There is art
In your heart
When I lay
My head down on your chest
There are songs in your eyes
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare
There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you
You are tortured
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk
Monster sized swag; not modest bout my splendor
Marvel at the flag and I'm the ultimate avenger
Buck Rodgers, D-Bird yep I'm the number one contender,
So I gotta uphold this rep of bein uncontrollable
so I'll take the lead, I hold the world beneath my feet
I'm a fiend, elite
Haze so cloudy cause I be blowin Swisher Sweets
Drug addiction is my disease
It's my expertise
See here's the masterpiece:
I'm traumatized since 1993
Victimized by the lies
of this trifilin enterprise
You can front but you can't hide
There's no fault behind your eyes
So I hope this insult will suffice
It should come as no surprise
A grin will spread across my face
From side to side
My ***** mouth will mesmerize
the words that escape my lips
I'm a degenerate unabridged uncut
You're a ******* ****
Go hang yourself from a bridge
Here's a rope, I hope you choke
******* ******* smoochie smoochie
Only chains you got is Gucci
Y’all basic brothers rep that set
But fake like that 2chi
man I get so high,
Now watch me get higher
Watch me take flight
As my wings soar skyward
You know I'ma fighter
So watch me take my place
As I eat this rap game up
and then spit it in your face
Now pass me a lighter
see me rollin while I bake
I mean I'm not a pastry maker,
but I still bake for the sake
My rhymes are so ill
They're gonna make you sick
I be tweetin on my twitter
While Betty Crocker ***** my ****, uh
Reid between the lines son and please proceed with caution
Alien splittin kilos, I be one tweaked ****** martian
I'm five steps ahead and these haters ****** forfeit
You four feet tall and I'm so high I'm in ****** orbit
Make these snitches sleep with fishes
How ****** vicious spittin mischief
****** trippin out these hypocrites
Dishin out these disses which
in this fast paced game of chase
But if I wanted to catch your drama
I'd just go check my facebook page *****
"Reid between the lines son.." Is a double entendre, my name is Reid so it's saying I'm between lines of snorting *insert illicit substance* and read between the lines. Buck Rodgers and D-Bird are a couple rap aliases from in the day.
They'll paint white walls over your thoughts
Because they think simplicity looks better than polka dots
They will strip you down to nothing
Because bare is better than bare minimum
They say your body is your canvas
Then why are they scribbling
On her canvas?
They’ll doodle words
With some phrases of flatter
Like "You're pretty"
Teaching us that -that's all that matters
They'll hang up a **** model picture,
Because your body should look like this, you know? Richer.
They'll say your body is a temple
“Oh you're eating all that for lunch?”
They'll say your body is a temple
But her body
her body is the house
she grew up in
And yet you have the audacity to try and burn it down?
I forgot to mention,
The white paint that they used to paint over you? yeah ... slight misunderstanding. Its permanent.
What could they expect? Their fault, actually... it said everything on the label.
But they were too busy, you see. Too busy to see what it was really made out of, too busy to read what made it the way it was.
Because one glance is enough, right?
One glance is enough to ask her what did you eat today?
And she would answer oh plenty!
Sure she did.
she ate plenty of lonely with a side of regret and sprinkle of sadness for a touch of flavour
And for dinner, she ate her tears
she watched her blood eat her alive
she wasn't so hungry anymore.
And you would look happy with her answer because
she is treating her body like a house she doesn't even recognize
And you would look happy with her answer because
she let her body become your canvas
And you would look happy with her answer because
Your white paint was worth your money after all.
If I added up all my scars,
across my arms and over my hips,
I could stitch them up,
into untold stories and engrave them on my skin,
so everyone could see,
the vulnerability within.
If I spread my wounds across a canvas,
purple, blue, red, and other hues,
creeping on rippled fabric like stars in the night sky,
I’d create galaxies,
with craters, suns and moons,
constellations of healing wounds.
I'd stay up all night
just to hear you speak
cause' darling, poems are lovely
but you're the masterpiece.
Our every word that comes out
has the potential to **** when
your seemingly fragile but villainous
lips caresses my weaponed tongue
encouraging the venomous noise to be
reborn again and again.
Soft yet viscious touch.
I demand for more.
I urge for attention.
Patience is running thin!
