deadly freedom.

i’m deadly. you’re deadly.

freedom isn’t deadly.

many people died for freedom.

so much freedom is wasted because humans are dying inside.

i’m left here to write.

deadly freedom.

freedom done died, my child.

in death, there is freedom.

with freedom comes death.

i write because there is nothing left.

deadly freedom.

death is bag of garbage, young man.

don’t die inside because you want to attain freedom.

freedom lied. death lurks behind.

you have always been free. death is but a short sleep.

your soul is a kite, let it run free.

run free.

freedom is deadly & beautiful.

She loved me.

That's all I needed.

superpowered was he,
person of the people,
carried a voice and the powee to lead.

see, his voice was iron fists
that cornered the lying
and hopeless rich
and richly left hope for those
who never had the strength to cope.

he was master of the pen.
leader of those wrongfully sent to the Pen.
he carried similes and metaphors on his shoulders, told his people they cannot hold us.

we have trained far too long to forget we're soldiers.

he had a dream but before that he had
to see beyond failure.
there is no such thing as failure only feedback.

he had to feed life back into the
ears that once heard and
voices that once spoke word.
see, his word became uplifting hands,
the brains that paved way for a master plan.

a master who planted back into once was desolate land.

his voice was iron fists.

she was a single mother,
mother of three,
children had no father figure
all of them had to grow up trying
to figure out what father means to them.
she was tired of men whistling and tripping
over her big behind.
see, she held on her hands a university degree
seems her life was stuck on day volunteering
and night waitressing.

all she ever wanted was a man who would
sweep her off her feet and be a leader to her
kids.

no luck, all she ever met were *******,
pimps and hustler all who had the intention
to bust a nut on her.

so the black unicorn sang, mama i need
your prayers, mama i need God's hands.
pray for me again, again and again.

night light's light shines too bright on
these electricity bills and the landlord
dont even care how she feel.
said, "if you laid on this table any time for me, you
wont need to worry about the rent, boo"
so she did it.

every time he touched her, he ripped off
parts of her spirit.

so the black unicorn sang, in jazz clubs while
the kids stayed with grandma. she sang
a piece of mind just to get a peace of mind.

she was tired of being told she was beautiful
because every finger laid on her was a *******
to her beautiful skin, queen.

she was tired of "im not ready","its not you, its me".
she was tired of wearing her heart on her sleeve.

The Black Unicorn still sings.

why do you follow me in the light?
and leave me again the dark?

i like to play a game with my shadow.
i call it hide and seek.

sometimes in the night, when the stars come out to play
you come out too.
and when i need you the most, you're nowhere near to be seen.
this goes on everyday, our continuous routine.

see, what if i lost you?
would i lose a bit of gravity?
or would i stop existing?
some say that you only come in good times, some say that you're the reason
i am dreaming.

i think you have another life as a jazz man, a saxophonist because when
you are not around, i hear every type of sound. i hear crazy jazz music,
and piano melody lines and maybe thats your life.

why do you follow me in the light?
and leave me again in the dark?

i am just a young fellow who likes to question his shadow.

dear friend,

today I’m writing a letter to you and me, but its not necessarily for me since i already know what this encasing of sentences shall hold.

right now, I’m listening to Little Dragon – Twice. twice times two. i figured i should write this letter because i am afraid of the power of the tongue so i write because words have a lesser effect on paper/internet/webpages.

i need to ask you something – what is my purpose? i was told to never leave home without it but i can’t seem to find it. I once went out to see people with my purpose in my pocket and it kinda fell out so i was wandering if you can help me look for it. i know we live distances apart but what it went to find you so you can find me?

i am 1 in every thought that you might think and you might think i am crazy or insane or weird but its true because it’s the same thing with you.

people keep saying ‘be you’ and i say it too but how do you tell someone to be themselves if you in the morning wake up looking like the people around you. there is no ‘real *****’ or ‘the real me’, its an endless line of recycled personalities.

i learned that i am a human being. that might seem strange but i not many people know that they are human, they are so focused on impressing and keeping up with nothing that its taking their everything.

i learned that God shaped tears the way he shaped raindrops but he did not create rainbows to come out of our eyes because he wanted to remind us that whatever struggle, pain, shame we’re only human and that is ok. that is good.

and i hope you realise that i write in lowercase. this is how i make myself feel good.

i learned that my voice is voiced through written word and the only way i can get you to listen is to have you read.

i know that you’re a human, with a face and a body and a soul. and that Heaven is watching over you.

i know that you’re 1 in every thought that i think. right now, I’m listening to Little Dragon – Twice. i strike a heart with an arrow and a bow, whatever you take from me surely you will forever know. you and i will forever glow.

