Granting me one kiss,
places me in an eternal bliss,
reviving me like a flower in sunlight,
as it prepares me for my plight.
Life's plight which I face everyday,
as forces attempt to keep me at bay,
but the thought of you within my arms,
leads me to believe in life's charms.

But describing a kiss does not give you credit,
for what you have done to my soul,
this feeling is not something you can edit,
and without it my heart takes a toll.
And yet I cannot describe how I feel,
it is so much more than even-keel,
let me tell you my heart you did steal,
but on my end,
it is a pretty good deal.

You ripped my heart out,
like the dentist ripped my tooth,
grinding at my plaque,
and cutting out my vein.
pick and flick every bit,
to make me shine again.

To speak the truth is to offend,
but I do not have a kind word to lend,
as you scream and shout about my doubt,
expecting me to lie in order to please,
but I have no reason to appease.
In society the truth is cruel,
like how that homeless man smells like ****,
or how your still foolish, despite all the school,
but you must insist of living in a skit.
In this play everything is fine,
there are no stereotypes,
there are is no swine.
The fool in the corner was brought down hard,
by societies expectations, with which he was marred.

This is not the facts of life,
there is ******, ****, followed by strife,
people will **** for their own personal gain,
and when you want sun, it will often rain.
Some men work hard,
to see their life fall,
while others lay back,
and try to steal it all.
To recognize the truth is not a sin,
to bring it to our eyes is not offensive,
as we must learn to save other's skin,
instead of living life with only a grin.

It was a bit ago when you left,
You see, it caught me off guard,
I never considered you capable of theft,
But when you stole my heart, I took it hard.

The artistic industry devours us alive,
as it feeds off our drive to strive.
And as we mix our blood sweat and tears,
it merely grows bigger,
and plays off our fears.
But we do not quit the feeding,
as we cut ourselves wide open,
with our securities so misleading,
as we find ourselves surviving like pigs.
Eating up whatever we can get,
until we find ourselves trapped again,
fallen into someones debt,
while living in this pen.

I am looking off my balcony down into the street,
the occasional passerby looks up and meets my gaze,
only to drop it down to his feet,
as my own stays.
I begin to think of where he is headed,
to what lover he will meet,
perhaps he is already wedded,
but going off to cheat.
Possibly the man just committed a crime,
of ****** or ****,
while hes running from time.

I think of him again,
the next day on the road,
thinking of the worst that I can,
until I slowed.
I looked above me,
and saw a man looking down with blame,
I knew what he could see,
as I had seen the same.

Your hands grow moist as we start to slip,
Oh how I remember the days we were attached by the hip.
To feel your breath like a warm summers breeze,
Our hearts were like a puzzle that was finished with ease.
Every bit of you matched up with me,
When together, we finally felt free.

Something happened that shook the puzzle loose,
Suddenly I began to imagine tying a noose.
Our pieces were once so tightly attached,
It appears that we need some form of patch.
Our pieces clash without any excuse,
You are like a bomb with a short fuse.

Now we search halfheartedly in order to be complete,
But to search and learn what we lost would be an extraordinary feat.
We both hope to be completed together,
But we've yet to grasp we may be lost forever.

I used to live on the coast,
with the sun shining every day,
as the gentle breeze would rush under my arms.
I was dragged to a city by a wonderful host,
whilst getting caught in the the disorderly fray,
as I was never able to get the hang of its charms.
You see I'm still not used to the everyday ******,
and the typical poor mans plea,
I think  of the soft subtle waves which hid behind my door,
and the way the light glinted off the calm sea,
I do not think I will get used to this damp city with you,
but at least I always awake with the most beautiful view.

The ocean is a perfect metaphor,
alone, alive, unhappy, even content,
it almost feel's like that is what it's for,
but no-one can tell what I really meant.
Gently flowing onto a bay,
will make one think of a soothing scene,
but that is not what I am trying to say,
and that is what gives poetry its glowing gleam.
I can describe the hurt with waves,
or hate with a tsunami,
maybe the calmness within the caves,
as the ocean will will define me.