I never even looked away from the
light in your eyes
but you were watching my entire flesh
rot in the colours you gave me.
When you left, all went dark
for the light in your eyes were just
fires that burned too bright
and couldn't last.
It was then
when I was standing all alone
in the black hole you helped me create,
the one that ****** away everything I loved,
I realized that I was colourblind,
that your touch and your words
were bleach that sunk into my core,
leaving me only in black and white.
~ part 2 ~
this is the second half of a two-piece poem,
this is how the masterpiece ends.
"Masterpiece" and "Colourless" can be read as two entirely separate poems, however, they were originally written all in one poem but due to further alterations, they were suited to be split in two.
© 2015/17 August LAICEY Poems
Picture yours, put it out
to your kaleidoscope.
Like the day at the full-blown noon
or the night on the cheek of the moon
a flame burning on the underlying dark
a dawn switches on the first light
a sun comes out of the night.
Visualise your latent one
put it on before your mirror!
Princely give the eyeballs a designer treat.
Paint your masterpiece at the day’s peep.
Hook the browsers at their first click.
I am a masterpiece
beautifully crafted by you
i'm a canvas of bliss
painted in a vibrant hue.
yet you never admired me
instead, you ignored the beauty within
how cruel is my destiny
the end of me is 'bout to begin.
you disheveled my peace
i pleaded but there was no sound
slowly, piece by piece
i fell on the hard ground.
soon, I will feel no pain
the strong me is now awake
one day, I shall stand again
by then, i'll be a wonderful mosaic.
Sometimes I wonder
If clouds cover up sunrises on purpose,
Jealous of the way they shine,
Or if they just long to be part of the masterpiece.
The moment I go back
in my memories
Part of me knew
of a kaleidoscopic memories
in the past decades and centuries
I think those past
are now a masterpiece,
reminding me how sweet
it was like candies.
But fragile like glass,
I fell into pieces
broken and scattered
because of my wishes.
So I was wounded,
I felt the pain too much.
time can heal a wounded heart,
but here I am,
still wounded from the start.
Maybe these memories
are not art.
Maybe its just some
kind of scar
that colors my life
with different sparks
to flash out all
my memories back,
to go back over
and get lost in the dark.
I tried to make an escape,
but still I live in a dark cold cage.
Wanting to be free,
wanting to believe
that I would live my life
forward to the future
and not forged by the past.
Noises in Mind, Copyright © 2014
Sam N. de la Rosa
All rights reserved.
The sunset reflecting onto the clouds
Fading into an empty darkness
Only to be relit when the moon rises
Showing me the nature of life
A colorful masterpiece;
Only for a moment is it dark
Until the sun
Finds another way to shine its light in the sky
If I comment
Three hearts beneath your poem
It means that
I love love love your work
Sometimes I have too much to say
Or nothing to say at all
But I love to appreciate beautiful words
Because beautiful words should be appreciated
I love when my words mean something
To you reading
And a lot of your words mean something to me too
So I put it all into these
Three little hearts
Whether your poetry is from a dark place
Or from a light heart
Whether something bad happened
Or something good started
If you shared it
And I saw it
And appreciate it
You'll find three little hearts
Beside my name
Beneath your work
In a format like this -
Rahama Abdulkadri ❤❤❤.
I mean it though. If you find my three hearts, then I truly love your work. There are so many great poems out there, expressing so many feelings and I don't know where to start from sometimes or what to say so this is my way.
I followed my dear friends to the edge of a cliff
and was greeted by a peculiar thing.
There, standing on the edge of the earth
was a swing set waiting just for me.
Her thick black seat and strong metal arms
cradled me while together we flew
into the starry night canvas, sprawling
dark blue, except for a splatter of twinkling
firefly-speckles, from the cityscape
to the moon.
Each time she lifted me I felt closer
to the heavens. I raised my chin
and let the gentle kiss of raindrops
wash away my sins, cleansing
and revitalizing my body like a baptism.
I’ll never forget the smell of the rain
on the freshly-sprouted grass, with dew drops
made from the breath of my friends
hanging delicately in the sweet air
like glass beads strung on a wire
while the crisp wind carried me higher and higher
and the most brilliant masterpiece ever created
was painted across the entire night sky.
