Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Camouflaged in the ****
Nickname invisible sightings
That no one sees

Undetectable smiles
Young premonition
A hidden prediction
waiting to be born

You are shared
blood and bone
Still marinating in
An Immature vision
Never seen, just dreamt of
Love lies sacrifice by Navah the Buddaphliii

Will I lie of love?
To the one
Who is as true as day?
How shall I deny his smile in
light of earth's morning?
These questions have burden my blood and choked my breath
As I lie of a million pleasures
Pretending he has pleased
Knowing still not one he shall fulfill
Curse not my lying lips
for they are a hero to his heart
I will abandon my joy
To protect the soft part of his heart
I will show him not my saddened self but piercing arrows of strength
though I long to hide
in the shadow of weeping willow trees
Instead I ask myself
How can I cause pain to the one
whose heart for me is a glow?
In me love is frail
And my words
Are longing to lie
And the truth is
In love I am not
Still I allow him to consume me
And I shall obey our togetherness
for it is wise
Unlike his foolish heart
too far gone in love to see
I pretend to grieve not
I bid my happiness farewell
And sacrifice for him when others dare not
Cry with me the biggest river and together side by side we will drown in our own tears.
Waste yourself inside of me, and let us create a whole new universe.
Let me ask you a few dangerous questions.
1. when did wisdom magically become a weapon?
2. Can you turn the other cheek?
3. Can you turn lead into gold?
Because I can't.

See some of us reside in an unlivable temple
scraping by on ok, hog tied to the flawed words "I'm fine" and find comfort, knowing the only way to truly find contentment is to find a tribe of people willing to be unicorns and butterflies with you.

See we kid ourselves with the belief "they will save me", But we don't live in a house with a glass ceiling so we can see God or a sky that is easily taking apart.

sometimes I wonder, did I wake up today to another state of sleep ain't that easier to swallow than reality, ain't the best fight with yourself.
There I go again chewing on doubt as if it were gum.
Thinking of my mind as part incredible part trash and mostly dead

See what I meant to say is your mind is not something you can just escape from it is something you survive.
So I will continue to wear the sun like the air wears sage in the winter,
because after all ain't the best scent in a dream.
There above blameless clouds and a sluggish silver lining is an ivory pearl ruling like royalty in an unforgiving sky. In it are innocent stars accused of passionate crimes that are bridged together like a crucifix overlaying the night. The once powerful now defenseless lights are mourning their very own glow that fades away like compliments. They are fully vulnerable as sitting ducks waiting in the welkin.
These heavenly bodied creatures confined to grey areas and hummingbird grey lines are judged by a non-material heaven. When did the sky become similar to a prison, a jailhouse without bars, the slammer for stars? My guess is It started with the imbalanced moon's tall tale of what could have been. Her words traveled faster than a Halley's Comet going to and from every planet leaving bits and pieces of itself. Just imagine being that high from being high, and still, her highness falls for the stars. Those sparkly poetic gems, beautiful Asian flowers, orchids of the night. Only they are alluring enough to sweep the moon off her feet while the rest of Milky Way collapses at it.
It is unfair these up right things that bless the twilight are birthed in a moment they can't outrun, and still, they bolt through a sightless journey as they are chased by a galaxy of everything from satellites to black holes, but mostly what the scorned moon feels. If only they were shooting stars quick enough to escape from the crescent moon's mood swings and her Luna Eclipse of roller coaster rides So ludicrous you swear it was a dream or maybe some sort of nightmare.
Perhaps the celestial moon was never taught love is not a stranger to some but to most and that stars are not gods, but poets. And each night they spit a fine tune poem to the retro sky about how unsafe space feels in the dark and how there are no good nights there. Just empty goodbyes and as for the Royal Moon she got exactly what she wanted and it is for the precious stars to feels just as damaged as she is.
Look there, there a full moon hanging above a lousy *******.
And your moans go unnoticed like boring movie scenes.
Kamasutra your name you say? Well, I just assumed you were not that at all.
I see you more spilled cold coffee looking on enviously at tea leaves holding a straight *** conversation in a purple rain teepee.
Somewhere beneath a bed of stars and a sliver skyline falling in free form with a tribe of features, floating down no matter the weather, but to where?
Who knows? But I did notice my mind take the scenic route.
So I take chances and flip a coin, *** up heads down
I beat the odds and win, but what?
Who knows? But moving on right pass the earth’s after birth
and on to the next one, on to the next one
On to the blueprint to why freedom never rings it just sings
In a monotone *** position of undressed flesh
and out of the reach of our dumbfound imagination,
and our hearts that are broke like a lack of money and barely beating,
and our breath that is filled with smoke and barely breathing.
Like chronic asthma in a bent over backward dream taking it up the, who knows?
But I Do like wearing lipstick and catching ****** needs off guard,
as ******* take a life of it’s on. Doing it with or without me
I use to being *******. I grew up in a broken home, America where u at?
With your newly hidden slavery the same thing just different cotton.
They assign jobs to us our children to the state we live to work not work to live.
We do the same thing but make different mistakes.
And two days is not enough to recover from five, this **** is a disgrace
Oh beautiful for spacious skies, where at, who knows?
What I am trying to tell you is heaven has basic desires and a low self-esteem.
Just ask Natureboy the Christ, no ask him can he swim on land since he can walk on the sea.
and what I said got some of you bothered feeling some kind of way
But what would Jesus say if he was here? Forgive her father she knows not what she says.
Maybe Jesus is wrong I know exactly what I do. I am a pusher to this poem.
I will make it snort a ******* line that exactly what I would do.
Burn pictures on the conscious mind fire’s awake now making something better out of itself.
Just like a group of words, no one never thought about grouping together. No, really I don’t know when too much is too much, so I am liable to say things like does God like his face? Then why
doesn’t he show it
Would we judge him bully him if we saw it? Holy ****** baby feet Batman I can’t trust the alphabet or vegetables
This unsustainable way of living and that the government did not take part in those special fireworks done on
9/11. Body parts everywhere and since some time has passed I want to know does anyone care?
But who am I? But a beast in smallness with a mean left hook and have the things the world believe in
Really got me shook. I cannot walk around with the believes and definitions that are not mine.
My beliefs don’t weigh anything so I am not weighed down mentally or emotionally
I listen to the language of the earth because all the other languages are brittle
Nature all about cooperation, taking the good with the bad, and that's fine but you know what is not?
It is how religion aggravates me. I know you believe in God but does he believe in you?
No, because if he did he wouldn’t test you and still you are unable to see the acceptance you seek really come from you.
The Illuminati taught me that, but you know what is really truly interesting?
It is how Hall and Oats is white and of course angel ****.
And again I need to be careful what I say because I will have folks looking at me in the wrong way.
Wishing I would die and burn in heaven, well luckily for them I stay suicidal and I thought up about nine and eleven
Ways I can end it tonight. In death, my mind would be gone and that’s alright.
I will still create frighten poems. I will make my ghost write.
But as we all know dying is not an option and as we can see no fear just caution.
And I stay humble all day every day because I was told having too much pride that is for those who are ***, and happy I am not. I want to see the government put to a stop
A world with no freaking cops, the elite on the bottom and the less fortunate on top.
And my most random camouflaged thoughts open up the eyes of the senile so that they can see now.
What they could not.
A Spoken Word Piece With A Lot Of Passion and Random Thoughts Link Together.
Next page