i don’t want to be called a writer (because too people now use this ‘title’ to compete/impress and art to me isn’t competition or impression) . we can use it for reference, but you should know that i am merely a kid who constructs sentences for a living. steady living.

i know that politicians tell people the ‘truth’ and i wrote that in apostrophes because I was trying to be sarcastic.

i fell on my head but i didn’t lose.



sincurly,

me.

tutankhamun, children of God we're all kings

set aside all the differences, we all sing

the same song and in Heaven we all belong

they say love is kind and eternal

but i find journals filled with hate and words written uncareful

like a green paper filled tongue of a greedy man's sermon.



streets are breathing diseases and faces change like seasons

love is running low and love is hiding underground waiting

for the world to play better tunes.

dont you think its better to, to better you, run through fresh land

and look on better views?

as an artist you're king. tutankhamun.



tutakhamun, children of Life you're all kings.

i sit and wish for a better day where better ways are

better made and clouds start showering us with better rain.



as an artist you're a king. tutankhamen, children of Love you're all kings.

im sorry.
i feel good.
whats wrong with me?
my mirror looks nice today.
i like you.
im tired.
i've stopped praying, i need Jesus.
im a writer.
i prayed while feeling good.
i felt good when i was tired.
i stopped writing when i felt good.
i ate, i prayed, i loved.

just hit 10000 views.
thank you to all of you.

peace.
sincurlyxbaki.

why do i explain things to people when

they leave my tongue full of razor marks designed by lies?

why do i find poetry interesting if the only thing

it does to me is hurt the muscles in my fingers?

i stay up late at night, when pens stop speaking and papers stop

listening, when poets obsess over 2am.

i dont have the answers, so i wont tell you lies.

i see you in  the dark, ’cause i’ve been where you are.



my hands are fresh with scars, reminders that

im just clay and knives can easily create form

out of me.

i’ve learned that the world has accepted pain

as beauty.

i’ve learned that poets are now starting to romanticize pain.

i’ve learned that on twitter, people replace vowels with v’s & x’s

and depress themselves with sad quotes until it hurts their chests.

its quiet easy to say that the world is a mess,

feeding our brains with junk served by television sets,

believing everything the internet says,

and the only way to change this is to change our mindsets.

but as always, this is easier said.



ignorance is acceptance as a standard.

reading a book makes your eyes bleed, ’cause you’re not used to written word.

we fill tongues with mud and wash hearts in dirt.

we think money is love, and love is power, but the

only thing money can buy is tears and material possessions and empty hearts.

we see each other as black & white but we forget that aside from the

difference in pigment we’re still human.

we forget that our skin is fragile yet we still pierce one another

with 30 caliber bullets.



i dont have the answers so i wont tell you lies.

let it happen.



we think rain and thunder is a sign of a new season but

its God crying out and telling us that

we’re suffering at our own hands.



men hurt women too much nowadays, and women play games with men

nowadays and haemens start to break as much as hearts do.

and the words ‘i do’ sound like a jingle from a cereal ad,

it leaves people mad,

and people sad.



while all this happens, i’ll be out running with bears.

I asked myself over a warm cup of tea, "what kind of beauty is there in finding mystery in yourself?"
I took a little sip, and had more thoughts.
And so I scribbled, a few words on a piece of paper.
a fine day indeed to be playing Thelonious Monk,
one of my favorite Jazz pianists.
y'know, his music has a certain type of soul to it, something inviting about it. I dunno.

with that cup of tea still in hand, I listened to the ocean dance while Monk rushed over the piano keys.

that cup of tea smelled like years of fear and peace to come.
that cup of tea reminded me of the first time I burnt my finger with a candle when I was still a kid.
that cup of tea reminded me of my first love.

it reminded me that I'm still 17, it also tasted like conversations I had with friends about girls we'd never have.
"that girl. she's the one, you'd probably have a chance with her. say something, you shy mo'fo."
but then again it wasn't about probability.

it tasted like 5AM in the morning after your first breakup.
it tasted like 4PM when you wrote your first poem.
it tasted like bitterness.

the tea tasted like my love for things that have aged.
'65 Mustangs and inked pages.
ripped jeans and new faces.
jazz music and new places.

its funny what tea can do one's mind once it burns your tongue and runs down your oesophagus to warm your lungs.

Monk's music in the background, I still scribbled words on a piece of paper.
if only this moment could linger.

cup of tea, cup of tea, what type of flavor did you leave in me?

see, when i stare at this cup, it seems as if it holds unneccessary emptiness.
but can still hold my deepest desires in liquid form - a warm cup of tea.

