotten.

Erased.

She blesses me with a kiss on my trembling lips.

My sturdy build in character was met with disaster.

I am a young man of pride.

In front of the one I am supposed to show that I AS A MAN, WHO MUST DEFEND AND PROVIDE:
Protection...
                       Love......
                                   And a happy life...
                       ...Cried...
            I....was weak for a moments memory of a dreadful war with an infernal enemy.....

Melli was there for me....holding a sobbing young boy.
Letting her boy...
              ....destroyed
And....pained...
     Exclaim and shout and foam at the mouth!

Curse the names of those who've caused this one boy......
     .......pain.

The feeling of her gentle arms wrapping around me...over my shoulders made me feel more at ease....
             ...she whispered...
                                              
"Dont­ worry.....it'll be okay."
      One more kiss....
A reassuring embrace...
   We stood...I held her hand.

The morning is interesting!

It can also be VERY boring....

However, the fact that i act like i ignore the magic of the morn shows that i am close-minded to something as exciting as opening your eyes to LIFE.

Ever have the feeling of waking up numb?
Waking up oblivious to both the world and your peers?
Boarding up your ears and shutting the shades that cover your eyes because you feel like the morning is as close to the moment before you die?
Trust me.
I CAN understand (or maybe you cant reciprocate with me)

But.....a cup 'o foldgers coffee and a sweet spongy pound cake could take that ****** feeling away and give you an oppurtunity to avoid apathy and floating aimlessly and hatefully through the world.

The caffeine thats currently flowing through me makes me want to create for somebody; ANYBODY for that matter.
Be the cause of laughter after a corny joke i make.
Or maybe just whisper sweet somethings to a beautiful girl that enjoys my corny ways.
What i would like to say to you is....
How are you feeling?

The roaring engines of soaring planes resonates through every alley way, street, and through every crack in the concrete.

The rainy opaque and gray clouds pour a feel of solemnity upon a sleepy city.

The melancholy beauty of my rainy day.

The gentle pitter patter of the drizzling rain caresses my face as i slow my pace to embrace the sound amongst the rain.

The brisk breeze that chills to a temperature ranging amongst the 50's travels through my slightly drenched hoody.

A damp feeling spreads through my body.

The clopping and the squelching noise of busy feet walking and stomping through wet sidewalks.

The chatter of pedestrians.

The complaining religious humanitarians.

To all of that....
                              I Listen......

Have you ever taken a moment to look at the cowlick on your head in the morning and say to yourself, "**** it"
hover amongst your home gracefully and comfortably through you cozy warm home,
Scratch something on your body, stop at your bathroom and ***...
Afterwards stare at your reflection in the mirror happily, laughing at how comfortable you can be.
At this point you begin to brush your teeth.
You notice that you appear foolish as you progress.
Drink some mouth wash, rinse, spit, shine.
At one point you whisper the world is mine.
You dress, smell fresh, devour some breakfast and speed on out the door.
For you and only you,
there is something great in store .

I shuffle my "socked" feet to the window to see the blue and red lights flashing brightly.

A few minutes ago, sirens blaring loudly.

Now there's two police cars running idly.

Frantically a woman scans the vicinity.

A officer questions the woman both carefully and calmly.

I watch carefully from my five story apartment.

Its an eerie feeling, watching the police stand as idly as their vehicles in the night.

As if they wish they could've dealt with something more interesting than a domestic fight between man and wife.

One of the officers come out of the building with a respectably tall man.

His hands clasped together as his wrists were bound by cuffs.

I wasn't surprised to see that his demeanor was resonating a sense of, "I don't give a ****!"

The woman locked eyes with the guy and immediately began foaming at the mouth with anger, pain, contempt, and disdain because of beatings and bruises that she has obtained.

From Him.

He was calm, cool, and collected.
From what it seemed, nothing he regretted.

Unaffected.

Before his head disappeared within the police vehicle, I could've sworn i saw him smile.

The dispatch scratched through the car.

Complex codes and orders resonated from afar, as the cruiser quietly accelerated, then the siren blared through the cold brittle midnight air.

Quietly i stood there and stared and stared until the both the sound and sight of the vehicle was no more.

I shuffled my "socked" feet back to my bed.
Back to sleep.

