I call nature
source of my entire inspiration
used to enhance the beautiful minds
running to chase wisdom in all kinds
we fight to be superstars;
even though stars surprise us!

My poetry is calamity !
I wish I didn't have to write
I wish I didn't have the sight
I wish I didn't see the fight
And that's why I write !
My poetry is despair
I pen my greatest thoughts when I'm running out of air
I can pull lightening out of a bottle and hold it in my hand when I'm facing fear.
My poetry is anger
In the trenches
teeth clinched, face covered in blood
Enemies closing in on me. Fight or flight!
Adrenaline a gatling,  will I fight or will I run?
God didnt give me wings that work
But is the answer the gun?
My poetry is war
Mankind hath not shown me an answer
The bible gives me freedom yes but before the son of man comes back will I see a cure ?
My poetry is the blood pumping through my veins, the electricity running down my spine
My poetry is the cold, calculated sting of a viper, coiled and ready to strike.
I don't write because I want to
I don't write because I feel to
I write because my only defense to a world so cold
Is the truth so bold
I write because crying about the world would send me to an early grave.
I write to inspire you to follow and yourself you might save.
I write because my days are numbered and because its freedom I crave.

Came out of rusty bars, with nothing but black stripes on me.
I walk down the street alone, seeing everyone else with no stripes on.
Their stares pierced through my innocence, as if my sins were still fresh for years.
But someone held my head high, gave me a identity, purpose and forgiveness.
He gave me a second chance, even when everyone else can't.
I walk down the street not alone, but with someone who filled me with hope.

I wait for the inspiration to strike.
For the lightning bolt to hit me,
for that satisfying boom of thunder
to be the music in my enlightened mind.
But it doesn't come.

Day after day, I sit idly
and wait.
As other crackling lights fill the streets,
I am stationary as ever.
"It will arrive," I say, "When the time is right."
But it doesn't come.

Dawn turns to day, day turns to dusk.
Twilight seeps into the once bright sky
And I know
My time is coming to an end.

But still, inspiration evades my waiting mind.

And then, as the soft light of the stars flicker into view,
Something finally comes.
I stand up and look around, the profound realization lighting my fading sun.
There never was and will never be
a thunder god out there to help me.

Because I am Thor.
The inspirer,
the creator
of my own lightning strikes.

I smile, contented,
but still, I know
I will never create that shock of energy,
that blinding light
or world-changing view

For now,
it is too late.

Run walk.
Tough talk.
I’ve been ******* buzzed and just lost.

It was the cost of the game.
I’ve played it for days.
I crashed and I burned,
and then made it okay.

I’ve died alive, a life not lived.
I fought to fight, and not forgive,
my own **** self, to find whats missed.
To know myself, despite the ****.
I sit and shift, and think to give.
Learned knowledge with some context.

A mixed message with some content.
It’s cursed blessings in the nonsense.
Misconception of the process,
that's been leading me to progress.

I’m in need of a signal thats not so misleadingly dishonest.

I've been broken and could use a break.
I'm growing at a humans rate.
I’ve been focused on whats noticed,
not an overly useful human trait.

But it happens, and I’m glad, because
the passion of fads live, in the tracks that I have,
and the past creeps up faster than this passage is rapped-ish...

Before you know it, the circles complete.
Listen, have you ever heard of defeat?
Ever have to get back up to advert the repeat?
Learn is the word, and the hurt is the heat.
Sweat is the struggle, thats earning the key.
Turn it and see, a sea of could be,
waving me in and it surely can mean,
my curse isn’t sink, so I’m learning to breathe.