As we grow old the times seem darker,
but for the younger they have never been brighter,
as some speak of how things once were,
others speak of how things will be.
Our experiences are what shape our lives,
as a pessimist is one who set their hopes too high,
and the optimists are the ones who made their dives.
As the old grow more bitter,
and the young see life to glitter,
the old press their sadness upon the youth,
believing that they have yet to see the truth.
Acting as if the children are dumb,
incapable, foolish and yet to be hung,
but the adolescents are merely hopeful,
until they are subdued to not be so vocal.
Like a wildfire being subdued by a storm,
the young quiet down,
becoming worn and torn.
And as they grow old and see the mistakes,
they try to have the new youth hit the breaks,
but to remain strong and hopeful the youth must remain,
or else living in disparity, ignorance and pain.

Are our words not like a used up *****,
standing along over on 2nd street,
being used over and over,
like mashing a dead horses meat.
And as we insult, degrade and beat her,
until she is no longer wanted,
we only cause a stir,
and we walk away undaunted.
We do not look into the past,
unless it has a nostalgic feel,
nobody wanted her to last,
she was only a news stations spiel.
For our words reflect our past,
and the stories we tell of them,
but these stories will never last,
until we speak of a shining gem.

The words I write are not alright,
They appear to me out of the light,
From within me that there is a fight,
I hope my words explain my plight.

My words are wrong in many ways,
Hurting many for many days,
When I'm done I just feel haze,
Let's just hope this is only a phase.

The letters I put together to create each word,
Could control the sheep like a herd,
So I let my speech fly like a bird,
But sometimes my speech is a little slurred.

What I can do is not up to you,
To love, lie or always be true,
My words touch only a few,
But know I always wrote them for you.

Tie that noose around my throat,
and push me off that ledge,
watch my neck snap as I hang afloat,
and make a personal pledge.
The audience perks up,
you let out your howl,
decimating my name,
and putting me to shame.
I will never be like the man I see,
I am different and I am me.
This man has done acts of treason,
from adultery to lying,
all for no reason.
Did we not give him love as he had needed?
Did we not give advice that was never heeded?
Yet he threw us down and turned his back,
backbone and morality he does lack,
I will destroy his name before I destroy his life,
because I am his love, I am his wife.

There is a shadow over my shoulder,
which follows me around.
I did not invite it,
nor will I fight it,
for it does not make a sound.
But even in the night,
when everything is out of sight,
I can feel it on my back.
with a whisper in my ear,
it instills fear,
of what I will never do.
The failures of life,
the constant strife,
which I face everyday.
I continue to walk,
as the shadow will stalk,
following like a tiger and prey.

Your heart is the sun rising after a storming night,
illuminating my darkened insides,
making it flourish with light.
Your eyes are the all seeing god which leads me to life,
protecting my soul,
decimating all strife.
Your skin is like a warm blanket on a winter's eve,
filling me with emotions,
warming me while I grieve.
And lastly, you are life,
the life that I lost,
that someone else tossed,
the one you picked up off the ground,
cared for and shined,
made me feel safe and sound.
You are the life that once was gone,
except creating a midday summers shine,
compared to a dark days dawn.

These spirits that live inside my head,
living in the sewers,
appearing like the dead.
The spirits that live inside the desert,
transparent at best,
trying to make me revert.
These spirits which follow me everywhere I go,
but you keep them away,
melting them like snow.
With a few words and some faith you protect me,
keep them unseen,
protecting me from the obscene.
With a bit of love you watch my heart,
keep me whole,
and help me restart.

