know,
your best poem
will never find
the right word!

there's always a way
waiting
for the will
to find.

here's a ****
and here's a ****
and here's trouble

i look at the moon and think of you
so distant
the moon could’ve touched you
before i did

like a cat
i’m waiting for my owner
in my case, more gropes.
i am vain
i regularly conjure up poetry on my skin
do not give me yours.
i will recite every word to my last paper breath
so i can kid myself that paper is power.
my hands, are a canvas
canvas for anyone's ***** thoughts and ***** details
for if enough titles are painted on my body then perhaps
i will learn the complex trick
at trick of gaining depth.
and maybe the world will look as full.
as full and real as i
attest about it
read about it
dream about it
vision about it in books,
or dance with in music,
and maybe perhaps my edges will stop being ripped;
or my corners cut
or maybe my pages will not be burned and tossed aside.
true;
sometimes, i am this tiny
sometimes, i am this entangled
sometimes, i am this bonded
vulnerable, and judged by many
but also sometimes i am full of wonder

but right now, i am this.


|  i am paper and no wonder i like words |

we laugh until we cry
and cry until we laugh.
we love until we break
and break until we Love.
we learn until we brag
and brag until we learn.
we fall until we fly
and fly until we fall.
we crawl until we walk
and walk till we crawl.

| life is a play and here we are |

words aren't insisting
to be enshrined in poems.
i'm forgetting you

when am weak
who do i call?
my God it hurts
i can’t be calm.
what do i do?
do i run?
i am tired of hate, tired of love
dug my nails into my arms
she turned left to my scars and questioned  
“what is my worth”

the breaking
of
one wave
could never
explain
the entire
ocean
but it did
the shores it swashed

escape with yourself
your demons
and carry with- your gods

men have enslaved each other since they invented gods to forgive them from doing it’

history prefers legends to men
it prefers nobility to brutality
it prefers soaring speeches to quiet deeds
it remembers the battle and forgets the blood

whatever history remembers of me if it remembers anything at all. i shall always think of myself as a man well,
just a MAN

the most important thing is to keep the most important thing the most important thing

we have been assassins for a while
|
we just didn’t have targets...

hope is a force that wields
great power and great strength.
maybe there's no actual magic in it,
but where there’s hope,
you can make things happen,
it’s almost like magic.

i guess i bit off more
than i could ingest

i know she glowed
because
her stretch-marks had a tone of a kind


i know she glowed
because
her face without freckles,
was a sky without stars


i know she glowed
because
she was a beautiful imperfection
that no one could hold an objection

We’re all just grains of sand...

“screaming at the ones we love
controlled by those we hate!”

“the beauty of a woman is in the adventures she's taken, the lives she's touched and all the minds she's awakened.
|
the beauty of a woman is in the caring she gives, the sincerity in her laughter, and the passion in her griefs.

even in the loneliest moments,
i have been there for my self

Poetry
| the new age ******* |
that’s what my aunt carol calls it
| the new age ******* |
she says it sounds like;
“in quietness there’s truth”. some **** like that...

i see the beauty in you, and the darkness.
both are brilliant.

it has a way of wilting
or blossoming
at the strangest and most unpredictable hour.
but this how love is;
an uncontrollable beast in the form of a flower

You keep asking me about my past lovers
and whether i still have feelings for them.
You become upset when i don’t keep a straight face.

Yet, it is not my fault. For i can’t help but smile when i think about later tonight.
Pore excreting upon pore,
and how my fingers will through comb your hair.

this is it
if i write one more word,
it’ll be the furthest away from a scribble i’ve ever been...