I probably wrote all of this after I burnt my tongue with tea.
but then again, this isn't about probability.

this is from the deep of things, with love.

sincurlyxbaki

cold uncomfortableness, like the Nile River long or the oceans emotions cold.

uncomfortableness, like a friendly stab in the back by a person you trust. but i trust no man.

cold, like a man who rapes a young girl with a bright future and decides to mess it up for her because he had to satisfy his needs.

cold uncomfortableness, like a man who *** with a woman but then decides to run away because his father taught him the motto of life is: ditch the mom, leave the baby. cold.

uncomfortableness, like the big people in government who use tax money to buy fast cars, expensive houses. they then forget the people that got them there.

cold, like a 5 year old who gets shot fearlessly.

cold uncomfortableness, like fake gangsters who shoot innocent people because they feel drugs & their needs are bigger than any man on this planet.

uncomfortableness, like human greed which leads a man to be controlled by money. but what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

like ****** driven samurai's & cerebral poisoned psychopaths we slay each other with words.
i choke you with my words and you hang me with yours, but we don't die.
instead all that pain lingers at the back of our eyes and it causes us to see red.

like sharp blades running through bruised skin from an injured soul, we silently dissect wounded minds. every one fights a battle.
s(words) are potent, carefully wield yours.

like lost swords in the wind.

im a samurai poet. i use words as oxygen to help you breath and by reading these words you breath again.

i use words as medicine to transfer positive energy to you, samurai reader.

im a samurai ****. im a lost blade in the wind.

i use words like Martin Luther King and set free, i. i set myself free with my own words, i can because im a writer.
words are freedom. words are captivity. words are destruction. words are peace. the tongue is mighty powerful.

i use words to tell dispirited women that their beautiful because they grew up with the idea that beautiful is factory made products. the idea of beautiful is you.

i use words to tell hurt men that they can cry because they grew up being told tigers don't cry. crying is human, and i was told tears are wisdom distilled.

i use words to tell the youth they can be themselves because they grew up thinking acting like a fake gangster is all there is to life. the world is bigger than that.

im a samurai poet. a samurai ****. these words are blades. **** life.

stay samurai cool.

I cannot deny that I really love you.
This hurts me more than it will hurt you.
I fight with my notepad every night because of you.
I long for your touch each and every day.

I truly cannot deny that I really love you.
The fact that you don't know, hurts.

This will hurt me more than it will hurt you.

Dear God. i hope You’re listening, i need to get close. im steady running in the same position.
i can’t get close.
my fingers hurt because i’ve been trying to pen down a letter to her & me & You for me.
im trying to be good.

these past few days i’ve been trying to get my thoughts in unison. working on harmonizing my processes & prioritizing my priorities.

im going to be raw.
i wrote letters to her but every single time i think of sending them to her, i remember that i won’t get much weight with my actions. so i throw them away.

im steady running in the same position.
she’s been thugging lately, in a good way.

i won’t even try to make sense tonight, i’ll let words flow.
****** of the youthful mind, hold me.

play softly, the strings at the back of my mind. be attentive, this tune will catch you.
she’s stroking my medulla oblongata, painting vivid images of passion.
steady running in the same position.

ever looked at someone and feel a conversation going on between your souls? no verbal action, just distance & the space between the two of you.

im steady running from nymphos of the youthful mind.
Father, hope You’re listening. help me to not bend Your will.
i’ve been good. dry cleaned my suit, im ready to walk with You.
i need to get close. but i can’t get close to You.
but im steady running in the same position.

****** of the youthful mind, tell me what do you want me to do to help you, help me, help you. she’s been straight thugging.

ever been so close to a beautiful conversation yet words halt at the opening and you’re left stuck with regret? days later, you remake the scenario and polish on what you could’ve said.

i wrote a letter to her & me & you for me. but i threw it away. wouldn’t have made a significant change anyway.

****** of the youthful mind, i need to get close.
but im steady running in the same position.

she’s been thugging. hat low, sweatpants low, afro hair, smooth skin, smooth **** dancing under the moonlight.
scorpion eyes, deadly eyes. i need to get close.

****** of the youthful mind, my gangster, i need you to stroke my medulla and play a thousand songs at the back of my mind.

im not trying to make sense, i was just trying to let thoughts flow.
Dear Father, can i run away? i want to run away with her, to a place nobody knows. us.
but please help me not to bend Your will.
send me to a golden forest, to the Garden of Eden, so she & i can be Adam & Eve.
we will be good. before then, i need to get close.