Why does this world seem so dark,
with ****** and suicide at every channel,
with a **** in some unknown country up on a panel.
And yet we continue to live our lives,
filled with thoughts of insults on people we barely know,
stabbing one another with thoughts shaped like knives.
And then when we are hit with a catastrophic moment,
where someone is dead who was close to our hearts,
and only then is when our empathy starts.
I had a friend die today who I hadn't spoken of in years,
yet I do not find myself in tears,
he was a man who had lived his life,
but took it away when filled with strife.
Yet I cannot bring myself to believe,
that people will put up faces to deceive.
Our selfish desires make us look past them,
forgetting that we could be where the problems stem.
And how can there be such selfish desires,
to ******, steal and start fires.
We desire money and pride,
while looking past societies suicide.
So maybe if we look into ourselves,
and realize we are just one of many on the shelves,
to care and protect should be our main goal,
not to just live and collect our toll.

What if there was another way,
to pass on these raw feelings inside,
not to just pass away,
but to find some way to confide.
I do not want to die by my hand,
but the act I know will shock you,
but I want to continue to stand,
while getting these thoughts through.
I am to great to destroy myself,
at least that is what I always lie,
but if there was a third option,
I would take it rather than to die.
But for now these thought will lie,
ripping at my skull and ribs,
constantly filling our conversations with an ad-lib,
While wanting to break and cry.
I will lash out as the pain erupts,
I cannot control it, although there is regret,
why can I not get over it?
So I will tear myself up inside,
I will not speak, too much pride,
I will have a facade which you will see,
but it is never actually me.

The truth is...
I hate my poetry,
it weighs on me like a seven ton anvil.
Laughing and shouting out,
about my faults and doubts,
which stand tall before me.
But I am to vain,
to remove them from sight,
as I want everyone to see the rain.
The drought that is within,
can only be cured,
by the peeling of my old dead skin.
So to write it all out,
is to scrape it all off,
until it is as tall as a skyscraper.
As I keep writing the poems,
the building will sway,
until it will finally give away.
I will be crushed beneath the dust,
and no one will question the rust.
For they could see,
it tilt and fall,
until it crushed me,
under my self-righteous gall.

Think of a good title,
what is on the inside does not matter,
what is on the outside is vital,
so you'd best not get fatter,
as you are just a glossed over part of life.
and not noticeable unless there is strife.
So...
Think of a good title.

The sun goes down every day,
slowly taking its time,
everyday it is the same way,
living like this should be a crime.
Everything around me is at a standstill,
like Atlantis, abandoned and desolate,
I stand alone atop this hill,
staring down upon that hell,
upon my failure I dwell.
Thinking of how I will never escape,
doomed to live out life in this prison,
my heart has gone and flown away,
while I will stay until I'm old and gray.

Think of the ones who live below us,
who survive only because of natures good graces,
the ones who live in an abandoned bus,
and are always seen as basket cases.
We do not look upon their eyes,
and realize that we are the cause of their demise,
as we make savings by buying more,
and taking advantage of those that are poor.
Though this does not come into our heads,
as we sleep soundlessly, comfortably, in our beds,
for every rich man there are hundreds in the street,
who wear tattered clothes, and no shoes on their feet.
Will we live our life treating them as obsolete,
just so we can check out a celebrities tweet?
Or will we rise above our selfish desires,
and pull these poor men through the fires,
feeding and caring for people we do not know,
just to keep them out of the snow.

My vision is clouded,
but that doesn't stop me from seeing,
yet my decisions are continuously clouded.
Our connections holds me tight,
like the noose around my neck,
yet I choose to hang here,
because what is clear merely brings me fear.

It is going too fast,
like the speed of light,
I used to wait so long,
now it is out of sight.
Looking back and seeing it gone,
faster than the blink of an eye,
one second morning,
next its dawn.
Nothing I can hold,
grasp real close,
only fading memories,
of when I wish time froze.

Rock this boat with your weight,
sink us to the ocean ground,
the emotional baggage was too much,
we took on one to many pounds.
So as we sink down let us remember,
how we were so light once,
flying through the sky,
now I am your dunce,
and we say goodbye.
But while you continue to sink I must let go,
like that cheesy moment with Leo DiCaprio.
Because this isn't the titanic,
we were not as beautifully indestructible,
so no need to panic,
this should have been predictable.

