"designate" poems
"Commitment issues"
Commitment: a designated set of time
Issues: problems
So I cannot, successfully,
Designate an "appropriate" amount of time
To a relationship
Is that right?
Keep in mind,
These women enter my life
And I tell them I don't believe in marriage
And they say "that's ok"
Until it's not.
Maybe it's a comment I made
Or maybe they forgot
But something changes over time
And I am not an object
I am not some possession
That people can lay claims to
I am a human
With ever-changing needs and desires
With thoughts and feelings
And my own perception of reality
So maybe I get anxious when people
Try to put some hold on me
You chalk it up to commitment issues
What if I just don't like feeling owned?
What if I simply refuse
To let anyone remove my autonomy?
And what's even wrong with that?
Who gets to decide what is an
"Appropriate" amount of time?
Oh, wait,
That's "forever" right?
Says who?
Why should I continue to chase this
Socially-constructed dream
Of spending my entire life with one person
If that's not what makes me happy?
Trust me, I've tried for a long time
And I could never seem to find
A singular being
Who I'd willingly spend eternity with
If that even exists
And until this point
I've been unhappy most of my life
Reflecting on my failed attempts at
Happy monogamy
I am finally happy now
Free love is beautiful
It has liberated my soul
It has liberated my love
And my sense of self
For once I feel happy most days
I am focusing on myself now
Instead of pouring everything into another
I'm growing more everyday
And learning more about who I am
But you just brush that off
Saying my polyamorous identification
Is a manifestation
Of some fear of commitment
It couldn't possibly be the real me
It couldn't possibly be the way I feel happiest
Because it's not the "normal" way to desire?
It's not the logical form of love?
Or it's just different
Or it's just new
And you rejecting it within me
Means you aren't accepting me for who I am
In this moment
If that's the case
Then I don't know who you're in love with
Because this is who I am
Whether you like it
Or disagree with it
Or not
This is who I am
And I'm so over
Trying to validate
Justify
And explain myself
Just because someone disagrees with my form of loving
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
Snow fell deeply on the graves that night,
falling on both the wealthy and not so,
coating with cleanliness and purity all who
do not deserve and the very few who may.
The snow descended coldly and quietly,
blanketing gravestones and statues alike.
Distinguishable only by their shadows
and heavenward thrusts and stances,
they continue to designate where bodies
lay and bright hopes are finished.
Despite the softness and the silence,
above the solitude and endless white,
the boundless rage of ended dreams
seems to penetrate upward, to shriek.
--
Sep 10, 2011
Sep 10, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
The gap, the take,
The spindle-rake.
Don't designate the load.
The lack, the sting,
The dandy spring,
There's more than you could know.
So weigh your time,
With thundrous lines,
This yours is yours alone.
Thus Live It Loud,
And Sunstorm Proud,
Use this full day
for,
"GO!"
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 10:14 PM UTC
Here is where I take your smile and
stretch it into a sunset, I
remember your words to mean
everything they didn't
I make haikus out of eyes and note how
they emit light when you laugh
This is where I draw you indelible
on the pages of a notebook
I color you vivid, write you
permanent, take non-fiction and
turn it fantasy,
Into something we might watch
together on a Sunday night
I designate you hero of the story and
I wait with tired arms
to be lifted into yours
Here is where I create a landscape
out of ash and worship you with
language you don't deserve,
vocabulary that is too big for your small
Here is what could easily be a love poem if
you were someone who wanted one but
the only want you have isn't for me
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
325
Of Tribulation, these are They,
Denoted by the White—
The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Rank
Of Victors—designate—
All these—did conquer—
But the ones who overcame most times—
Wear nothing commoner than Snow—
No Ornament, but Palms—
Surrender—is a sort unknown—
On this superior soil—
Defeat—an outgrown Anguish—
Remembered, as the Mile
Our panting Ankle barely passed—
When Night devoured the Road—
But we—stood whispering in the House—
And all we said—was “Saved”!
1.7k
I could write a poem on how the storm outside
Assaults my window panes with pain intended.
The wind brings life to the inanimate accessories of trees
Previously dropped to the ground like cigarette butts.
And I could say how this weather suits my mood
As if even though I’m sitting here in a towel after my bath,
There is chaos inside my mind far greater than any weather occurrence.