******, sing. sing me to sleep, sing away my troubles. i will run away with you.

Father, hope You’re listening. i need to get close, help me not to bend Your will. but i can’t get close. to You.
open the gates for me, im outside.

i need to take control of me and pour out vibes so hard the universe capsizes. ****** of the youthful mind, run away with me.

i wrote a letter to her & i & you for me. but then i threw it away.
don’t even try and make sense of the words i wrote.
don’t ask me how im feeling, just keep your eye on the poetry.

TeddyBearTribe.

she put my heart in a jar.
wait here until i return, she said.
i waited two forevers for her to open it, my heart was suffocating.

i was drowning in her memories, her eyes danced like fireflies in the moonlight. timeless passion. she is my flower child.

flawless. my heart is in a cage, solitude sedates me. i recall memories we never had or maybe it was visions of a future we will have?

i sit down with a notepad and admire your movement. i pen down my studies, and try to understand your complexity. your face glows, your waist flows. like the beautiful Victoria Falls, African queen.

i digress, you still have my heart in a jar. open a few holes, my heart is suffocating.

hair like Rapunzel, fine spun gold, only love knows our connection. time is but a teardrop in our moments.

on my notepad, is stories of what i think you could be, yet my imagination is far from your real being.

your shadow is unique. i can see it dancing under the stars, it tells its own stories. faded, i am.

im loving, your heart. keep moving, beauty. i love you. stop arguing with your mind, you’re beautiful. every man knows.

o, to be young and feel love’s keen sting.

beauty.

je t’aime. belle âme, mon coeur appartient à vous.

don’t you worry child, don’t you worry child. God has a plan for you.

even though pieces of your life are scattered, shattered, don’t you worry child. the little dark corner in your room is your place of peace at night when arguments get loud and hearts break.

your big-eyed brown bear soothes your mind when no-one wants to listen to you. when tears run down your painful cheeks your brown bear listens to you.

every night your ears are hurt by words exchanged by your mother & father. your ears are pinched by emotions of hate.

don’t you worry child. child, don’t worry. God has a plan for you. never let your hope die down, child.

your eyes are sore from pain. actions a young child should never see. dark thoughts that leave you knee-deep in pain. you only hope for rain, because the rain calms your pain.

all that runs in your mind is fantasies of a happy family. all you ever wanted was a happy ending. all you ever wanted was to blend in. all you ever wanted was for the world to move with you.

don’t you worry child. don’t you worry child. God has a plan for you. love yourself.

that little notebook understands your very essence. it understands your mind, your words. every letter you write on a page is understood by your notebook.

agony drips heavily down your lips. torture & strain conceive the life you live.

you find comfort in words, you find comfort in letters, you find comfort in sentences. your escape from a life of discomfort.

don’t you worry child. God has a plan for you.

*God always has a plan for you. don’t you worry.
cultivate love

can you see Pride’s face?
can you see the pride in Pride’s face?
boastful & frivolous.
Pride’s intentions are not of good will.

Pride just destroyed a home.
Pride just stabbed a friend in the back.
Pride ended a life-long friendship.
Pride just ended a simple argument.

he is a disease. humans are afraid of him.

can you see the pride in pride’s face? can you see the bad he creates?
can you see all the lives he took?

Pride is a crook. he breaks into the windows of your spirit and steals all the gold. that gold is your happiness.

Pride is a weapon. anything in his way is destroyed. Pride doesn’t have emotions. Pride can make you insane.

but Pride has an enemy. Pride has a cure. Humility.

Humility is Pride’s balance.

Humility can heal wounds. he is spirited & can bring people together. Humility is a weapon, a weapon of peace.

he is a conqueror. Humility is Pride’s balance.

can you see Humility’s face?
can you feel Humility’s embrace?
when are we starting to be humble?
when are gon’ respect each other?
can you see the pride in Pride’s face?

Pride cares about no one but himself. Humility cares for everyone & himself.

Teddy Bear Tribe.

saw this on tumblr, had to share

I learned in school that war is what happens

when nations disagree, but the textbooks never told me

that war is also what happens when parents disagree,

and when children throw insults harder than they hit baseballs

and when I cannot force myself out of bed in the morning

because there is a voice in my head that tells me

I might win the battle, but I will not win the —

War is what happens when teachers call on students

who don’t have the answers and they are left

fighting their father once he sees their report card.

War is what happens when it rains so hard

blades of grass bend over defeated.

War is what happens over telephone wires when a son

tells his mother he is gay and her white flag

of surrender is the phone going dead.

I have seen war burst into being the moment girls think

they’re too old to hold hands and again some years later when

they’re too young to do more than that, but charge forwards regardless

only to end up with ***** exploding inside them like shrapnel.

I have seen war across some people’s wrists.

I have seen it in bones trying to revolt from the flesh.