Say something prolific; in an exasperated tone,
separating yourself from the everyday drone.
Over-indulge in your own self shame; as you ***** out your pride,
in an effort for someone to say your name.
You once loved yourself; although unaware that the love is lost,
while trying to prove something,
as your heart was the cost.

Why do we choose to live life by others rules,
following everything we were taught in schools,
being herded through life like a pack of mules,
it is as if we have grown to accept our dependence.
On T.V. shows about children we don't know,
to the latest celebrity caught with a nose full of blow,
we don't realize our minds being molded like dough,
as shadows prohibit our ascendance.
But we can fight this evil that has entered our brains,
and relinquish ourselves from societies chains,
let the blood run free as it does in your veins,
and no longer live your life as if in attendance.

To leave you is to love you,
isn't that the hard truth.
As I walk outside your doorway,
taking with me all my youth.
We will grow old someday,
and think of one another,
but I choose to walk away,
rather than to smother.
When we meet again,
on a day far from here,
will we be like two lovebirds,
holding one another dear.
Or will you leave and find a man,
who can satisfy your needs,
or will you follow the plan,
and help plant loves seeds.
Love is like a plant,
fighting for that sun,
but the sun can dry it out,
shooting it like a gun.
But if we can shield ourselves,
from the overbearing shots,
we may outgrow these restrictive pots,
and hopefully connect the dots.
Let our leaves touch so softly,
like your gentle hands,
I hope that our grasp will depict,
our growth across the lands,
as they reach past the soil which restricts,
and breaking through the vines which conflicts,
we will meet once again,
connected by this natural chain.

On a warm summer night filled with the waft of ***** and beer,
surrounded by the fears of every corner rat begging for change,
immersed in the aura of being alone when anything but.
I envision being like a caterpillar growing into a butterfly,
an overcooked metaphor,
but fitting cause I want it.
I imagine leaving these streets and growing big,
throwing down these cigarettes and walking out the door,
working hard until I am hardly working,
living life to the fullest.
As I look out into the endless jungle,
the concrete trees,
that can only be described with another overworked metaphor.
The sun begins to rise
the rats scatter to the dark,
and the lions begin to walk the streets.
I looked down like a newborn monkey,
put out my cigarette,
and go to bed.
"Tomorrow"

When I look at art,
I become convoluted,
it tears me apart,
it has become polluted.
Since when did **** on a wall,
or a picture of a tease,
stop to appall,
and begin to please.
The idea of being ironic,
induces the idea of being lazy,
the laziness is chronic,
and fine lines become hazy.
As we tell ourselves it is beyond meaning,
we leave it to the experts to analyze the farce,
but to buy this stuff is demeaning,
it would seem true art is scarce.

Your hair is the noose around my neck,
which you chose to cut before I fell.
Your eyes are the pool I drown in,
but you blink and splash me out.
Your words are the venom of my ears,
luckily, the kiss you give me is the antidote.
You are the oxygen which I breath,
and nothing bad can come of that.

I didn't learn much from her,
except what not to love, and to love travel.
It's too bad she wasn't worth the trip.

As you sit next to me,
under this golden apple tree,
above us are the golden crisp,
while the rotted are at our feet.

Hold my head down and drown me in that lake which we swam in before.
Take the memories of flips and smokes and drown them with me.
Take the idea of us being family and hold it under.
Take the thought of our future and let it suffocate.
Take your heart and let it die with me.
For while I may be dead,
You must live.

I had left you long ago,
in mind, body and soul.
but you push back to have me,
at the expense of who you want to be.
You talk about change and being who I want,
but is that really love, when what I want is just a haunt?
What kind of lover would I be,
if I were to restrain the one I am meant to love.
I believe your priorities are askew,
you do not want to be free,
if you are willing to change without a shove,
so please tell me,
how am I meant to love you?

