Let my breath be your brush
To spread your color
And bring you pleasure
To part your clouds and thighs
Release the floods of dew and doubt
My tounge pushing demons out
By brush strokes traced along
Both black and blue and you
Till mixed the darkest shades of red
Of blood of soul and skin
Be not my prize of lust
It is the beating of my heart
That makes me dream of sin
I can love and leave no trace
I would spill no life or seed
If you did not whisper love back to me
My soul is yours
Chained to this fate
To ease your every pain
No pleasure need be mine
From parting cloud and thigh
I will savor ever crooked tooth
And leathery wing
And never cease to eat
Any demon to dare crawl
And hide within your sheets
My servitude is yours
My feet be puppet
And hands be marionette
To forever be your fool
My breath your brush
To spread your color
And paint your pleasure

When he leaves, there will be a lump in your throat
His footsteps will be louder than it’s supposed to be

You will watch him walk away and you will want to run after him and try to make it work
But don’t
His prints will leave marks like how it would on an ocean kissed shore
You will cry, or maybe not, but you will be able to think of nothing else but the fact that it ended
The entire two years you’ve spent together will flash before your tightly shut eyes and you will beg to fall asleep but couldn’t
Like that time you drank 3 cups of coffee, 2 kopikos, and 1 booster C
Your body will refuse to shut down, you will feel your heart beat towards its death, and you will wait in pain because there is nothing else you can do
You will wake up, look in the mirror and see every single thing that is supposedly wrong with you
Call your friends up, invite them over
Melt into their arms, cry and eat at the same time, do not be afraid to look broken, because you are
Even birds break their wings, it’s okay to not fly for a while

After a few days, weeks, months, you will pat yourself at the back and say you’ve moved on
Your lips will learn how to curve itself upward again and you will make the corniest of jokes
A song will play and the tape that plastered your world back together will surrender to the weight of your heart
Your eyes will shimmer but this time not from the light within
But from the fluorescent lamps that bounced from your tear glossed eyes that is trying its best to just get through the night
Life will teach you a new lesson and it is that moving on isn’t linear
It is not like going through school, where every grade you surpass advances you to the next
There will be days that you will regress
Days where you will stalk him on Facebook and see if he’s doing any better
And it will seem like he is and that will break you more
You will doubt if your love was ever real, if you were ever good enough, and if yes, why couldn’t it just be you?

If he calls,
Say hi
Do not tell him when you’re not okay
He is not home anymore
Do not tell him you miss him
Like it was a rewind button for life
It is not

You will look for affirmation everywhere, anywhere really
But like all wounds, it will heal
It will leave a mark and you will put fences up
Make sure to pound them in real deep
Not to isolate yourself from the world, but to keep the weak out
Plant flowers around it and take a walk regularly
You are not a prisoner of your past
Feel the pain and ask it how it is
Don’t ever wish for the same love
But love harder
Because sometimes, people don’t know how to
Show them

I still make two cups of tea every morning
I still help you to run the bath
I still pick out a tie for you
I still ask Charlie to make breakfast for two
I still change the channel to your favorite sport channel every morning
I still receive your daily paper and I still think it's weird that you read those
I still go out to the Dunes hoping to meet you waiting
I still turn on the night light by your side of the bed just the way you do
I still make room for you on the bed hoping you'd get in when you get back from work late

Your sister came by the other day
She drank the second tea
She thanked me for running her a bath
She asked me to donate your stuffs to charity
She ate the breakfast I asked Charlie to make just how you like
She changed the sports channels to watch the morning news
She cancelled your paper subscription
She made us eat at another restaurant
She slept on your side of the bed with me and switched off the light on her side

Your sister says they care about me
and needed me to move on

I don't think life and love ends in death...well mine didn't
I wait each day for you to walk in, say you missed your flight and took a different one
that there was no network that's why you haven't called
or that you were kidnapped or something
Just so you can end my grief
This grief is the only thing stronger than my love for you.

The guiding light of our lives
Our teacher, friend and counsellor
An enricher of lives
Your teachings,
A confidence for us all.

Your patience to foolishness
Your unfailing love without limit,
Giving comfort and encouragement,
Yet a disciplinarian at wrong doings.

Gift to the world
The strength of our lives
Your courageous heart,
A willer of strength for all generations.