I have seen it in eyes like double whiskey shots

that are drunk off self-hatred.

I was taught that war was loud. It was supposed to be

bombs and a dictator’s speech and the sound of an entire race

being crossed off one by one, like the days of a calendar.

And I can agree that this is war, but war can also be quiet.

War can be as quiet as a miscarriage.

Or the therapy sessions afterwards, which is quieter even.

It can be as silent as a gas leak.

They asked me in sixth grade what war meant to me

and I told them about the Holocaust, I told them about the Jews.

I didn’t tell them about the boy across the road from me

whose father used his forearms as ashtrays and whose eyes

were the American flag: star-spangled.

I didn’t tell them about women that have their bodies claimed

like new worlds, or men who punch walls and wear their bruised knuckles

like honor badges for all the tears they haven’t cried because

they were raised to be soldiers

and soldiers do not cry.

I didn’t mention any of these things because I was taught

that war was big. It was something that happened between countries

and it happened with armies and guns and nuclear weapons.

But if they asked me now—if they asked me now

what war meant to me, I would tell them that war is what happens

inside people, and I would show them this poem as my evidence.

you gave me much attention, i acted like i didn't see it. i didn't mean it.
i was mean.
at first when you threw the hints, my eyes aint believe it.
now that you're in another man's arms, my heart is over here not believing.

i tried to eye contact you and tell you that i dreamt you, but for some reason our cable connection was cut off.
i didn't act like that for no reason, i was just waiting for the right ti(me).

and hear me out, im going to get to you someday.
and i'll keep waiting as i always have, i'll grafitti poems on my soul until i touch your hands.

listen, at 2am when i converse with the wind, i usually tell him to tell you that i love you 'cause my lips can't.

i was just waiting for the right ti(me). and i'll keep waiting.
'cause you can do the right thing with the right person. at the wrong time. then everything gets twisted.

somebody say timing.

"there’s no easy way to say this, so i’ll just say it – i met someone. it was an accident, i wasn’t looking for it. it was a perfect storm, she said one thing, i said another. next thing i knew i wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation.”

you’ve tried everything, but you wont give up.
your feelings are crushed hard by love.
love, don’t give up.

you gave enough, but every time you get slapped by disappointments hand.
you’re stuck between calling him a stranger or another girl’s man.

i was told never to mess with broken hearts.

your young heart is tired of late night fights and holding onto tight ropes just to survive. your young heart doesn’t feel alive. its weighed down by words of regret. and heavy tears that run down from your bed to the cold floor.

an ocean of hate surrounds you. dark clouds of emotion hold you. just hold on to my heart.

you’ve tried everything, and you still don’t feel loved. he left you with scars, and tears on your pillow.

i’ve tried everything, just to get back your happiness. you’ve tried everything for love, i’ve tried everything for love.

what won’t we do for love?

your eyes say a lot. your personality shows a lot. your words explain everything.

& you’re tired of morning notes.
and you already know, that you have to leave it all behind. its time to go.

you couldn’t stomach the thought of him with another. but he is with another.
thoughts of a coward come up when you think that he wasn’t man enough
to tell you he wants to break up.

i’ve always loved you.
here’s a little note:

remember the first time we met.
soulmates we called each other.
you were my forever.
i hope one day love decides to get us back together.
i was your forever. you were my forever.
i hope love remembers our times together.

we were suckers for love. what won’t we do for love?

do for love. you’ve tried everything, but you don’t give up.

**credit goes to Tupac. this was Shakur inspired.

you wet your pillow last night because your man stood you up. those tears cleanse your broken heart. he says he will make it up to you.

you cover yourself with blankets full of hurt and pain. he’s out there with another girl, his next victim. he denies you infront of his friends, and he’s afraid to be seen with you.

you cleanse your broken heart with tears full of pain & hurt. love, look in the mirror. im around.

your prowess is what brought him to you. love yourself, and take care of that heart. heart of glass, fragile heart.

although you never see me, im there for you. you look in the mirror, and you see confidence, beauty, power, independence.

no more do you cleanse your heart with tears of pain. you’ve let your heart let go. independent woman, be your own, don’t be owned.

an old life is symbolized by those blankets full of hurt & pain. but you throw them away. because you’re more careful with your heart, fragile heart.

take care of that heart. i want to hold it when i come around.

the moon shines because it reflects the light from your eyes.
the leaves & the wind dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat.
the moon follows your thoughts, and shines brighter at your every attempt to understand the glowing trail of a thousand fireflies.

i sketch your movements from above a tree, and confess to heaven. i said, ‘Lord, thank you for taking your time’.
the flowers of the night delineate your captivating rhythm.

