No.
No it is not.
Never do that.

Some people may not believe that Jehovah is God's name.
But just look in a Bible and I'll show proof of what I claim.
The Bible tells us that God's name is Jehovah, it's there for everybody to see.
If you want proof that Jehovah is his name, open a Bible and read Exodus 6:3.
Jehovah won't become angry or vengeful if you call him God or Lord, using his true name isn't vital.
But our creator prefers to be called Jehovah because God isn't his name, God is his title.
When we address a preacher as Reverend, that's only his title, his close friends would call him by his name.
Jehovah is the closest friend that I have so I address him as such and I hope others will do the same.

You're never
Gonna' quit
It. We're fast
And illegal in
Suburbia and
You say you're
Gonna quit it
But we can't
Just yet in a
Birth so quick
And shy of
Hate with
Extensive roots
And long
Black pride
That shatters
Every swam
Of doubt;
It's almost
Six, the sun
Will knight
A worthy
Soul with
No teeth
And no
Pride. As
We all lie
Aching and
Bleeding,
We beg for
Assignment
of the
Title.

Poetry doesn't need to rhyme
For every single time
Considering that poetry is emotion
That's evidently in motion
And I desire to write something subtle
Where I'll be thinking hard for a strange title
(J.a.t.m)

love me in words and phrases
until you can no longer sing
mercy mercy mercy
i crave your love
mercy baby

The city inches towards
the dawn.

Most of it is still
( not awake )

but sleep
has disowned me.

I stand and stare
as this world

comes into being
as it dresses itself

in sunlight
the new moment

as it glistens
translating the now

into the song
of a passing bird

so beautiful
I call out

your lost name
amazed

that this world
moving through space and time

does not contain
you.

You who have gone
beyond even

the great silence

and my tears fail
to bring you back again.

"The beauty of the world
hath made me sad. . ."

I tell my reflection
gazing through glass

a startled bird
flying through my face.

I write my name
My label, my identifier
My word, my definer
I write my name
And it looks wrong, outgrown
Do I have the power, the control
The grip
To change it

Get a grip
Stop slipping
State the facts
Stop tripping

You’re 17 and you’re young
You’re 17 and you have metal in your head
You’re 17 and you have metal taste
Stuck on your tongue
Dripping off when you talk
Forming the puddles in which you walk
Pooling in words that burn
They are a curse slipping through the smile
That reaches your eyes
Only because you painted it there

With brown eyes you can't make friends
With brown eyes you cried until you couldn’t
With brown eyes you smile like it’s free
You quit dancing
You quit schooling
You quit pretending
You started pretending

I am not the same as the infant born 17 years ago
I am not the same as the name that they gave me
I am not the same as the others that held my name
I am separate from that title
I am something new, beyond
Something true and someone gone

Scar after scar twinkles in the light
Hair after hair is torn out every night
What do you call a work in progress
Incomplete is not my name
I am not quite obsolete
To many I appear petite
To many I should just retreat
What a privilege to be given something to cling to that you never desired to own
No, rain is not the same as snow

A name is not a name
My name is not my name
It is a label I stole from fame
Nicole Kidman is not my role model
But her role was my model
My mother was her model on set
But this is a stage on which we are players
And I will not give a verse a name that is not of my own creation
I will not credit the broken, glue-coated, splinters of myself
To some foreign and separate person
No, not to someone else

No rank. No class.
No substantial evidence to convict that spirit of ****** when the hands aren't even ******.
No reason to feel grief but sadness is the only real way to coop.
Rage confines the being of confidence, suffocates it lime a Boa, then devours the prey (being)

Where there is no confidence fear can control what the being has tried to cover up in an undeniable rush to keep what is secret hushed.
No Title.

words mean nothing
    if you can't read

Sergio Aguero:
He’s my hero.
Title-winner against QPR,
The man sure is a Super Star.

Paul Butters