Your unending sacrifice,
When all others are forsaking.
Your lessons taught through stories,
Giving future disciplines to many.

Your arms are always open,
When we need a hug.
Your shoulders,
Our ultimate cry-on buddy.

You witnessed our first breath
You witnessed our first walk
The illuminating lights of our lives
A loving heart,
Giving families your undying love.

Wonderful creation of God
You cry when we cry
You laugh when we laugh
You eat when we eat

A bearer of pain,
Yet masking it with smiles.
The holder of the home
The pillar for marriages

Your forever strong love
Our chauffeur
Our chef
Our forever playmate

You  love us nonetheless
You make the sun shine on a cloudy day
Our care giver
Our nurturer

A heart filled with care
Our male when we are lost
Tissue for our tears
Out umbrella during the rain
Our personal nurse when it hurts
Our fighter against all odds
Our guide during rough times
Your leadership,
A leading to the right paths.

You discipline with your right hand,
Yet drawing us closer with your left hand.
Our soul survivor,
Giving us life when it matters.

Queen of our hearts
Empress of our kingdoms
We cherish you,
As we spread your doings all over the world.

Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson

I think everything would be better with you
If I missed the bus, I could crawl into your arms
While I wait for everyone to wake up,
We could think and talk and eat
I could make you soup and tea while you put your head on my shoulder

However,
You are conspicuously gone,
And this soup tastes of longing and bitterness

me.gs

some fruit are sweet; some bitter
  you cannot eat one;
  then judge another

the farness of heaven is the farness of twin.  a packed theater starts a fire in a factory.  a mother and a father clay themselves as figures put to sleep in a clawfoot tub.  across the board, a boy is crushed after witnessing for the image of the crowd-surfing girl he was made in.  you can’t eat touch.

V1
Can't eat
Can’t breathe
Broke into a million pieces
Not good enough
You never cared
Gave you everything
I had
Gave you chances
Gave you choices
You chose wrong
Lost me
Let me fall
Watched me walk
You called my name
Never fought
Or gave a ****
Now I’m alone
Feelin’ cold
Left me screaming
Someone help me.

CHORUS
She thought she was in L.O.V.E love
Just to figure out,
She's lost, open, vulnerable and exposed
Truth is nobody knows
He dealt the final blow
Never thought he could sink this low
She can't take this anymore
Lying, Shouting, Tears start falling
down her cheek then her knees get weak
until she falls off her feet
time's ticking melting away
there is nothing left she can say

V2
Missed calls
Messy floors
Shards of glass on the floor
Outcast
Stereotype
Does it end?
Losin’ time
You crossed the line
Rainy days cloudy nights
You were almost Mr right
Broken hearts, wounds and scars
Lose my breath, in your arms
Dreams become nightmares
Loves a farce
A light shines slightly in the dark
The girl is, broken behind this mask
She was shattered, broken,
without words to be spoken
He left her used without a bruise
She felt like there was nothing left to lose

CHORUS
She's lost open vulnerable and exposed
Truth is nobody knows
He dealt the final blow
Never thought he could sink this low
She can't take this anymore
Lying, Shouting, Tears start falling
down her cheek then her knees get weak
until she falls off her feet
time's ticking melting away
there is nothing left she can say

V3
He missed me, kissed me
Held me, felt me
Kept my heart beating
‘till he left me
We cried, tried
And denied ourselves
Never thought, losing you
would hurt this bad
Our bond broke, relationship failed
Towards the sun I’ll set sail
Hoist those masts of hope high
we’re moving towards the sky

CHORUS
She's lost open vulnerable and exposed
Truth is nobody knows
He dealt the final blow
Never thought he could sink this low
She can't take this anymore
Lying, Shouting, Tears start falling
down her cheek then her knees start
getting weak until she falls off her feet
time's ticking melting away
there is nothing left she can say

©2017 Written By Benji James and Amanda Styles

There wasn't much I could do because like she said, "the damage is already done".
My efforts would be as time-wasting as a little mouse trying to eat a hawk, but I still tried.