If you walk far enough into any writers mind you'll pass complex buildings,
Complex roads,
And Complex people clamouring and chattering through busy bustling streets.
A car, a bus,
A Train, a plain
That really ***** *** who's obviously insane.
With shattered separated teeth, you can plainly see he's "Dentally" impaired
Im actually getting scared just by the sight of...uh....him? Her? WHATEVER!
But for some odd reason,
As strange as it seems,
Those men, women, children, random mailmen, bums, buses, train, plains, and cars always have a place to go.
A rush to a destination you may never know.
How fast or how slow they go isnt mandatory
Its variable, optional, and selective.
ALSO....No matter how complex the situation,
TRAFFIC IS TRAGIC!
Getting from point 'A' to point 'B' without delay (and reaching your destination the same day) is like magic.
But that rarely happens on Writers Block.
Everything is stopped and/or clogged.
I believe that at times of tragic traffic, the magic of a clean flow of creativity is blocked by yellow tape and a cop who defends the crime scene angrily.
If a tourist of an idea gets to close, the cop will huff and puff with his gut, " Back Up! CAN'T YOU SEE THE SIGN?! THIS IS WRITERS BLOCK!"
Thus the mind is confined to skyscrapers of undefined stories, words, memories, and melodies of rhyme that just float aimlessly through the sky like clouds. The hard part is gathering them when you're feet are safely on the ground.

End?

Our Fists are made Bronze.
But our Pride is paved in Gold.
We don’t Care if we are told that we can’t.
“That’s your business, I already know my goal”
Whether I have to break someone’s nose to put food on the table.
I WILL DO IT.
If there is a problem with my family.
I WILL PULL THROUGH IT.
Work until the sun rises and deal with a city that despises the weak.
WE WILL DO IT.
Eating half cooked steak on a 2 minute break on a job that leaves your life at stake more often than the moment you awake when your soul is vulnerable for the devil to take but your thankfulness of living keeps you at bay from his grip and through his fingers you slip…..for today.
But what I can’t seem to realize is why we believe lies as to improving our lives by giving the men who advertise the happy lives of rich families. But these men know they are talking to ****** salaried men. They can barely afford to buy their kids a memento to remember them
Our women, our goddesses, our blessed doorway to life.
How they distribute themselves to us men with such truth and such life and delusions of becoming ones wife when all us men want is for you to clean our pipes as we clean yours but after all that’s done things result to boredom.
To separate ways we go walking slow and in thought contemplating the warring conscience and what weapons may be used so that it may be fought.
But a solution isn’t found, then we stare and look around for a lover who is down to comfort US; WE; ALL.
With a stupid *** rebound that’s as commonly found as penny on the ground.
For a moment the secure feeling of feeling found when you were lost makes you feel important as if you have a cost.
We know not of what we’re worth.
I know not of what I am worth.
All I know is that I speak and as long as I keep this ritual of keeping my words rhythmical I will not worry about those who are rather cynical. My thinking is always critical and expanding in different ways as to how I may make money for talking each day.
I wish can explain why we strain and endure so much.
All I do is complain and refrain from reaching out for whatever fell from my clutch.
Life is simply becoming a very big game of double-dutch.
You can’t rest your feet for a second.
Urban life is typical and stereotypical because our success rate is minimal. We are looked upon as animals without no brain and we are considered deranged for our ways of escape, of being, who we are seeing, who we are beating, fighting, biting, kissing, hugging, *******, touching, laughing, snapping, applause.

3 walls and a door enclosed me inside.
Not very private place, but at least I can hide my face.
The only thing I can hide.
Admittedly my stench drenches the public restroom.
It’s funny…there are two men in here
HAH they’re doomed!
To smell my might they will!
To waft my potential they will!
I overheard one of them squeal, “This guy must be radioactive!”
That’s a compliment larger than a continent coming from a complete stranger! And it makes me feel a bit more complete knowing that in this particular genre of masculinity, no one can compete.
_________________­_____

The doors of the public restroom opened and closed twice.
Hah I cleared the room.
Literally!