But that would be insane.
As if the world outside, where the purpose of the sky is to designate the rain
Shares any likeness to the mood I am in.
Or the life I lead.
How full of myself, to believe the crashing I hear from battering rain
Could compare to the need I feel to explode out of my own skull.
No.
Not ever.
Me and Mother Nature share no maternal bond.
Even if she could depict what way the wind blows, depending on the state I’m in
How could she know?
When I am merely here, in my towel, upon my bed.
Expressing no wrath compared to that outside.
Believing that the storms I see from my bed
Rival the storms inside my head.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
Never Have I Ever (Slam Poem)
5/27/2014
Having a best friend makes you think of weird things.
Stuff like:
Getting slapped in the face with a fish is more about smell than texture.
13 nights in a row drinking isn't so bad if you save cash not using mixers.
A stranger hitting on you is a storyline for tomorrow's lunch.
Redecorating my room is just for you, nobody else will see it.
You asked me to go shop with you, are you saying I need new clothes?
Crushing Ritalin in a bathroom, because we stayed up 'til 6am before work.
Pooping is like extra time in the day set aside to call you on the phone.
Why do we play Never Have I Ever when we already know the ever's?
People think we constantly say inside jokes, but we're just telepathic.
I get into shape before you visit town, because you're my best wingman.
If we ever stop being friends, I really hope you don't blackmail me.
Can I designate you to speak at my wedding, babyshower, and funeral?
... or is it too soon to do that?
Losing friends can make you think of weird things, I imagine.
Stuff like:
1. I should stop ordering carne asada fries - I can't finish a whole portion.
2. I keep my curtains closed - I know your car won't randomly be outside.
3. Having lunch alone ***** - I shared a crazy story with the cashier today.
4. I take my poops with the stereo on now - I never could go in silence.
5. My voicemail inbox is full - I can't delete any when your voice pops up.
6. Maybe I should call you.
7. I need to talk to you.
8. I wish I could call you.
9. If only you'd come visit town.
10. Maybe I should go visit the cemetery.
11. I have a new least favorite Never Have I Ever.
12. Never Have I Ever had a best friend die.
And I hope I never ever will put that finger down.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
I was once just the moon sitting alone in a cold shadow
Then my Sun appeared, rising and lighting me so
His warmth wraps around the earth to make me burn and shine
To be lit up and seen as beautiful is more than devine
I sat alone in cold emptiness for so long never knowing your heat
Now I am shining brightly and your burning fire never missed a beat
I know you have a cycle and schedule and I do as well
Maybe if I help you and vice versa we will beat this hell
You the light, me the dark, and the earth our child in between
Who would have thought the old dark moon would become the sun’s queen?
I know that I never thought it was really a serious possibility
My life had once been meaningless, just an exercise in futility
Now I knew my purpose and was proud to be lit up by solar light
Tearing away from you during a rare eclipse never really feels right
Somehow my lunar intuition awakened and I am able to see
Part of being the moon and the sun is never being totally free
I exist to orbit, to serve and reflect your beautiful sunny glow
You exist to give order, give life, and align it all just so
Sure I enjoy being an occasionally lit beacon in the starlit night sky
I willingly but willfully hand over control and never ask why
I know deep inside my moonstone core that you will always return
One lunar cycle and then I get my awesome sunburn
I doubted if the universe would ever designate me time and place
Then all of a sudden you pulled me in to make my suborbital with grace
You touch every rock, crater, and imperfection with with your warming light
Earth which binds and separates us sees full lunar glory some select nights
Nobody would have ever thought I was beautiful before you lit me up
But since you came along NASA created satellites just to get me closeup
I will never mind being here and reflecting the perfection of you
Besides you owning my heart and soul we get to share quite the view
When people thank me for being the moon I say thank my dear solar love
Because of you I am special and I get to be a real part of this heaven above
To Shawn, With Love
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
A trophy doesn't designate
A winner
Anymore than swearing denotes
A sinner.
Think
Attitude,
Not
Platitude,
And
Wear a ribbon.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 8:36 AM UTC
Its not the point of killing faith that u will find someone.
Its the action of loneliness and controlling your bonds
Its empty alone and so is pretending to love
You cant make connections not like addiction to drugs.
Save the drug of infatuation.