This person had snatched her life away, for every stroke brought her closer to her death
Stroke number one weakened her identity
Stroke number two erased her identity
Stroke number three made her feel worthless
And before there was time for another stroke, she was convinced that she was worthless

Voice had no voice, for its mouth was being covered by every time she pleadingly and repeatedly cried "no"

She finally understood what girls she clowned on felt when insisting "no means no"

is...
your work...
the basis stratum
dynamic of...
infantilißing
poetry?   (debate... basic or basis?)

hell, if you don't like
the cure,
or depeche mode...
you sieve through
and furrage
for something, belgian...
like... the klinik...

no, i don't like being
made infantile...
like: i kept playing
with LEGO into my 30s...
just, just because i never
made use of
the claustrophobic-myopia
dynamic
of the prose strict,
utility of the paragraph...

maybe poetry is akin
to the sort of freedom
akin to breathing...
maybe: the child could
tell you:
what you're engrossed in?
your little, ****-fest
of adulthood?

     i can show you
the ******-taqiyya
with 3 minutes borrowed
from the film
  the sixth sense...
concerning the "magic" trick
of shaking your hands
and "supernaturally"
moving a penny from
one hand to the other...

i get it...
the poets are children
for authors,
since they cannot break
from the shackles of not
writing in descriptive
paragraphs
and having no imagination
for dialogue...

yeah... the sort of "dialogue"
that's really a monologue
of what poets do...
play into their late
pre-teen years with figurines...
no...
they're right...
i can't write a "dialogue"...
because i have "monologues"
in real life
that perplex me...
but, then again,
all the dialogues authors have...
would never fat-***-lodge
themselves into their own
heads to begin with,
they found it necessary
to invent a sort of
Pennywise escorts of
patience to wipe the blank
slate clear of written
exhibitionism...

     writing?
professional author style?
more like *******
for god....
unless god and the poets
is a close resemblance for
kiddy-fiddlers...
i am... suspect... hands up!

i'll ******* eat you
alive, and call it
a harvest of wheat!
not here, not on this "blank"
chessboard...
i know where the black
squares go...
i.e. where the letters in
black appear...

poetry is a variant of
infantalism...
hmm...

      MAYBE....

B                                         I






                                 G

space...
    you see any "clearer"?

hell... writing in vivo is:
"serious" writing,
fiction, author status,
paragraph sensible...

   maybe that's what heavy-heaving
literature always was,
words: in vivo...

poetry... sure... why shouldn't
any child attempt it?
  
  but money... is not part of this...
endeavor... is, it?

         if serious literature
can only claim stature
of in vivo...

  sure... the childish approach
to poetry begins with treating
poetry as: genesis in infans...

      my, genesis in infans?
painting...
             does anyone care i had
to fall into the educational
rubric of crafting spell-bound
examples of spelling?

serious literature:
big, biG, bIG, BIG people tongue...
a life as the many
trivialities
of making the myth
throwing a penny into
a fountain a...
        revision of reliving
the last moments of Pompeii!

doberman jaw...
******, please! feed me another
bone!

they're right though...
i am infantile in my "attempts"
at literature...
   i forgot to keep myself
schoolboy in schoolyard
uniform attire rigid,
for whatever,
is the worth of rhyme...
  hence they keep poetry
a medium on tight check...
over-ladden with...
  "technique"...
but... serious authors...
   labour in the paragraph
domain...
       like Descartes "mind"
connecting with the chair,
and table...

i'm still waiting for an answer...
i'm infanitle, becauase...
all my dialogues exist
outside my writing,
i abhor the claustrophobia
of the paragraph,
and the myopia
predictability of a narrative...
and i hold
the narrator:
pristine, unfathomable,
almost like a god?

  this is me... not becoming
a man?
oh...................
            so you want
that ******* song playing
in the background?
- what song?
depeche mode, martyr,
yes, no, maybe?

i have no...
          umbilical cord for
the furthering of "my" existence
on the tip of my tongue
to mind...
    yes... the ****** thing
attaches itself to either my
tongue or my metaphysical
tongue (ego) for all the worth
of second chapter of my time
here, being made aware...
what? you
    want the auguste rodin
   Le Penseur suddenly become
Le Fœtus.... to not apprehend
the synonym
      biology-burqa-blocked-toilet
reinterpretation?

at this point?
i have to scratch my head,
like chimpy-adam-and-suzie...