I love the attempt...to not represent
With shape, color, form, I show discontent
From within my minds four walls...I call
My colorful and creative circus tent.
in waking life we are well fabricated lies,
personas perfectly tailored to the world's expectations.
it is when we sleep that we know our true selves;
our innermost fears and desires, the intricate complexities
of our daily lives woven into an elaborate metaphor
left for us to decipher. these cinematic masterpieces of the mind
often leave us with more questions than answers.
but every now and then, the subconscious realm leaves us a crystal clear message impossible to ignore.
The material body was yet in the making
The first and foremost luminary feminine
ebb and flow heartily pans out
flawless flow to the finest angle.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it like it
shapes and forms are waxing lyrical:
The pure masterpiece without a mirror!
Arts on the go Fathima moves on.
Praise be to the Lord she being made
to measure inborn mathematical the pi is her!
(For the perfect circle the circumference is masculine
The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer into a whole full number!
Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
Her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circle
Scans all things at the first go still finds no bottom!
The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
She looks on and witnesses the first water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.
It’s still remembered in the sky that follows suit.
First, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of the galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds a bottom.
Because amidst this water circle floats the first soil.
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
known as Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.
In the pre-designed world after the first masculine
the first feminine Fathima thus did the first pilgrimage.
She walked the walk did so in the patternless pi veil.
Nature is never uneven on the hidden hand of the pi.
Every little fraction, the small decimal does it count
connects to the dot without showing up a pattern
Long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise!
Retracing time and again the sun rises in the median lane,
yet the black box scores it's only a dark chart at the end of the day!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and sync in the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!
Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
bloodshot tired eyes locked in a reflected viewing
of an alone tortured hollowed shell
paralyzed as I gaze into the ***** mirror
an unwelcome familiar presence
reminds me im never alone
as my shadow manifests into a looming depression
locking his grip on his ivory skinned art
the reflected viewing was his incomplete masterpiece
that took years of work
look how beautiful I've made you!
as cold darkened hands hold the sides of my face
his thumbs point towards glazed over tear filled eyes
outlining running mascara down sullen cheeks
slowly moving hands down uncombed brown hair
you need a splash of color my dear!
interlocking his fingers too tightly
as he reaches a frail neck
my face turns a crimson red as breathing is no longer an option
slowly adding in a navy blue as the struggle for life spreads convulsions through a weakened body
he only lets go to say
I cannot destroy what I've created!
it didn't haunt me just in the reflection
that sentence ran through my mind with the same shrill voice
as I stared down the neck of another empty bottle
the taste and smell of a bourbon
washed down with scotch was intoxicating
as it drowned his negative passive aggressive screaming
another bottle made me feel fluid
bringing out a smile that has been long faded
a laugh that was suppressed to feel anything but the pain he brought
the confidence to portray a happier version of the dying light I was
to portray the me I was before depression claimed me as his
shivering and chills
snap me back to the reflected present
as his hands run down my uncovered arms
where he carelessly streaked black and blue
finger painted marks
each bruise that illuminated too bright in a dimly lit room
he traced them ever so gently
writing a cursive love poem
as he moved down to my wrists that were consistently covered
he grazes over red protruding straight lines
where fingernails like razor blades
danced from one end to the other
signifying that 7 lines measured the years he spent working on the piece he called Shelby
across what was left of my ivory skin
he carelessly wrote his name
in ink mixed with blackness as dark as him
and specks of my own blood
interlocking our souls as one
and to declare me as his and non others
for an artist never lets another touch his incomplete masterpiece
We always talks about putting our broken pieces back together
Or we speak of mending another with tape and glue
Like stitches that won't undo
But putting the pieces back together wont make them new
Why don't we ever think about picking up each others broken parts
And placing them where ours once were
Instead of fixing a puzzle with missing pieces
Why don't we become art
And fill each other with beautiful parts?
All that you find broken about yourself
All that I find rotten within my hollow shell
Are colorful pieces to complete a work of art
If you take some of me and make it beautiful
Then perhaps one day I too could see the beauty I betray
I'll do the same for you as I collect these magnificent additions
To the masterpiece that I make of myself
One day we will become Mona Lisa and The Starry Night
Not only will we be the art we will become the artists
As grand as DaVinci, as unique as Van Gogh
We will fill this world with our broken art
And make others learn that there is beauty in every splintered part