No reason just meaning less
No selection. Just what drips in your lap
No focus just lenses that crack
The sextant marking starlines that guide your path
is no longer Coordinated calibrated to designate a map
Walk amble climb along to view a moral prefix
to design a way out of a sea just arms length
with the depth of the roots of mesquite trees in the spring
We are all stowaways in a ship waiting to jump to shore.
Trying to find a place to spill seeds in the tilled rows of a *****
The words you whisper are pretty and my minds enthused
tho i know every go at this game i shall lose
Im wandering in a labyrinth
Chasing in a brain
like a rat in a spinning wheel following reflections from a cage
You tricked me. Oh yes. You win
Im no longer a man like all women before you ate the innards left a shell
spit out the hull
Dragged my meat to the floor
One final kiss and i leave, i am missed
You say lies again
i pull off your fist
its on my head
its in my throat
i read words that you spoke
its not my fault
its the blood clot
keeping us unconnected in this note
I am dreaming
secret beaming
red lights blinking
help is sinking
No hope between two
softly stroking
my cross is burning
No fires stoking
On my fore arms
on my chest guard
all is sinking with the funeral
All the voices in my head
are telling me it should be dead
yet the ***** in my soul
tells me that he still pleas for bread
But i starve him
and i lash him
and i strap him to this ledge
for he is wrong
and yes he lies
you're the harpy of my dread
You ******* killed me like i was a lame horse to be put down
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
I tend to fall for beautiful destruction.
The ones who will dedicate my favorite love song to me
So when they leave I can't hear it without thinking of them.
The ones who will call late at night
and talk about nothing
Till i drift to asleep
So i cant rest until i hear their voice wish me goodnight.
The ones who will designate an "Our thing"
So whenever I watch "Our Movie"
Or "Our Show"
I'll remember watching it with them
and have to turn it off.
The ones who give me one nickname
So no one can call me "Darling"
without it feeling wrong.
The ones who will make inside jokes
The ones only we know
So whenever someone mentions a small thing
Like soda pop or trailer trash
a small smile will cross my lips
as I remember them.
I tend to fall for someone who takes over the small things in my life
leaving their name all over them
So when they leave
the small things leave too
leaving a whole in my life
as the things that once brought me joy
Will only bring me to tears.
I fall for the ones my mom wouldn't warn me about.
I fall for the ones who make themselves unforgettable.
I fall for the ones who seem to care.
The ones who will spam my inbox
just to get my attention
when they know i feel lonely
The ones who will call
when I'm crying
Just so they can try to cheer me up.
The ones who will say They're proud of me
when I do what to some may be small
but to me is spectacular.
The ones who will listen to my deepest thoughts
Then tell the theirs.
I fall for those who never intend to stay.
I fall for those who will only hurt me.
The ones who when we're together make me feel like heaven.
But when they inevitably leave
Will destroy me.
I tend to fall for Beautiful Destruction.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Democracy or theocracy
The choice is yours
What it’s gonna be
Take another look
At Lady Liberty
And ask yourself this question
Do you like bein free
There’s no doubt that
Christians have good news
But we here in America
Have the right to choose
Some may refuse to bow
Or to acquiesce
But they’re still citizens
None the less
Democracy or theocracy
The choice is yours
What it’s gonna be
Take another look
At Lady Liberty
And ask yourself this question
Do you like bein free
See we’re all equal
In God’s sight
He didn’t designate
The religious right
To rule over
All the rest of us
So in Him believers
Oughta place their trust
Still some out there
Are bound to insist
That’s fine for believers
But the atheist
Should also have the right
To not believe
So their pursuit of happiness
Can be achieved
Democracy or theocracy
The choice is yours
What it’s gonna be
Take another look
At Lady Liberty
And ask yourself this question
Do you like bein free
She prays in a church
And he a synagogue
But even the mosque
Is still the House of God
More than one road
Leads to Rome
And more than one religion
Claims heaven home
Still some out there
Are bound to insist
That’s fine for believers
But the atheist
Should also have the right
To not believe
So their pursuit of happiness
Can be achieved
Democracy or theocracy
The choice is yours
What it’s gonna be
Take another look
At Lady Liberty
And ask yourself this question
Do you like bein free
(c) Copyright 2015. Cedric McClester. All rights reserved/
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
How unprepared I was when midnight approached me by
Emission of vivid green neon lights
From the futuristic skyscrapers to my unworldly eyes
But more imposing
A suspended meteor in the sky
Upon the decrepit city which never stood
My arrival at Midnight City, my peculiar neighborhood
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Bombard tremendous fear in my senses
Amid the resonating pantomime that cracks throughout my head
Merciless cyborgs arrive from nowhere
And threaten mankind with unthinkable weapons
Their bleak empty eyes bring dogmatic order
As my escalated fears enslave me well
Inside the mechanical serpent that darts
With endless slick demented rails
On such a twisted mind, it begins to run
Confused and addled, I have no control of this matter
Only worries dwell my mind
The arrival of this mysterious force is my greatest baffle
Does this herald the degeneration of Gaia?