rain clouds gather. raindrops entwine your thighs, and oh my, what a deep waterfall. your soul convokes the sparrows of the deep, convivial spirit.

free spirit. not even the law of gravity can stand you, angel. even though your wings are invisible, i can imagine you fly.

heavens confession: they took the time to mold you. create you.

and you glimmer in a graceful grassland, and the roses listen attentively to your voice.
a voice made up of beautiful dreams & broken promises.

heavens advice: never leave your happiness to someone else. otherwise you’ll be left broken.

only time can explain your he(art).
a pen & a paper are not enough to describe you.
they ran away from your words, they couldn’t understand but i do.
and i will with every ounce of my being, try to decode you.

i’ll stay light on this one. angel, you’re beautiful. you’re real.

heavens advice: stay you. stay true. you’re beautiful.

these words were not adequate to describe you.

you made a pretty good first impression.

p.s – this was heavens confession.

take back every word i never said & every thought i might forget.
the beautiful times we always had, don’t ever take them back.
the past is where my life i would never spend, unpleasant memories too much to comprehend.

and every sentence i never uttered, you should remember when im gone.
while you’re having conversations with your pen.
when you’re all alone.

and every letter i never used to form a beautiful sentence.
i hope you remember when you think of me next.
may every word you read be a warm touch to your emotions.
and every word you write, a warm embrace to your spirit.

take back every word i never said & all the memories i’ve ever had.

every word i never used to describe you. may you remember.
all the captivating words i never used, i left them all behind for you.

love to all your peaceful thoughts.
every sentence we uttered.
our late night talks.

take back every word i never said & all the memories i never had.

when the sun’s rays dance across the pages of your journal.
may every word you write, live eternal.
take back the words you never said.

and as Autumn’s leaves start to kiss the ground.
i’ll remember your sound, i’ll remember your love.

every word you never said, and every word i never said. may we both remember when we’re having conversations with our souls.
when we have conversations with the stars.

peace to your thoughts.
love to your soul.
harmony to your heart.

its soul is taken away from its root, its no more connected to its soil of birth.
we love its fruits, but the grim reaper has removed its artistry from the earth.
stripped of its delicacy, allure.
its happiness poisoned by death right to the core.

those array of colors begin to lose brightness.
a glimpse at its surroundings seems much finer.
its energy repels your stare.

the death of a flower.

the same ground that gave birth to it starts to expel the lifeless flower like a mother who no longer has a desire for her own child.
birds & bees are no longer attracted to this wasted flower.

it craved water and we denied it.
a bit of liquid could’ve keep it alive.
but we ignored it. we paid more attention to the beauty around it.

from its seeds a new flower grows, and the breathless flower says its last farewells. its time to go. the beginning & the end.

the soul of a dying flower sings its final melody, a song heard by understanding ears.
but nobody cares.
red exudes from its petals, for a dying flower these are burning tears.

a human being on this planet lives this life.
this is the story of a dying flower.

may i compare thee to a glass of red wine in a room well lit with three candles?
tonight, we're going to paint the town with stains from our past. we'll converse with the heart's language, love.

tonight, the floor will be our canvas, but i will not offer you my hand, i won't dance, because i know music leads the way to romance.
my heart yearns to fill the spaces between your fingers & take down the walls you've built around your naked soul.

our feet giggles and rapidly moves to the sound of Ol' Blue Eyes. Frank Sinatra.
stop playing that **** music, im a hopeless romantic.

may i compare thee to a dying abandoned romance novel?
let me read you. let me taste you.
i crave.

tonight, you & i will be canvases. until our hearts bleed, we will write, we will sing, we will paint, we will dance, and let music lead the way to romance. but i will not offer you my hands.

lips locked. minds engaged. us, we're blank pages.
as we dance the night away, and we forget our pain, let skin touch and thoughts crave, let music lead the way to romance.
you got me all over you.

tonight, we kick back & cover ourselves with blankets of comfort. and we listen to each others thoughts.

let me love you. i think about you as much as you never think about me. let me love you.

i was touched by the sensation coming from your throat & the vibrations created by your lips. your voice.
i drowned.

can i build a home on your mind? i'll forever be lost in time but i don't mind.
you. you chained me with your eyes, you choked me with your love.
but i still won't offer you my hands, because i know music leads the way to romance.

each time you spoke, it was a reading of the chapters in your soul. you told me, you hated being alone.
i found solace in your thoughts & your free spirit.

your body is the red wine. fluid. i drank you with passion & i got drunk off of you. i drowned in your wine glass of emotions.

i can see *** in your eyes. can i? can i drown in your waterfall?
i can see agony in your mind, i can feel heated passion on your thighs.

