He is not my boo
Except he is  being Naive
He keeps nothing up his sleeve
Not to mention his ugly tattoo

To new ideas,he rarely submit
Like there is nothing in his head
But he is extremely good in bed
To that, I must admit

Ink is my blood
Pen, my body
Notepad is my cross--
My head is still my head
My girl, my number one
And my favorite food remains pounded yam

I wrote her a poem
She won't like it
I tore it--
Its out of whack

I did her portrait with ink
She won't like it
I squeezed it--
Its not her skin color, its black

I plucked her some flower
She won't like it
I dropped it--
Its not rose, its lilac

I made her a pendant
She won't like it
I broke it--
Its not gold, its brass plaque

I'm at her door with no gift
She won't like it
But I love her
To the moon and back

An unusual creation of mine,
will it be good enough?
imaginative, yet a piece of my heart.
will it be good be enough?
Short and concise,
will it be good enough?
stanza after stanza.
will it be good enough?
whatever it is about,
will it be good enough?
Deity, blue sky,love or money
will it be good enough?
Effortlessly,my eyes closed, buttock sat, pen wrote.
Regardless, a poem it will be called
My Poem- First of its kind.

Have you ever gone surfing with someone that makes your Heart beat
fast-slow-fast at the same time?
High and free as the wind,
The refreshin' cold one caressing your wet skin.

Hand in hand on one board--
Two hearts slowly melting into one
As they ride unbroken wild waves
To an unknown destination.

Somewhere in the middle of the blue sea,
The last unicorn left.
She left you with half of her heart
A heart barely strong enough to beat

Flowing along with the voice of the ocean
A loud voice whispering no one,
No one can survive here,
Not Alone, Not ever
Not without a pen and a notepad.