What is this complex machinery that enslaves all men?
Where does this designate human posterity and fate?
What was done for an act of retribution?
Does this unprecedented apocalypse null all human solutions?
In this dark tunnel, on a decrepit couch
The dauntless train begins to screech with endless laughter
As it tears tempestuously faster and faster
Until all unearthly fluorescent lights blend together
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Eighty-six notches louder
Alternating flashes of red and green
Fourteen seconds prior
A silhouette of a white demon projects from afar
As it begins to approach us, its image ever becomes so bizarre
Add a second of suspended silence of jest
Before we scream and ensue
The fatal crash
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
There will certainly be
A great many of them
Far readier than I’ll ever be
O blessed unborn one
Yet endowed with inexistence
To whom mercy shall slip from
And re-emerge in its awakening
Beings past or below my shrinking age
A great many among them
Whom I once did or shan’t collide
Beyond the captured scope of mutual days
To relate to you what high events
Unrolled before our common eyes
Folks granted with the privilege
Promoted to the status of witnesses
Historians, athletes and prophets
By themselves and their narratives
I let them unroll their good accounts
Forfeit their tales of what must be bound
To mould your unsuspecting
Circumspect mind and
Save you from sensing
Delicately sensing
Voices that once knew more
Than in haste speak
Than with haste carry
Daringly could the silence hear
Untangle the mumbling tango
Of the vociferous crystal parade
My darling unborn one
The tortuous path out of the forgings
Of reason almighty, the ventricular beast
Played and echoed in loops and on repeat
No, you shan’t feast on their hymns
Yours is meant for the engineering of belief
In something further, of glory,
Far more, furthermore,
Something extraordinary
Than the days of days
And the knowns of knowns
And to lodge firmly out of the stillness
That’s woven in the heart of your chanting storm
And in the precipice of the forecast
May you never come to designate
But the space between the notes
So that when it comes not to ever pass
We shall rejoice in the untold absence
That binds us as if pierced by an arrow
While we ask about the bow
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 6:26 PM UTC
I want the children to stay silhouetted against the sun,
doing handstands, throwing their heads down and kicking
the cloudy, blue water.
They are silly children
with no fear of the fall and slipping shirts
that expose their human bellies.
They are spending time upside down
before the ground is lava and before they have to
check the sidewalks for cracks,
before they are tricked
into believing there is a secret underneath their feet
and they are greedy, greedy,
always looking down with limp arms and hunched shoulders.
They throw themselves over the ground
again and again. Not understanding
that their arms are too weak to keep their legs wading
against the current of gravity as
it pulses down on the Earth.
Or maybe they do know
and they are only trying to do handstands,
looking for a new perspective, a different world,
not the one they are stuck with.
They could be searching everywhere
for an alternative before they have to balance
on two feet and face the fear
that will rake in moments of their lives.
They already know that fear
but maybe trying anyways is what makes all the difference.
Perhaps everyone should go home right now
and designate handstand stations
in their living rooms,
throw open the windows,
and let the sunlight in
because it really is getting warmer
or maybe we're all just getting
used to the cold.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 4:42 AM UTC
How do I mend my relationship with my body?
How do I hate myself, less?
How could I?
How dare I?
The world doesn't.
It tells me all the reasons why I shouldn't.
I mustn't.
I must hate myself.
I must hate my body, that is what I deserve.
What my body deserves
Love is reserved for the thin.
the beautiful.
The beautiful.
I could never be beautiful.
