I am not a poet.
I am the air before a storm.
The weak in your knees.
The smile on your heart.
I am. I am not a poet.
I am the aftermath of sin.
I am the godlike sworn into pages.
Scripture is my tongue, to fold like weak genes
That strike to be like matches
I am beckoned fire. I am not a poet.
I am not a believer.
We were raised by the last unfortunately; I do not believe in
“leaders” or “followers”, I do not believe in “society” or “democracy”
This generation is lost.
I do not believe in found.
I do not believe in freedom.
When we are only “free” to be everything but our souls.
The truth is…I do not write poetry.
I birth it whenever God needs a favor so
When my pen bares fruit know it’s divine nature refined.
I define nature. HOLD UP. WE define nature.
Eve am I in the garden of Eden, feeding the Adam in my spirit
That speaks in tongue,
I taste the susurrus sounds swishing like a serpents swearing
Bite into this forbidden, swallow sin, make ink stain of this metaphor
On the fabric of your perception
The truth is, I do not write. I create life that’s been a part of God’s plan
Since sonogram; my divine right.
I am not a poet.
I am a contradiction.
I am everything including nothing.
I am the song the caged bird sings. Once it’s freed.
I am the silence before a bomb.
I simply do not believe.
This generation was raised by the last, but I would rather raise hell
Then praise heaven to be a place where the gates are too white to embrace the black
Of the sin I’ve committed
I am not a poet.
I write because I want God to hear me.
This Chose ink is the closest voice from heaven like, blessed cursive
Curses curved like
Sacred scribble
Revised, I’ve rised, correction, raised.
I revise like rewritten history; I’ve witness lies, yet mystery
Lies within the truth, somehow.
I’m no doctor, but if I were, I would prescribe patience.
I just want God to hear me, I will listen…but for now
I am sincerely seeking the God within self, I believe in
Other.
