Waste of money,
waste of time.
Waste of motherfucking
rhyme.
With no words written on the wall
Lonely is a man's heart
At least when trying to balance out
The respect, and the desire to call
For this true
That lonely is a man's heart in all
When there are no words left for him at all
next in line I guess
I know I tried my best
But the radio silence
Rose above the rest
Love is giving when you're not comfortable giving
The difficult part is both the explaining and understanding your own discomfort
Any lover can give when things are perfect
But it takes faith and trust to keep giving
And to truly understand the meaning
Behind the gift
Men like to lay their heads on my thighs and pray
They like to hear the rhythm of my heart throughout the day
My body feels like a cloud, pulling them away
From reality, they stare at me, as if I am a piece
Of art in a museum, but it's one they cannot lease
It is owned by the gallery and sometimes you can ask
If you can borrow all of it to complete your little task
And sometimes, if you're lucky, you will get to touch
All of the marble curves it has, it's thighs, it's lips, and such
A woman full of menace and desire;
Freckles laced upon a pale complexion,
wide eyes colored a misty sapphire,
and ink-like locks resting in opposition.
As an artist amidst her painted skin
she dreamt of love and moonlit nights,
confidence arose from a source within
while summoning her mystical insights.
Masses of books sprawled across a desk,
drawings with notes and candles afire,
a scene she considered quite picturesque;
a place of confinement in which she conspired.
A woman who is known by many monikers:
sorceress, occultist, clairvoyant, bewitcher.
Sweet, somber melodies
calm my love; they call to the trees.
And with each rising note they sing,
my love grows; my love is in everything.
It is in the way the birds tweet all day;
it is in the sway of the lilac flowers in May.
There is not such a more harmonious song
than the one that my lover will never get wrong.
Like a can
I desire to open myself up
So that someone may taste
And partake in the difference
But none can see
No none can see
At least I believe
In the difference in me
I polish my poetry with breath divine,
as I write with a pens rhyme
I polish to shine into other eyes,
and tickle senses so they come alive.
I polish with diligence polish with love.
Hoping those reading can fly like a dove.
Fly inspired, fly with grace.
I bow to all in the human race.
So come gather see my wares shine,
inside of poetry that whispers so fine.