    you know...
by the time you'd read that sort
of **** from a serious author...
you'd be half-way from finding
a full-stop and a new sentence...
serious people over-load
their, original, poetic intentions,
with... serious...
monarchies of narrative...
hiding really decent sentences...
in heaps of descriptive
auxiliary props of
"never become Beckett-esque
theatre"...

     so yeah... poetry is infantile...
the only nuance:
i felt through
enough poignancy to make
a mistake,
and the mistake i made,
is... nuance...

                have you heard?
people take "serious" literature
compositions to bed...
       and they read them...
in order to fall to sleep...
meaning...
           i'm no nursery rhyme
genius...
                 but i also much
prefer to care for people
who are not subjected
to straining their eyes
lost in the myopia
labyrinth-paragraphs
of... 'and i saw!
the face! of Poseidon!'

blurry *******-boo-hoo,
i too...
          poetry is hardly infantile...
unless!
you have the sort of
ambitions to treat the paragraph
seriously!
and "dialogue" / i.e. a monologue
you will always have /
never have...
   and have children
to mind...

        then of course!
this medium of writing...
forever: hide & seek...
yet stating the painfully obvious...
tic-tac-toe...
and... hopefully:
very little rhyme.

Hey, it was nice knowing you,
And all your secrets,
And all your ****** fantasies,
And the way your beard smells,
And how your clothes felt on my skin,
And what you like to eat for breakfast,
And how you take your coffee.

Complete,
Raw,
Intimacy.

Self-assured connection.

Dreams of New Zealand,
And boat trips,
And learning to kayak,
And possibilities of falling in love again.


But you are yet another passing ship,
Anchor nowhere to be found,
No ripples left on the path you exited on,

So I guess I will never see you again,
Except on a boat in my dreams.

You say I am too skinny,
and you call me a *****.
You are kind of mean.

You take all that I have to eat
and you steal my treat.
You are pretty mean.

You take my money
and ****** my honey.
You are really mean.

Mommy says I have to fight back
and stop you from stealing my snack.
I think you will maybe stop being mean.

Turns out Mommy was wrong
you sang a mean song
about me
and you stole Miss Becky's tea
and blamed it on me.

Maybe you will never stop being mean.

I know,
I can navigate,
On the ocean's quietness;

On these blue waters,
I only see your face,
Through dark waves;

The next shore is still afar,
From my reach,

And I swear that,
One day,
I will arrive there;

Many navigators aspire,
To swim in the ocean,

But they ignore,
How deep it is,

For it's unwise to get,
Rather than seeing;

And my soul is still finding,
His own reign,

But the Blindness still persists,
Like a sweet honey,
Ready to eat;

How much long,
Might I still wait,
For I realize,
About my way?

I could eat the cookie
But I already feel queasy
But you didn't have to cut me off
The song sings
And I type whatever comes into
The cauldron called my brain
Hey, that wasn't supposed to be poetic
But yet I feel as though I can't stop
Being poetic it comes like the
Air I breathe
It comes from the higher power
And I being the speck of dust
Am happy to oblige
So this is lunch
Thursday
And I sit and type
Whatever comes to my mind

Sometimes trees look
very big
with the wind
blowing their leaves
like teeth ready to eat
a small bird
They're not supposed
to be mean
They're supposed to
love and provide
give birds a home
in this cruel world
in some places
the ground is barren
there is nothing
as far as the eye can see
yet birds exist
strong
flying
I am that bird
without a tree

flesh on ribs bone free
rarely dangerous to eat
China, gourmet fish

these fries are too salty
they dry out my mouth
but i still eat them
despite their detriment to my health

these fries are too salty
but they remind me of you
back when we came to this place
together, just us two

these fries are too salty
and so are my tears
i miss you my love
but it's been years

these fries are too salty
they're the opposite of your voice
it used to be sweet
and became my comfort noise

these fries are too salty
and i'll continue thinking
but because of you i'll keep eating
it's because of you i keep sinking.

