When you see someone you love slowly fade away,
a little part of you dies.
Watching their laughing eyes turn red
filled with tears and hatred towards themself.

You know you're an outsider to their pain
and feel you can't do anything to help.
Every time you try
they respond with "I'm fine"
and shut you out with a face hot with shame.

Hopeless and helpless
they lie to your face
whilst crying in your arms
before saying they're "ok"

depressed...

                                                     ...tired...
They think they're worthless
and cut themselves to release some of the anxiety
Their blood staining your clothes
as you watch from the sidelines

It doesn't hit you until...

                                            ...it's too late...

                                                                                   ...they're
                                                                                              gone...

So lend them a hand,
embrace them in your arms,
comfort their tears,
tell them you understand,
and tell them they're not "fine",
that it's ok to be sad,
                           and you'll always be there
                                             to keep up their smile.
You may be an outsider to their pain,
                    so break down the wall and let yourself in.

antwone the gang leader always
be like: imma make a call; two
minutes and they here

regardless what the issue about:  
antwone always about dat
(and they always come for sure)

me? i ain't made for that
me just tizzop
ain't belong to antwone's
brotherhood

even if i wanted to:
they wouldn't let me

dem dudes roll heavy
while i note down outsider dreams with white ink on
black pages
you feel me?

antwone's dudes addicted to
drive-by-shootings
i'm deep inside; yet no part of that;
my handz not made for glockz

my hands are made for pens;
i'm from the ghetto; who cares?
my hands are made for pens
and if i'm broke i will
write with sparkling fingers

that is for certain therefore my death will be silver
my eyes be shiny like gold then
god is always by my side

you feel me god? good cause i feel you god (HEART)

last breath: tizzop's dead body will be floating on air
because a good man does the right thing (i want to be good)
dead brotherhoodlums be munched by icy blacktop
you feel me?
eternally doomed down there without air
i won't be there  

i am from the ghetto
who cares?  
my hands are made for pens

* WRITE TO SURVIVE

Luminescent skin, spiralling layers pressed
From inside the curling dagger pollen;
Violin strings draw forth the butterflies
Towards their fate, cerberus lips clasp
Wings of dafodil— spotty mossy green
Outcrosses the budded red drooping dead;
Akashic run, like that of a waterfall
Whence rippling pendulums row,caught infinitely.

Glowing stem— seperating to laughing claws
and mandalas paused along fully harmonious crease;
All falls back to fungal soil underground
For which all life is magnetically supported:
Prestine exoskeleton, flaming bones
that weavith skyward with ancestral ghost
softly chasing, having foundated their creator.

Blonde hair binding split petals via waves
  Of furious vibrations, snapped calm and quiet.

Mature flesh and bone, whom let the pencil
Move over pale canvas—
'I picture a clock that's arms spin fire
Outward. '
Poor woman, legless two years
Prior to her deathday— wonderous harbinger
Who once, overwhelmed by the menial day to day,
let pencil fall,skim and form
   and reform

Beautifying the world -- lonely, bold and brave
Her mind image caught, fished through the haze

And etched for the rest of time to forget.

Sometimes, I'm walking with Jinns in my head;
I hear clear things that haven't even been said,
I see ideas that yet nobody has had.


Sometimes, I'm walking with Jinns in my head;
I bear the colour before people see it as red,
I feel by what people have been led.


Sometimes, I'm walking with Jinns in my head;
I steer my steps as the thoughts have me led,
I peer the ways that they said.


Sometimes, I'm walking with Jinns in my head;
Sometimes, I feel they have made me grad,
Sometimes, I fear they make me bad.


Sometimes, I'm walking with Jinns in my head;
For understanding, sometimes, I'm so glad,
But sometimes, I'm just sad and mad.

Next to your footsteps
I feel like an outsider
An unwanted guest

With her jagged edges she stands,
gazing upon the connection between the well versed,
as her language remains misunderstood,
dark and chaotic.

Her edges are sharp,
and grooves are too deep.
The rhythm of her heart
& blood pulsation
feel out of orbit.

An outsider,
an outcast
trying to jam to fit in puzzles;
blunting her edges,
painting herself with different hues to blend.
Yet within she is out of tune.

I met a man who could recite all twenty three thousand
lines of the “Romance of the Rose” but could not count to five.

I met a man who could recite PI to one thousand decimal points
but could not find a rhyme for love nor money

I met a man who laughed at every thing that wasn’t funny
I met another who cried for ever because he was happy

and another who laughed at his pain
and one who lost all he’d gained
I met a man who sailed the ocean blue
in  search of pastures blue

He told me he was searching for the “begining of the end”
so I sold him a postcard and he nailed it to the mast
then I stepped into his past
and went to meet his King
who was laying on the ground
whilst his bodyguards around
put the boot into him
like L.A. droogs with Rodney King
history just sings
endlessly repeating itself
forever shedding it’s skin
cleansing the kin
thinning and culling
and making a date with SIN……
……..ACTIC FOLLY

I met a woman who remembered
what life was like before Adam
I met a woman whose hair scattered rainbows everywhere
as she danced in the moonlight
I met a woman who was me and she set me free
I met a man who could measure words to the nth degree
he taught me heresy
and how to pray
and how to give it all away
then he asked me to pay
for HIS  fathers crimes
so I said “NO WAY”
and later that day
he tied me to the wheel
but I refused to feel
and I swore to heal
the wounds of my inquisitor

Well I met a man who said “I khan
unite all the nomads on the land”
he said “I’ll lay it all to waste
and the rivers shall taste
worse than ****** waste”
so I went to see my Mother
to ask if there was any other
WAY
to gain an extra day?
as the climate starts to sway
She said “have your say….
…..then be on your way”

Well I met a man and he taught me how to surf
on the crust of molten magma
and I met a little boy
who taught me the joy
of playing in inner space

Well I met a man from the future
travelling back in time
who said “excuse me Mr. RHYME?”
“…but I’ve come from a time
where wrappers are disposable
parts of a product”
“careful how you juggle
your verbs and your vowels
may get you into trouble”
so I burst his bubble
with a “sword” that I drew
from my grandmothers sock
which came as a shock
to the “thought police”
who were waiting in the street
with their “crosswords” COCKED
and their ’double entendres “ primed
looking for some crime
of the cerebral kind

but I met this woman
who said ” climb into my body and come with me
to the Ancesters tree
so I climbed aboard and I clung on tight
as her body rose to the highest height
and she showed me what might
or might not come to pass
then she lowered me down
by the hem of her gown
called me her “linguistic clown”
which made me frown
as I looked all around
to see where she’d gone
and a voice from the past said
“look inside your head
she is not dead
haven’t you read
a word that you’ve said?”

I met a woman who scattered rainbows from her hair
I met a woman who was me and she set me free