It's a lie,
when they say it.
It's a lie.
when they say I am.
I am beautiful from the neck up.
but you'd never use that word,
designate it to my body.
to the rest of me.
The rest of me should be tossed away.
discarded.
Please sir, can I keep my head?
It's the only place I live, the only place I am allowed to be.
I am not allowed to be beautiful. not allowed to be thin.
that was not the hand I was dealt. not my lot in life.
I exist in the world with my shame exposed.
On display.
Do you know how that feels?
No hiding.
No escaping.
No pretending.
I am fat.
My body is fat.
and from first glance, you can see my unworthiness.
My lack of deservedness
It's always there.
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC
Over this I vacillate:
The writing down of verse,
Wealth of language distillate
Quench and cause my thirst.
Easy enough to hesitate
When errands need be run,
Either way I procrastinate
Leaving the other undone.
For quiet I equivocate
Time and time again, for
It is bliss to terminate
The what, the where, the when.
Sometimes I stew in stalemate
Two webs entreat be spun:
Revel in stillness or illustrate,
I pay with time for one.
Rilke said discriminate
If one must write or not,
To breath to write to oscillate
Conundrum of my plot.
Awareness and artistry bifurcate
My will in two extremes,
Yet I know when conjugate
They vivify the means.
Unsure if it is designate
I muse and metaphor,
I know with thrill words compensate
When they begin to roar.
What is the thing that animates
This soul to write a poem,
Passion to note and formulate
Or to be loved at home?
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 8:25 AM UTC
Baptized in death incarnate, shown the worlds reality at a age of inspiration, with dreams dance upon the wings of butterflies in fields of daisy's, ******* the nectar of life, to sustain the biological imperative, that everything is connected beyond life and death.
Merge pen and ink, upon the fallen trees, show the world, the vulnerabilities of a soul lost in the shadows, were light fights the darkness to escape to another day, beyond the pages you write, beyond internal dialogue of devils and angels upon your shoulders.
Shower your soul, in the tears of angels, who have lost their wings and laid to rest upon the battleground, the lives of men, to stain sacred ground with life sustenance, every breath a battle you must tell now, so they are remembered in the pages of history
Purify this ground, with the ink within your veins, poet, rise from the ashes of reality, sprinkle the air with stardust, of fallen souls, in languid waves of desperation to live again, beyond the tragedy of death you've witnessed, here today. entitle, designate and cleanse this world a new, so every heart may know, deep within the recess of darkness within your eyes, incandescent flames burn the birth of a poet
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
When the apocalypse comes, I will remember the days I was not allowed to be myself.
When the land will tremor, the insects inside me will crawl towards the edge of my soul.
The regrets beneath me will lay out like a web of cracks on an aged wall with no end.
When my body will be underneath the fallen ceiling, I will wail remembering the burden of my emptiness that once felt like nothingness.
When the keepers of my soul will put a name to my existence, I will designate it as "life",
And if they tell me that reincarnation is real, I will still want to be me but with a different mind,
And in any parallel world, if flowers would fall from the sky, I will want to be me but with a different heart,
And if they will tell me that life will be short, I'll be a chirping bird in the eyes of my cat.
I'll be the sound of dripping water that fascinates a little girl.
I'll be a saccharine melody in the times of war.
I'll be a moment of an autumn leaf falling onto a bed of dry leaves.
I'll be a nimbus cloud to a deserted barren land.
I'll be a book in the bag of a poor boy.
I'll be a candy in the hands of a child,
I'll be the essence of lilies to a pleasing garden.
I'll be a beam of revolt to a captured slave.
I'll be a proud smile on a martyr's mother.
I'll be the infinite possibilities of incarnation after the apocalypse.
Oct 16, 2024
Oct 16, 2024 at 3:46 AM UTC
My heart aches and my back breaks
from all this pressure on me.
I try to escape and i try to designate
That Balance is all inside of thee.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
You have boxes of cereals
I have boxes of crime,
Don't worry about it
I am not like that serial killer vine.
My boxes are not illegal
But regarded as trek,
I designate them as crime
Because it's done on beck.
The first crime is universal
Which is eating during a class,
And if you get caught
You will get a detention to pass.
Second needs a little courage
Which is bunking the lab,
And you will roam the whole school with friends
Without hiring a cab.