The vampires come in at night,
they do not warn you,
do not cause a fright.
But while you lay asleep in your bed,
they set up a facade,
inside your head.
Within this idea there blooms happiness,
******* in the light,
creating an abyss.
But you overlook the abyss for the gleam,
from which the sun gives you,
or so it seems.
As you step closer to get more light,
one wrong move,
and you have a fright.
For you are now falling into the abyss,
went to close,
missed out on fortunes kiss.
And when you wake there is no one there,
the vampires have left,
leaving you in despair.
You find yourself alone in your room,
soon to be taken,
all too soon.
You thought you could live on like this,
******* in light,
walking into the abyss.
But life does not work with such innocence,
you will be ****** dry,
within an instance.
So keep the wooden stake in bed,
keep one eye open,
or you will be dead.

You walk away as I stand staring,
and I feel a pain which I am not accustomed to.
finally I turn around to never look back,
I see you turn, but I do not see you.

Everyone complains about the "system",
how it is rigged, manipulated and controlled.
But they do not take a moment to listen,
or to take a moment and break the mold.
Work out and do not eat those fries,
then you will say goodbye to those thighs.
Work hard, work long, and get the paycheck,
take a chance and stick out your neck.
Become what you despise,
or stand and rise.
Because you can lie down and die,
and let them walk on you,
curl up and cry,
and let your whole life turn blue.
But your failure is your own fault,
not the systems,
you were not locked in a vault.
You have been duped,
or you are duping,
So stop singing the song the dupees sing.

Updated from my tablet which my white upper class parents bought me to prepare for my pre_paid college

The power you hold merely an illusion,
a smokescreen created by your denial,
believing yourself to be a god,
that you are the judge in this trial.
Recognize your faults and rise above,
recognize your inability,
acting with hate instead of love,
now it is time to accept reality.
You are the same as I,
created by a simple science,
so lose the false sense of superiority,
and come and walk beside me.

Early morning mist is floating around,
with the hawks flying high in the sky,
I sit alone without a sound,
as I watch and animal about to die.
Swift like lightning a hawk flew down,
gripping a rat by the spine,
as the red began to replace the brown,
I take this death as a sign.
Here I sit alone and confused,
looking into the future of my demise,
death by hawks within due to strife.
My opportunities I abused,
constantly taking my eyes off the prize,
with my back protruding a knife,
a hawk came down and stole my life,
I refused to look into the skies,
and due to my confidence misuse,
from this life I was excused.

I held you so tight, as to never let go.
Only to have you melt through my arms.
I collected you and froze you with fear,
Only to have you melt through my arms again.
So I gathered you in a bucket in hopes to keep you together,
Only to have you become an vapor and fly away.
You eventually fell back down on top of me,
Only to drench and soak me.

I stood in the sun, and let you evaporate,
Only so I could go take a shower.

We are together,
just sitting side by side,
no idea of what the other one hides.
But as we hold one hand,
and the other is clenched,
meanwhile our thoughts are drenched.
It is as if we both were water boarded,
while looking into each other's eyes,
with each drip comes feelings of despise.
But who was it that dropped this water unto me,
was it you or someone who I could not see,
the only thing that stayed within my mind,
is the thought of how you used to be so kind.
And I forget that you have your own thoughts,
they become disarray while I try to understand,
as I am caught up in trying to connect the dots,
but to connect them I have much to small of a strand.
So you cut it with that piercing gaze,
and you put me into a daze,
for I hate you and you hate me,
but how was it that this came to be?

My lips are cracked and dry,
my insides longing to be quenched,
nourish me please with your kiss,
and let my throat be drenched.
Your love fills my heart like a cold glass of water,
shocking at first; yet settles soon,
but with your kiss my blood begins to boil  hotter,
and my insides warm up like a smoldering Georgia June.
You make my heart pump ten times fast,
just to make my brain work fast,
because my words have left my mouth,
when you back away from my face,
my cheeks are hotter than summer down south,
and slowly my heart gains its pace.
You are the engine to my soul,
the fuel for my heart,
the final piece which makes me whole,
the fire which makes me start.

We act so original,
but are so abysmal,
stop with the dramatization of your woe,
there are so many like you, as we know.
It's pathetic the way in which we perceive ourselves,
different, charismatic, on an unheard of level,
but we are just another item on the shelves,
yet we continue to look in the mirror and revel.
Take a look out the door,
realize there is so much more,
to being a human being,
than fighting to be a king.
It does not matter how you are distinct,
or in what ways someone is the same,
by being human we are all linked,
and you are not better by gaining fame.

To please and appease,
the coming storms breeze,
we shackle ourselves to the ground,
and prepare for the pound.
We do not stand before the storm,
or leave to fight this outrageous norm,
instead we sit and take the hit,
and watch as our throats are slit.
What is the point of life without glory,
or the opportunity to create our story,
we are subdued by the never-ending rain,
and with it comes immense pain.
But if we were to just grab an umbrella,
and continue writing our story,
yes our pages may get wet,
but what is life, without breaking a sweat?

There he was, just a boy, sitt'in by the street,
impressionable and young, innocent through and through,
up comes a *****, giving him a smile that was sweet,
crooked teeth, coked up nose and spitting a loogie of chew,
she looked at him and impressed a world he never knew.
"Hey there boy, you're looking bored, happen to got a dollar?
I swear, you got enough and I'm gonna make you hollar!"

The boy stared at the boisterous cleavage which she presented,
as he didn't realize the trouble she fermented,
he stood up tall and looked her in the eye,
and replied to her with his voice so wry,
"Now listen up ***** and listen well,
I won't pay a dollar until I prove it isn't hell!
But if you can ****, and ****, well then time will tell..."
The boy had no idea what he had said,
but he wanted to be like his father who was now dead.
The ***** looked down in utter shock,
but this didn't stop her from making money from ****,
she taught the boy her every move,
which in the future he would learn to improve.

When it was done that young man had changed,
his mental capacity had re-arranged,
you see, in his life he had learned so many things,
about violence, *** and all the drug kings,
people would blame it upon the violent/minority gene
but what can you expect, when someone is just thirteen?

Who are you to tell me,
that inhaling a plant's smoke is bad..?
Should I no longer stand by the fire?
for fear of filling my lungs?
Why do you care,
if my child does not know your god?
My god is bigger, and bolder, and better,
so why don't your children listen?
What is it to you,
if I want to die?
Leave this world which I no longer love,
yet, you cut my wings so that I cannot fly.

Make a joke,
laugh a little,
and antagonize the issue.
It's just a poke,
they are all so brittle,
she just needs a tissue.
"I haven't seen it",
"doesn't affect me".
Say what you want to make it fit,
and ignore the resounding plea,
"but she was all over him!",
the antagonists cry,
as you expect her to act on every whim.

I look back on what I have done,
what I have lost,
what I have won.
Looking into this blue ocean,
overwhelmed by my petty emotion.
I am just a figment of this vast grand planet,
yet what happens around me,
I can barely stand it.
As people pass by without a thought,
of who I was,
and what I sought.
Who am I to judge what they think,
when I forget their faces within my next blink.
I think of my intelligence and how it is higher,
and how everyone surrounding me is nothing but a liar.
While I fill my mind with these pompous emotions,
I do the same as them and go through life's motions.
So what about me makes me better than them?
Is it my distinguished goals,
and their lacking of souls.
Or is it the fact that I am so cynical,
that I feel I am above as if a the pinnacle.
Either way I continue to say,
how everyone is lazy,
and I should always get my way.
And with these thoughts of self-righteousness,
I take away all likeness,
of someone with politeness.
Pushing those away has become a hobby of mine,
and one can only hope,
that alone I will pass the test of time.

You are the sun that rises in my day,
the water that nourishes my dehydrated cells,
the clothing that warms me in a winter's night,
the light that keeps away a night's fright.