I sit quietly in my 3 wall one door stall taking the dump of the century.
I don’t know it keeps flowing continuously.
Probably from that fiesta-tequila-taco party
And the stench of the plague surrounding me.
But I’m just there sitting contently
I’m invisible.
The door slams suddenly and the sound of the metallic door startled me.
Goosebumps snaked through my arms.
“What if these men wish to do me harm” I thought as I crossed my arms to grab each bicep.
I hear a lot of rustle and tussle and laughing and ruthless giggling, name calling, mocking
Finally a beating.
I wondered what could’ve been happening.
I couldn’t do a thing due to my limited state.
(That’s a lie, I was ******* bricks)
The sounds those ruthless thugs made with their fists as they connected with the boys ribs, chest, face, jaw.
All of this I saw behind my 3 wall one door stall.
Finally with the final flash of fist
The boy was kissed by it, broken by it, and hit the floor because of it.
I can’t believe that these boys were ruthlessly attacking a young boy…
In the bathroom…
Today…
The 3 boys brooded over the motionless battered boy
I kept seeing their limbs connecting with the boy’s body.
Chest
Face
Ribs; a ruthless beating was something I was watching through a crack in my 3 wall 1 door stall TV.
I saw all quietly, breathing calmly.
Also trying immensely not to ****!
For some reason the 3 lost boys seemed comfortably contented with the battery they’ve committed.
One boy stood out and put his right foot out.
A vicious hokey pokey
The moment the lost boys foot was about to connect,
The boy on the floor acted as if he was upon war.
Grabbed the boys foot and flipped him gracefully with such grace and “amour”
In the broken boys hand was a piece of glass.
With a motion so quick and jab of his fist with a downward ****** the glass peaked in the lost boy’s chest so passionately as if it was done with lust.
The gasping and moaning and sobbing tears
Clenched teeth, glass beneath his chest braking and tearing, were signaling pain.
The groaning lost boy won’t ever see the sun again.
He repeatedly pulled and pushed the glass shiv.
Peeking through his ribs,
Poking through his stomach,
Failing his liver and collapsing his kidney.
In and out he kept repeating.
I kept hearing him say, “I’M REALLY WORTH BEATING?!”
The two boys frozen have chosen to stay back as the battered boy continued his attack.
Stabbing and stabbing
Warm blood splashing his face.
“**** THIS!” THE LOST BOY SCREAMED!
So out of the bathroom he attempts to run out of.
My automatic toilet flushed……!
My heart and soul nearly extinguished.
The rushing boy turned his head for a millisecond to the sound of my stall, only to return to the ****** face of the one who was destroyed in the first place.
A motionless moment of silence and eyes opened wide
In them, hysteria and animosity combating gracefully.
The battered boy’s wrist was twisting.
The lost boy’s body was twitching.
To the floor he slumped with a thump and the glass shard stuck in his chest.
The last lost boy destroyed mentally and practically ******* his pants
(As was I!)
Lay in disbelief paranoia and completely paralyzed.
That was the first time the last lost boy contemplated immediate suicide but couldn’t find anything to end his life
“NO GOD PLEASE NO, NOO NOOOOOO”
To the corner of the restroom he crawled right at the place where my stall lay.
Echoing footsteps and whimpering suspect only for that subject to a loud
Slamming on the door as the battered boy’s foot kept connecting the boys head and the floor with more impact
More force more anger
Pain
Rage
Revenge
It extends
To abuse
He refused to be the son of a recluse and he was a victim of…….
Three motionless bodies.
Chills raced through my body in my quiet restroom and my 3 wall one door stall.
“You can come out now” the battered boy said to me…….