to what can i compare thee?
my lady, if we were a secret, how long would you keep it?
you have me open.

i was afraid. if i offered you my hands, it will lead to romance. tonight, let's just have our feet converse.
you had my heart first.

we painted the town with blue and red, with pain and regret, with all that we wanted to forget. but i will not offer you my hands because i know music leads the way to romance.

and we never cared that we painted the town, we never cared. we locked hands, for one last dance, and we let music lead the way to romance.

they said we were young. we were too young to love. but let's just dance, and forget the world. offer me your hands, so that music can lead the way to romance.

i always tell myself about you. at times, i catch myself in deep conversation with me. talking about you. i pray one day you hear me.

need to let you sink in. need to let you sink in. tonight, tonight only, i'll let you love me. let me love you.

all i ask, is that you pour out your wine glass. give me your hands, let's have one dance, and let music lead the way to romance.

golden leaves kiss the ground, as i sit innocently on the park bench. watching carefully. it must be autumn. the golden leaves.

colorful birds sing harmonies of another universe, i don’t feel human. i feel crushed by my own insanity. my flesh is no more, im actually a soul.

a young boy looks cheerful on a swing, he’s reciting love poems. he reminds me of me, actually he’s the younger me. my former self on a journey to self-discovery.

the golden leaves start to fly away. the birds fly away and the bench disappears. the golden memory of autumn starts to fade.

suddenly the cold breeze comforts my loneliness. it must be winter. the forest loses its beauty, and all is bare. the trees feel naked.

i dress myself in creativity and try to imagine beauty in such a dead place. im all alone in the park. winter looks dreadful and miserable, i can see it in its face.

the wind whispers. the wind can actually speak to me. it told me to stop worrying. it told me to only leave room for my passion for words.

i realised my dangerous faith in people. i started seeing children run around, cheerful with their peers. every single color starts to show, flowers are blooming. people are smiling, the streets are filled with laughter. happiness. it must be spring.

as i step on the sidewalk and admire creation, a smile illuminates the entire scene. it must be her. it was some kind of euphoric high. rose red cheeks that had me holding onto myself for dear life, i was infatuated.

she disappears. spring fades. a warm breeze comforts my loneliness. i see a river, crystal, so clear. i can see artists, poets, and writers infecting the river with creativity, they add life to it. it must be summer. happy thoughts ride my soul.

metaphors & similes touch me deep within. they caress my soul. my mind is my escape.

these are the seasons in my mind. this is my dreamworld.

now you know what happens inside my mind. well, actually that’s not everything.

i have a memory of man who loved wearing jackets and formal shoes.

he was wise and taught me to be better than him. he was the first to teach me how to pray, and taught me faith for the darkest hour of day.

he used to tell me of his younger days. he told me about his school days, and how good he was with numbers.

they tell me he was the last of seven, and the first to see heaven. i have a memory of a man who loved wearing jackets and formal shoes.

he gave me my name, and was the first to hold me when i was born. this man had black eyes and always cut his hair. always.

he took me to school on my first day. he bought me books to read and asked me to be better than him. even though he’s gone. he’s not.

he believed in education. he believed in me. i can’t believe i never spent time with the man. i have a memory of a man who loved people and wore formal shoes.

even though he’s gone. he’s not. please turn back the hands of time.

i have a memory of a man who loved wearing jackets and formal shoes. he had hope in his heart.

dear lover,

i miss you. even though i’ve never met you, i can still feel your energy from a thousand miles away.

a face that can make men go to war for you. your smile makes time move slow, everything in the world makes sense. i find comfort in your love and warmth in your presence.

lover. i fell in love with your words, everything you uttered was. beauty personified in words. that deep energetic vibe from your soul makes me want to dance in your. elegance.

i fell in love with your mind, and i fell deep within your subconscious. a trance i was in. you’re my intellectual crush. you had me on my knees, you had me intellectually lovin’ you.

i had a dream we were both dancing to Eros’ beautiful rhythm. nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart, baby don’t think im out to hurt you. not my intention.

i fell in love with you and i never knew. falling in love with you was never my plan. but i guess it was God’s plan. we’ll never know.

even though we’ve never met. i can still remember the sound of your heartbeat, your voice so sweet like the heavens. and your movement so graceful. graceful. you’re like a Raven – innocent, beautiful, sweet.

my heart just skipped a beat.

beautiful soul. speak to me. i saw the beauty of life through you, beautiful soul. and even though we’ve never met, lover. i miss you.

you got a lotta soul, lady. that’s beautiful.

all i wanna do is admire your beauty from a distance because im afraid if i touch you. my flesh will be tempted to do all that is regarded. earthly.

i’ll prolly luh you fo’eva. let me escape through you in thought. beautiful lover. beautiful soul.

