You really wanna be me?
That's the first mistake you'll ever make,
on this long horrid road.
But, don't let me scare you,
at least not yet,
fore this path has only just begun.

Step 1:
You've gotta learn that you hate yourself,
you might seem beautiful to others,
but, your not.
If you wanna be me,
you need to open your inner negativity,
and see the disgust,
within what you once found pure.

Step 2:
Disappoint your family.
Yes,
truly shocking isn't it?
Breaking the hearts,
of the same very people,
who will be the only ones,
standing at your grave.
But, you started this path,
knowing it wasn't going to end well.

Step 3:
Ruin everything that's going well for you.
You have friends?
Well not anymore.
You are happy?
Here's some depression,
and let me add some social anxiety in the mix,
let see if you can get there,
to the end of this step.

Almost there,
Step 4:
Constantly lie to everyone,
tell them your fine,
even though looking at this,
you can't be.
Even i'm not,
so how could you be?
Show them a smile,
when you have tears in your eyes.

If you have made it to this final step,
I am proud,
yet worried for you,
and your mental trauma your going through.

Step 5: The Final Step
Now,
you need to survive this,
for the rest of your life.
You might think this is the easiest step.
Trust me it's not.
And if you do,
I am not just proud of you,
I am applauding you,
for doing something i'm barely able to do.

If you have made it here,
to the very end,
I say good luck,
giving you all my wishing,
that at least one of us,
will last forever.

She said “I don’t think I’m ok,
infact that much I know.”
She spends every single day
running against the winds blow.
When did she stop trying?
Did she even ever start?
Spends all of her time crying
as if to water a drought.

The tight rope is too tight,
and you walk a very thin line.
Another day and it’ll be alright,
and tomorrow you’ll be fine.

She said “I don’t want to a survivor.”
I tell her there’s worse things to be.
Keeps holding her breath like a diver,
but lack of oxygen is worrying.

We were standing right under the streetlight,
with no stars in our sight but those created with might.
With the cold’s bite making our skin burn and bright
saw the discomfort in my sight, “you got to clutch your jacket more tight.”

Now the pool is just too deep,
and your laps aren’t making time.
Another day and another promise to keep,
and tomorrow you’ll be fine.

The tight rope is too tight,
and you’re walking a very thin line.
But if you hold on with all your fight
then tomorrow you should be fine.

bite your tongue little one....
don't tell anyone your secrets not even your mom.
hold everything in because that's what you do.
there's no such thing as crying yourself to sleep at night
that's just a myth told by a stranger one....
the shadows aren't real your imagining them.
nothing lays behind the dark curtains blocking your view
I guarantee that to you.
don't run away that is not what we do
I'm telling you there's a light inside of you.
sticks and stones could break my bones but you will never know it.
hide away those scary thoughts for they are not your own.

The Sublime thing
About fine wine
Is that it doesnt have to be
Just wine although it is nice
To unwind with the evening
It could be anything
That transcends and even soothes
With its Sweet beauty
Like sunsets, exotic kisses jazz caresses,
Loving stanzas women and melodies
Vibrant hues of paintings
We have a Heavenly goddess
Sweet and luminous as a rose moon
And gift for her flowers
of our own love
That become flowers of our love
Like moonlit vines are the vineyards
What could be more Sublime
Than what caresses ones Soul
With its own Love
The flowers of your Loves gaze
sway because they have wept
With the sweet bliss of rain
Laughed with the warm accents
Of Sun
And
Sighed with the rose candles
of
Golden moons

Reynaldo Casison

This heirloom china wants to slip
Out of my tremulous grip.  
But plastic’s less heavy,
And nicely holds gravy.  
It bounces if ever you trip.

Because light and durable dinnerware
Is low-class and not debonair,
The china that shatters,
Those slippery platters,
Enliven dining with a jump-scare.

“Thanks for asking, but 𝑰
am fine, just a little tired.
𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 complain, you know?
Everybody gets a bit
stressed sometimes, what with
all that we’ve got to 𝒅𝒐.
It’s not like 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 is any different
than any other day, any other person.
𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 somewhere has it far
worse than I do, so don’t feel sorry
for me. No, 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 your compassion
for a person who really needs it, not
𝒎𝒆.”

Poorly holding up to the harsh assault
Mal reggendo all’aspro assalto
well, if that's so, aight,
and this is the test, we took  it,

what would ya thank for that, eh?

Heavy metal, anvils are the archetype,
before Iron Horses and world tying steel
industrial spirit to try like hell
to move a mountain told to move,
ai, we had a form of free press, indeed

and steam, bound in cylinders ground
and smoothed to specs a micron or two
from perfectly round, squared center to edge,
by pi, the idea, we need
to make compassion,
compass me round about, and think me mad,
with deep and sensitive gentle assurance,
ai, we made the crossing, we're on
the other side.

I'm not, I am a little drunk.
Rare state, feels familiar, kind of rejuvenating.

Wisdom smiles on those who try,
and try again.

Remember all this is after we won heaven,
by being invincibly ignorant as to why not.

Yours: were those repetitions of actions; underneath the comment of
her starry eyes, waiting to add an explanation of my place as her caption.
We both explore the aftereffects of years of catching onto one another—as the successful hunt shows pleasant results; while the longer course of it comes with many love scars… but along the way, I heard the spinning tales of your story by the roundabouts. All the places you had been, shouldn’t have been, and a lot of questions about your whereabouts. Whereas the hoodlums turf their side from the thugs, and I make a territory between us, to avoid long hugs- a criminal kind of love

We both know the boys who keep a contact list of girls to pick out from, as like commodities well kept: she knows a message well sent, as the night gives the best of time for us to act like our true selves

Let’s not jump into so many conclusions as if leaping into big decisions; as our memories are well kept in sky, but at times we seem confined by these crying ceilings. For a worthwhile love, we live to find a means of making a quick buck, copying that success and sitting back while the currency prints- there’s nothing wrong with such money-making schemes; unless it gives others the idea of buying into dreams. And unfortunately, we both quietly know what that means



Sort of met by carnivorous eyes- feeding desires
into one another; a few lives cut short to the unsettling sound
by an incomplete strung of a chord. Rebellious young ones
sneaking out to the clubs, later on tamed at home; there’s
such a thirst for our wrongs when we’re perfectly alone—
but as you miss someone as much as a faithful faster
misses lunch, even a clone of them wouldn’t do you much…

Breakups do cause ill actions; “you said you’re not sick
of me,” but I subtly taste a bit of ***** in these latter kisses
—let’s talk to unlock our deepest feelings; dialogue is
key. The end of her blush is the brightest of spots, but is
a sign to end a conversation with an abrupt full stop
“Fool, stop,” her forced smile must annoyingly be saying

Those face masquerades must be working hard today;
without sounds of cries- pretending we enjoy telling
each other, “yeah, we’re fine,” or was it the rephrasing of it,
to admit to ourselves that this love has always felt like a fine