she cries alone
drenched in tears
of her own shame
but not of her making

he ascended from shadows
and shadowed her
shattering her dreams
as easily
as did her *****

she became his fixation
a nightmare lived daily
where time
nor the hour
matters anymore

this monster
that looks as
human as we

invisible
to the eyes
of humanity

the unthinkable atrocities he commits
upon innocent flesh
he posses

shackled and caged like a dog

she cries alone

a burden
no child should have to bear

she thinks of her mother and
father
of her brother
and sister
and yes
of her dog
sam

if only she could warn them of
the monster
that lives next door

the monster
that comes to borrow sugar
or sip coffee
with mum on the porch

at times
drinking a few beers
with dad after work
boasting of games played
on the sports network

all the while stealing glances
at us children

she cries alone

who would believe her
this man
a pillar of the community
always
a helping hand

can't you see he's a sham
a monster
a *******
a child ******

ask him
as to my whereabouts
see if he answers you
with a straight face

the rattling of the cage
alerts her to his presence

he comes yet again

she cries
screams and
pleads for him to leave her alone

but this only seems
to give him pleasure

mocking her
he mounts her quickly
his screams and cries
of *******
the only sound left
heard in the room

a single solitary tear
falls from her eye

please God just let me die
she begs

her lament falling
upon deaf ears

maybe
it is God
who is dead or
maybe
God has no ears to hear

the monster has left the room
but his stench lingers
pervasively
like the smell of death

is it possible
to smell ones own death
she muses

for surely
she dies a little
each day

the death of
abandonment
the death of
loneliness
the death of
regret
the death of her
soul

if only
she was strong enough
to fight back

she would scratch out his eyes and
rip out his tongue
that filthy slimy thing
she would feed
to sam
he would eat anything

the thought
giving her slight amusement

the rattling of the cage
startles her

he's back yet again

she begins to cry...

it is a jolly old christmas for all


come on young dudes

bring on the reigns

pull the horses with mistletoe chains

put antlers on their head

and a red nose on one

and ran around town delivering presents

to all the children

a toy truck for bobby

a doll for mary jane

a train set for billy

yeah that is fine

then the choir in the streets

started singing ‘away in a manger’

as we protect the little ones from strangers

tis the season to be jolly

fa la la la la la la la la

the christmas pudding is ready to be eaten

they eat it after they go home from the baseball

after our team copped a beating

we wish you a merry christmas

we wish you a merry christmas

we wish you a merry christmas

from our dear cousin Sal

and everyone at the party

is celebrating with wine and beer

and we drink our fruit punches

and squirt them on everyone

and then i say, i am a happy dude

and i am a party dude

that parties all through the day and night

and little billy bob is a bit of a rebel

who really wants to start a fight

you see the only way you can stop him fighting’s

is say, you haven’t got the right to fight, ok, yo the party is on

and we open a great big can of coke and say

merry christmas dudes

I'm in a mid trap and all I think about you.
Can't sleep can't eat
nothing takes my mind off.
Reality vs Insanity?
you can ask me where I fall.
I can't breath, overrated anyways.
Values of life.
start contemplating every outcome 
Then accept them.
A starting place or a new beginning?
I need excitement, adventure.
Common words from a lonely man.
I can only contemplate death.
never to do a thing about it.
Lives unlike my own.
There is nothing greater than us.
show me what you believe,
I do not judge.
Life's only outcome is death. 
No one will be remembered.
Consumed with power and ego
I live to create a better life.
Not for me but my own.
Not to be remembered, 
But to remember lessons.
Because what is learned can only be remembered.

it’s too hot and sticky, dude

as when i move my body to do my tapestry

and i fee very very hot

i wish i can lose the sticky sensation

but it could be the chocolate biscuits i ate

it could be how negative i look

because it’s hard to move around when you are hot and sticky

i wish buddha can take the heat away

you see i perform music up there in nirvana

and i could feel hot and i could feel like doing so much

but why can’t i get rid of the heat in my body

my mental illness is getting the better of me

reminding me of the time i drank unlimited cups of tea

i remember when i smoked 120 cigarettes an hour

and to escape the heat i jumped in the shower

for half an hour

i do believe i can see into the future but it’s not something i should announce

like buddha through the city street flow of buses and trains and bicycles

you see it’s very very hot ya see, and the only way to end it is

put a washer over your head

it might make you look like an oldie but who cares

it takes just a few minutes to fall asleep with a cold washer over your body

i believe i can help people from up in nirvana

by sending stories to everyone via the internet

and any idea i have to help the world

i send it to people, and hopefully people can get it to work

i feel like moving my body up and down in and out

yeah, dude i am the coolest dude in the universe

why do old men marry young women, well it could be for money

i doubt it’s for love, mind you they are so rich they ain’t suffering much

ya see it’s hard to feel the heat, it’s hard to move around

i watch adds on TV, where i am sure that the nerd on the inbetweeners is doing a insurance add, cool, man