“touch me with your mind. hands are overrated & ‘soul’ is overused.”

the closest stranger i’ve never met. i became more with you. your lips i will kiss, your hips i will hold, and your love i will embrace. you have my heart. you have the key to my heart.

and the more i think of you, i miss you. even though we’ve never met, beautiful lover.

our hearts are interlocked in deep conversation. thoughts & feelings in graceful motion, love never known.

i saw us dancing under the moonlight. you wore a silk white dress with Queen Elizabeth’s crown upon your head. and me, just a man wearing a white suit with a purple rose in his chest pocket.
imagine.

and we danced in the cosmos, the stars were watching us — the sun and the moon were playing music only heard in the heavens.

dear lover. beautiful lover. beautiful soul. i love you. i miss you. even though we’ve never met.

at the age of 6 my heart thumped and my pulse ran, trying to save itself from you.
i might’ve been young and you were too, but still my heart thumped.
i started to get the idea of your presence.
even though the memory faded and your face did too, i will never forget you.

when i reached the age of 8, i distinctly remember you asking my name. & my mind froze.
my tongue turned the other way, i had forgotten my manners but still in my mind i was responding.
even though we exchanged thoughts, and i had forgotten to tell you my name – i still remember you.
i always replayed memories we never made, sounds strange but i was only a kid, i was only subloving. my heart kept thumping.

and then when i was 10, i started to recognize the way you form your thoughts and paint them for the world to see.
i stared for hours at your masterpieces, i didn’t understand but still i wanted more.
i became addicted to your voice.
you were once hurt by words, words that cut through your skin like a thin blade. you were broken, yet you still lived.
my heart kept thumping for you. i respected that.

at 12 – beautiful age 12, i watched you as you sat on a bench sketching a tree in colors of black and white. i admired you. i liked the way you formed a smile, and i loved the passion in your eyes, and the ambition you had for life.
you gave your heart to art, and loved conversation.
even though right now we’re miles away, the memories will always stay.
we never spoke, but our eyes did, i remember us exchanging metaphors with our eye lids.
my heart has your name engraved.

then came 14, and i learned about real love. keep your cool love, don’t be scared to say **** love, express yourself even if nobody cares love, this is not forever love, you’re just a kid love.
you taught me that love.
although that love choked me, i still had that ‘i don’t care, **** it im young’ love.
you taught me to respect me, and love the ripples i feel when my heart hurts.
you deserve the thank you kinda love.
i was reluctant to embrace those feelings, but i guess right now i can hold myself down.

but my biggest mistake was forgetting 16, i started to fall in love with the way you articulated your words. your speech pattern was beyond my words.
your footsteps was all i wanted to follow.
my only wish is for you to see yourself through my eyes, through my world and you would finally understand why my heart was thumping.

im desperately waiting for 18.

i learned only one thing: nothing gold can stay. nothing lasts forever.

this one is for the girls with the curly afro's. and the girls who sits at home writing letters to herself. and the girl who just struts her stuff not giving a ****.
this is for the girl who finds worth in words, and peace in illogical sentences. and for the girl i've fallen inlove with. this is to the girl in the streets with a baby & the single moms. and the girl who screams silently with a razor on her arm.
to the girl who reads this.
this is for you. peace, Pvnda.

--

smile at the mirror & make peace with your reflection, you are amazing.
you write poetry on your skin, in the hopes that one day someone somewhere will walk past you and understand your language.

delicate flower, may i lick your mind and taste your thoughts?
i may not know you, and you may not know me, but know this, we just met.

we met in this exact moment when you read these sentences. this might sound cliché and look too practiced but i tell you, you. are. beautiful. let no one tell you otherwise. not even me.

flower, even your shadow knows you are someone worth following.
deeply rooted in the soil, with strong branches.

may i dance to the music of your heartbeat? and can i listen to the screams of your blood as it rushes through your veins?

your temple. i fell in love with your temple. the curve on your face has me swinging back & forth like a mindless idiot. and the curves on your waist .. well, let's not talk about that.

in the morning, i imagine. you with your strangely amazing messy natural hair, and no make up. just the idea.

don't ever let a man decide your value. know your place. own your place. words are words, never let words mold your soul because words are just words.

wrap your thighs around my thoughts processes and indulge in my senses.
my mind is a dark place.
when i fell inlove with you, flowers started growing in the darkest corners of my mind.

my uncle once said to me, "take care of the women even if she's not the one for you. atleast you'll sleep well knowing you've helped someone else. in those moments you help others, you're actually helping yourself"

thank you, G.

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