I’ve always felt alone, one way or the other.
I’ve never escaped this lonely feeling.
I was always avoided.
But my existence was acknowledged.
girls and boys found comfort amongst their peers.
I found comfort amongst my toys, my mother, my sister, and brother.
I always kept in mind that….no one really cares at all.
Don’t feel bad for me
Don’t think you know me
Don’t attempt to sum me up in a sentence you can’t even define.
Don’t act like you will take that advantage of the given time.
Don’t think I have emotional problems without a certain way to solve ‘em.
I accept the fact that I have a problem
If you think you can actually care for me,
SHOW ME!
You won’t know me
I won’t let you
Don’t act as if you are paying attention
Please do continue looking at a social media notification
I’ll let you wait for that text of an ex or the next
Or a regret
Or bad ***
Or a rumor or gossip that spreads faster than a ****** disease.
Or faster than the ignorance such rumors breed
And the need to make a person feel the need to hate when all he will do and will want to do is love
Show happiness and affection and emotion
Show that MY INTEREST is worth more than a Trojan
FOCUS on my eyes because I could die if we don’t lock eyes in my final moments
The gate of heaven and hell open every time I reach a point of anger
It is to the extent of danger.
And every time I anger
I hunger ravenously for violence
Like the likes of a hungry wolf trekking blindly through the blizzard bitten tundra.
Desperate
Ravenous
An untimely encounter would sure be disastrous.
FOCUS
Stare into my eyes because you never know when happy Mikey will die
I’m telling you that I want someone to look at me and to see that I am living.
Don’t think I’m a child with the temperament of a hot summer day.
I don’t need the false acknowledgment of existing falsely in someone’s fantasized life.

I tend to exaggerate when frustrate I become.
Angry and scream I do when I realize nothing there is to turn to.
Like ape I roar
Lonely I became
Lonely I adore
Gold is the sound of silence
The feeling of being cared for emits the fragrance of violet.
The moment my mouth opened so I may speak.
My anger will bind us.
At the wrists.
At the feet.
There is a rhythm of thought that I will never follow.
A rhythm I will never keep.
Like loose change, or that strange knick knack a family member makes you receive.
I will be scattered wildly and randomly.
FOCUS.
I may not always be here.

END?

I was restless in my bed.
My stomach kept churning and undulating.
That’s when I remembered, "HER"
She was always restless and energetic inside of me. I never slept because of her.
I was 5 months.
But all so suddenly, now that she's is gone what am I to do now?
I gave birth to a fetus.
Not a baby.
When I laid my eyes on my daughter glazed in amniotic fluid and blood, a flood of tears and shock rocked back and forth in my soul.
All because I was told she would have Down syndrome and the expenses of caring for this sick child exceeded my husband’s income.
My 5 year old asked me, "What is that mommy?"
Subconsciously I told her, "That’s your sister"
She said, "no its not!"

Weeks have passed and I am without my baby.
I am losing my mind.
I was just fine two minutes ago.
I look in the mirror and make myself pretty.
I wanted to make myself look my best because I was at my worst.
I see a wet stain on my purple shirt.
Why is this happening to me?!
What did I do?!
The need to feed my child.
The need to be a mother is suffocating
I feel completely obsessed.
Who will I feed with my milk filled *******?
Overflowing randomly; feeling self-conscious when I'm amongst guests because I am afraid they will notice the milk stains on my chest.
Every single night I feel my baby close to me.
Inside me.
Moving abnormally and viciously, kicking me gently but with a healthy strength of vitality.
I still feel it.
There isn’t a day that goes by without me crying at night.
My daughter keeps complaining that her sister is not in sight.
I do all in my power to be a mother and explain in fragile terms that our baby is with god and she will never have to suffer.
Be she doesn’t understand
I don’t expect her to.
So I stay awake for days.
I’m restless.
There is literally no one I can talk to that will make me feel better or put my daughter back in her womb so that she may further develop.
My 17 year old is always worried about me.
He was always talking to my belly and to the baby
That was exciting and so strange.
My son was taking his father’s job by caring for me, talking to me, being present next to me…until the baby was stolen from me.
She used to kick every time she heard her brother’s voice.
My five year old was going to have a friend.
She wasn’t going to be alone in her room playing with her dolls, giving them names, making them her sisters.
I frequently hear her say, "I love my sister with all my heart. My name is jaji and I’m your best sister ever"
First my heart breaks.
Then I start to cry.
My worried seventeen year old comes and asks me why.
I tell him what I feel, what I've felt, and what I’ve dealt with.
How the doctors basically told me giving birth to this baby was granting my death wish.
I felt a little selfish because I didn’t care about my life
I cared about hers.
But then I remembered about my two daughters and two sons.
How much they’ve suffered to see me smile.
My death will not make that worthwhile.
I have never felt this more depressed in my life.
So with this sacrifice of another one of the pieces of mine.
I’ve learned to endure and persevere through my difficult traumatic troubled life.
But inside...
Inside... my baby was still alive.