I owe almost everything to rap music (Flower Boy, Wolf, Yonkers.)
I
f
I
t
W
a
s
n
t For Tyler and all the things he says I would've never wrote again.

Moonlight shone through the windows
and onto the floor in long,
bright
blue
rectangles.
The shadows from the leaves in the trees swayed back and forth like they were
dancing with the cold
November
night
wind.
The moon was their spotlight, my front yard was their stage
and they danced
with
no
music.
The trees savoured every moment with the wind, for they were each other’s lives,
and could not dance
without
the
other.
The trees cried when the wind was not there, and the wind came to wipe its tears,
and then
they
danced
again.

It's been a minute,
Time has been short,
And hard to come by.

But don't think I'm giving up,
On all the work you gave me,
And all the dreams we're making.

This will be,
My One Hundredth poem,
That I post on here.

I never thought,
That I'd have the confidence,
Or support, to get here.

It seems,
That the poem,
You want to be,
Popular isn't always going to,
Be and that's a shame but,
I'm just glad somebody will read my,
Poems now nobody used to read them thanks.

I’ve got a few more things to say,
More thoughts have fluttered into my brain,
And even if it may be slightly trite,
I’m going to give you another piece of my mind.

How I adore the sound of rain.
Pitter-patter,
On my window at night.
However, when the rain gets on me,
I become the Wicked Witch of The West,
And start to melt.
The rain relaxes me,
Puts my ever-sprinting mind at ease.
Snuggled underneath the covers,
In my comfy bed,
Shows that even on the stormy nights,
There’s something to be thankful for.

My music taste has evolved,
As most everything else has,
I guess it was inevitable,
To broaden my horizons.
I was raised on Reba,
My mother made sure of that.
I’ll give credit where it’s due,
She’s a stunning singer,
And her songs touch the heart,
But I’ve found another,
Who, for me,
Fans the same spark.
His name is Alec Benjamin,
I’ve quoted his song in a poem once before,
Rarely can you find a musician,
Where every song you adore.
I haven’t heard every piece of art he’s created,
But from what I’ve heard,
They’re very relatable, meaningful songs,
Which are filled with impactful words.
He’s an amazing lyricist,
Who, to my knowledge, writes all his own songs,
Here’s a sample,
From a track titled “Hipocrite,”
Yes, titled just like that.

“It's hip to be a hipocrite, well, that's how it goes
Saying and portraying things, but only for show
They talk, throw rocks
Living in a mansion that they made out of glass
Always throwing tantrums, always getting a pass
All talk, they don't stop.”
And here’s the chorus:
“All these pompous fools,
With their broken rules,
And their noses in the air,
Keep pretending that they care.
All these stubborn mules,
Went to fancy schools,
But the only thing they learned to do is talk.”

Some of the music I like,
Doesn’t even have any lyrics at all.
Just a light somber melody,
To take me to serenity.
It’s in those moments,
Where my mind is clear,
That I treasure,
All I hold dear.

As much as I fear the future,
And which direction, of the countless, it could go.
I’d be lying if I said,
I wasn’t curious to see where it goes.
Where I’ll be,
Ten,
Twenty,
Thirty years from now,
Nobody knows.
On the bucket list,
Is to be invited onto a talk show.
Fate is uncertain,
That’s precisely why I fear it,
Yet, there’s a beauty to the undetermined.
Funny how that is.

I’m very impatient,
That’s a negative trait I’ll admit,
However, I understand,
That patience has its benefits.
Impulsivity leads to mistakes,
While patience leads to mastery.
Patience leads to understanding,
While impetuousness leads to travesty.
Waiting makes me feel,
That fleeting time is wasting,
We don’t have forever,
And our presence is always fading.
Yet, breathing in and out,
And taking a moment to rest,
Reconfigure, reassess,
Is the best form of reconciliation,
The body can get.

Another poem written,
A set of words said.
Another view of the world,
Hidden in my head.
Another random word,
To help me rhyme.
Another,
Piece of my mind.

One who self assuredly
lieves be a self governing code,

watch where you are going,
trust
the practiced habituation,

rising
to the upright pose,
standing
on my own two feet,
stepping
into my own time alive

with Justin Johnson mellow blues,

mellow mental slow dance,
walkin'
by the windows,
looking
through my own reflection,

at whats appealing
to me, please
see something you want and need
and can afford,
you hear

the window dresser
thinking
to himself,
see my artful display,
and imagine owning the desirable

baubles
on display, but, not today,
too long ago
to care, yet

fishing
for forgotten goods,
thinking today could be the day,
when all involving my ever after
happens
to ever
after mean what me and you
think ever and after
at once do mean

can we signal senses
we think we share,
no question,
I suppose,
the answer is yes, we share
the very air we breathe,
with music in it.

But, but, beware,
the back beat,
telling me I have wasted all my days,

I glance back,
and see my shadow,
so I laugh, inside, seeing my progress
into the light
of ever after all I lost…

asking strangers
for a few minutes
we can someday share, sure and certain,
it was as real as anything,
at the moment

our selves are
not ourselves, not
another pair
of people facing after all,

we form a bubble
to be in, only we two,

could be
we must imagine some sense
we feel we must squeeze
from sense
as common as
the air we share.