homer and bart are 2 trouble making dudes

and i am as hot as a pound of drippy bacon

water helps but then people’s discipline burns me right up

and i can’t hide away from the heat in young dude and cool heaven

you see it’s hard to understand why does summer get hot and winter is cold

it could be the food i eat, but  i think it’s the universe teasing getting us back on what people do

all i mean is, BE COOL, BUDDY

Travellers of the crazy kind
eat up the miles.
I was like that.
The need to keep on going
until your dream scape materialised
the one where the winding road
finally ended.
And crazy is what everyone you ever knew
call you now
for settling in a place so remote
from anyone else's idea of paradise.

i'm getting so tired of
breakfast.

it comes with eggs and a veg,
bread,
some kind of meat,
jams or jellies,
coffee or tea,
and a cigarette.

(if you got'em smoke'm)

there's an order to it:
the order in which it's sold,
cooked,
spread,
served,
smoked,
and the lingering scent
is enough
to entice Lunch to dinner.

i'm tired.
it takes up my morning,
burns out my bulb
before the sun rises,
and i don't have the drive to love myself.
i don't have the gumption to water
the money tree in my flaking window sill.

and that's ok.

no one needs breakfast,
or a money tree,
when there is no fast to break from.
i eat day in and day out,
we all do,
food is so easy now.
what we need is a breakfeed
from the Fat Tuesday
that is every day of the week.

you wouldn't give up
on your fill though
when the hole in your gut
is so deep
that it would take a tightrope
for your hands to reach your feet,
bound tight and trussed
like a turkey
for turkey day,
and a week
of cannibalistic frivolity
at the cost of your dignity.

In the bedroom,
The shadow shows a champion
We come to life as the sheets come undone
I'm loving myself while making love
To you
The rhythm is voluptuous in my ears
If you were me, what would you do
Cascades of pink and red
Gliding down your back
As I climb onto your up-to-no-good desire
Eat me up, love
A safe space, loving you down
Can I tango with the beauty
That is your seduction
Will I be the same man
Giving you this fall from heaven
In the morning

The Sparrows chirping during the dawn
And the light rays were falling from the sun
The way a wind blew on me 
I just observed I was under a tree 

I felt if I was a part of nature
Wealthier and wealthier than the costliest treasure
I wished I could sit there forever 
And stare the crow which is so much clever

A squirell than came near me to sit
And I gave some apricots for to eat
All these things changed the day for me 
And gave much pleasure to enjoy being free

"My Lord," the tall man says,
"I'll eat that
and more,
carefully as if it had thorns-
I want to confirm your worst fears about me.
It's premature burial,
without hope-
I pray to its shadow.
Nothing's changed except
it's about the blood-
and maybe not.
I was careful of her,
I let her love me;
her softness and midnight sighs-
don't ask me why.
I've no idea what I'm doing.
A world of bald white days in a shadeless socket.
Sufferer of Aloneness;
I know you won't understand this,
but that's the sum of it."

We can’t escape from the truth
From showing off
We can see the sea crying
From the deadly souls
We can see the earth
Full of pointless emotions
Falling into the wrong hands
Crying trees have never seen peace
The world becomes a smaller
Than you think it is

With all this pain and sorrow
We have underneath the system
Which controls and watch
All the moment we have done
All the things we have thought
That would help us
Get through a lot from sadness
We unleash our demons to the world
With no regrets
To seek to the dark
That carries a lot of weight

We left them hopeless
Without knowing anything
And easy to believe everything
Homelessness looks like a leftover
We can’t save others
Before we save ourselves
It’s the part of life
Which we can deal with
Mindless people always come
With bad ideas and worse leadership
Bad bloods created monsters
We fight to survive
We eat to be alive
We work to live
We die to rest
Our souls will be gone from us soon
We just have to be ready
For the final show