This crime is something planned
Distracting teacher from her study point,
Asking tales about their life struggle
Because we got bored from her english coined.
This crime is nothing less than others
Which is cheating during a test,
Not everyone will accept that
Because not everytime it did help them to score their best.
If you start to count them all
It will take your whole life to wind,
You created memories that are crime
Which you won't ever mind!
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 11:13 PM UTC
The Weather Channel, ubiquitous,
Who among us does not have this app,
On their phone, computer, mobile device
Ready for a quick scan..
Odd topic for an essay,
Strange, that your poetic silence
Should be broken this way,
Then again, you didn't inquire,
Or even notice it had gone missing.
Yet the channel/app of which I write,
Is mobile, and certainly, applies to each of us
But cannot be found on any device but in our hearts..
When we awaken,
The temperature is taken,
A glance upon your visage
Reveals rested or irritable,
Blue clouds or storm warnings,
Better dress appropriately...
But even this is not the forecast
Of which my heart and words speak,,
The whether I need, the thermometer reading,
The barometric pressure that needs knowing,
Measures whether you love me still,
Love me more, love me better,
Than the last poem/day we just wrote/recorded,
Yesterday...
The waters we will yet navigate,
The sky we shall observe,
Cloud shapes to design and designate,
A fortune to prognosticate,
Is the sum of the fortunes/forecasts we create daily.
Our weather is our good fortune,
And strangely the forecast is the same daily,
Whether fair or hurricane,
Whether gladdened or pained,
Our forecast, ours,
Our forecast, unique,
Our forecast, let us record it into reality,
When we awaken entangled,
Looking out the window and envision,
Predicting our life-scape.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 9:56 AM UTC
let me take you to church on friday nights after gin and whiskey
roar ‘oh my god’ so she knows you like it
take communion when my thighs greet your face
- - - - taste thy gifts, which we are about to receive
knees rap the hardwood floor, make you beg for mercy
whisper sins in my ears, teeth bashed pillows no longer muffle
crying out your confessions, repent
- - - - keep it pseudo with a blindfold
dip deep, deliver baptisms when i get you wet
- - - - god is a woman in this bed, no more ****** mary’s
metamorphose **** into holy water
vocalize moans to the harmony of the gospel
precise fingers conduct the choir
- - - - adagio, andante, allegro - you designate
reach salvation when you ******
- - - - arch your back, thy will be (un)done
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 9:01 PM UTC
Freckles of time
Fly effortlessly by
Leaving me behind
Closed doors–what I find
is a knack for creation–
Indulging syncopation
In establishing my mark;
I desire differentiation
in my work to designate
The things I’ve done
Quite innate
Is my notion to be unique–
yet
Like a speckle of dust
Surrounded by stars
In vain, I do rust
At the thought of my existence–
in comparison to my surroundings
my hard work isn’t astounding
or significant at all;
my life–like dust–
is smaller than small.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
Originate
Meditate
Hallucinate
Dessegregate
Mediate
Alleviate
Try not to hate
Love your mate
Deliberate
Opinionate
Don't procrastinate
Appreciate
one's own fate
Love is fate
A one world state
Human freight
The number eight
A white & black state
Never hate
The human race
Proliferate
Communicate
A gentle trait
The broken crate
A heavy weight
Or just too late
Now devastate
Appreciate
Depreciate
Fabricate
Emulate
The truth dilate
Special date
The animals we ate
Guilt debate
The edge serrate
A better rate
Deliberate
Fascinate
Deviate
Reinstate
Liberate
To moderate
Recreate
Detonate
Annihiliate
Atomic fate
Mediate
Clear the slate
Activate
Now radiate
Food on plate
Gravitate
Now simulate
A perfect place
A heavy weight
Is it too late
Racial debate
Participate
Love & Hate
Just create
Never break
A firm had shake
The State's on the take
The girl is late
A baby to take
A mother aches
A heart breaks
Alleviate
Just fornicate
Now devastate
Appreciate
Depreciate
Fabricate
Emulate
A ******* child
The youth's irate
A mind to take
Facilitate
Deliberate
Fascinate
Deviate
Reinstate
It's getting late
The Earth's own weight
Designate your love as fate
At ninety-eight we all rotate
To Liberate
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC