I am your favorite poets favorite rhyme.
He wants to speak me, just so he can feel my name echo in his mouth.
It rolls off the tip of his lips, in elegant loops,
I follow them into the air.
He kisses my curves and turns them into cursive,
And when I wind my body slow
He sings all my verses.
He speaks my language
When he speaks in tongue,
And when I’ve had enough
He doesn’t let me run.
I exist solely in verbs
I am what he does.

Ive came...
To be....
The...

Song that always gets stuck in his head..
Every time you hear him faintly hum,
it is me strumming his vocal chords gently.
I lay bare across his blank sheets
readily awaiting
the next time he is to rhyme me again.
Painting pictures with his voice
using my skin as his canvas.
Brown was never his favorite color
Until he kissed my lips,
And melted into me.
It was all he saw,
And all he tasted
I glide on the tip
Of the edge of his mind
I am your favorite poets
Favorite, ******* rhyme

I fall the hardest for artists
To my surprise, and my demise
They always seem to fall for me too.

Have you ever loved someone that can
immortalize you
Even in the times you felt like life wasn’t worth living?

Have you ever seeped from beneath the tip of someone’s ball point pen, onto their paper and became born again...?
Before you even had time to live?

Christians call it baptism.
Artists call it poetry.
I call it slavery.

Every time you recite me, without my permission.
You had no right to write me.

Our time has been done and I’m still living on your lips, broken into syllables, forced to call your mouth my home.

You put me in your journal and you locked me away, yet you memorized me and play me to this day- in the back of your mind, you repeat, you rewind.
I wish we were really done this time.

But we’re not.
And we never will be..

I’m minimized and immortalized
Cause when an artist loves you
You never really die.

I fall the hardest for the artists.

I have scars on my kneecaps from the nights I would
beg God to take me
Mainly because I was too much of a coward to do it myself
Sometimes I wonder if He didn’t hear
or if His answer was no
or if He just wasn't near
or if I have something to show
but much like back then,
I still don't know
I try to fight this concept,
day in and day out
Cause if He didn’t hear me then,
does He still not hear me now?
I pray that my prayers make it past my ceiling
straight to His ears
on my floor I’m kneeling
How many more tears do I have to count till they dry
I’m running out of fingers,
I’m running out of pride
What type of humility is He trying to teach
They say God is so attainable so why can’t I reach?