good night
my dear poet.

you stream so well
and strong inside me.

that I've searched
for a
new homeland;
to declare
a country for words
you've been settling down.

"Help me to understand what's so special to you about it", she said as she laid back on the leather love seat.

Alright, I'll try to give you a peak.

"Why not more than a peak, why not speak more of this art you like", She asked as she took a sip of her coffee.

Because my dear a peak is all you need.
It's all you must understand so that your body,mind and soul craves to feed.
It's not an art to me by the way, it's more like a way of life.
It's rhythm and soul drawn into a mesmerising canvas by the usage of words.
It's blood and sweat drawn from our hands inked into a piece of paper.
It's simply just Poetry.

I cannot define it.
However as much as I could put words out there would it ever be enough?

But Darling it is special to me because it brings me freedom.
It draws me away from the pain that drowns me in this world.
It allows me to pause for once in my life and see the world. To see our generation grow and unfold.
Poetry tells me to pause and admire what is around me, to stop and smell the freshness, the purity, the danger, the emotions all around me.
Poetry allows me to share what so many of us fail to do.
We keep moving with the motion that we forget to stop and admire.
We forget that we are humans and that we're not robots that are required to just move.
Poetry brings me back to reality at the same time it makes me feel as if I could break the laws of gravity.
Do you understand dear?

A generation
of people
exposed to the evil
spoon fed to the children in time.

We grew up deceitful,
won’t budge till we need you,
to feel is to open our minds.

While different is scary,
and anger is bearing,
over a whole mess of pride;
we judge onto others
we’re scared of skin colors
and scarred by the media's lies.

Dumb content matter
a rung of the ladder
onto this corporate climb.
Cause who funds the TV?
The people who think we,
deserve all the scraps we can find.

The fatter the cat is,
the further the facts live
distracted from where they reside.
Statements redacted
the blames coming back,
full circle, with cyclical rhymes.

We are not ruins, mother, not yet –
Let us live, let us love,
Let us make history
Let us kiss ourselves into marble statues,
Kiss until we are mounted onto museum walls
And we will be a spectacle
Not the way you look at us, mother

Call us a tragedy
So we dance and make it a beautiful one
So we wake again when the earth is asleep

Naked and broken, half dead on the ground,
Screams pouring out but I can't hear a sound.
You held my heart and then ripped it in two,
I'm shackled and bound, still bleeding for you.

I loved you...I really loved you.
But that "D" at the end of the word love,
is liberation.
Past tense freedom, from feeling dumb,
and tense and tired,
and numb and dense ,
uninspired love needed that "D", for proper punctuation.

Ending a love that faded,
with too many tries, wasted time, and de ja vu goodbyes.
It’s not just you I leave behind, it's the person that I was when we met.
Two of us, two years in,
in two years, we both grew, into fears
and far from respect.
That "D" at the end of the word love,
means love is possible again, just not with you.
And unlike just being friends,
or sticking with it until the end, of time,
I’m, being realistic, and finding truth.

Who made who so sadistic?
Angry and twisted, just 2 misfits throwing ***** fits.
Is true love truly so egotistic?
Asking a biased source, so of course it is, kid.
Passion ran it’s course, now my pain is specific.
A lack of reciprocation, mixed with a growing distance.
Because as I grew, I grew farther from you,
as I tried so hard to stay close,
in hopes, that if properly approached,
I can fix us both.
But I may have just been fixing something that wasn’t broke.

With time, you stole parts of my heart, soul, and mind that can never be returned.
A third of my heart is left inside lessons learned, so the next 3 words that come out of my mouth,
are “I loved you”.
And that "D" at the end of love,
is the only way that I can rise above, what we are, and call it was, cause it’s history.
And if I don’t learn from it, I’m doomed to repeat it.
In tune with what I need, in need to seek out me, and lose the we.
It’s true that I loved you, but the God's honest truth is I never loved you as much as I love me.

And I hope you understand how that could be.

You became my worst habit;
Nicotine firmly in my blood, and I could not quit.
I breathed you,
Through and through.