he perceived their silence as rejection
yet always craved affection

When are we going to wake up to start believing that we should stopped competing and start complimenting to feel like were completing.

We need to be a team player instead of the team leader, replacing that with the idea of being on the same team and building something that's takes on the dream.  

How are we going to teach ourselves of what's needed to be taught? If we are communicating to each other's to misperceived when sought to read and believe of what’s being well-received.  

Why are we all on this justification to be misrepresentation as to juxtapose when we are responsible for the I could and the I suppose.    
To add what is the so what to the now what? But it's the actual what needs to be address in which perhaps misaddressing to the audience of nowadays. As if we are surrogate of the hideaways of the be real today.  

It's we and us and all of us to address the matter of comradeship of how compassion of it to be who you are. To create this level of friendship of the desire to follow the footsteps of who you are and as it's start with you and it begins with and ending of you.

I wonder why everyone can't just
flat-out, God-blessed, love each other-
freely, purely, and explosively-
why are some people allowed to hold hands on the street
and others must keep it in the privacy of their homes
some bodies must be hidden and others can be exposed
some kisses must be kept secret from those who love you the most
some heartbeats must happen outside of your own house
some moments cannot exist in the presence of others
and some lovers can only love a certain type of other lovers.
Why is it that I must be fearful in a group of people
that they can see my brainwaves and know what I am feeling
and that it would be dangerous if they knew?
Why must it be this way that I have to be in the vast minority
and that the chances of me finding someone to love is
minuscule and difficult; everyone is at a different stage regarding
my certain type of love, and it carries a baggage straight people don't have
it carries a complication, a heartbreaking rope of knots and pain and confusion
and 'do I even feel this way' because you have been taught that you shouldn't
and 'why isn't there straight pride' and 'just don't shove it down my throat'
these type of misunderstandings create this impossible disharmony
'stop queering the straights' 'oh so you're basically a lesbian'
no. I am not a lesbian- please stop classifying me and while you're at it,
please stop acting differently around me because you're scared I'm into you
chances are, I'm not. Please stop asking me why it's necessary for me to come out and say it,
its because every single other person, me included, is assumed to be straight,
and makes comments about dating boys and just boys and it's this eternal 'no ****'
and my own parents want me to bear children and it's part of me, okay?
It's me and it's my self expression and it isn't shoving it down your throat
I just want to know that I can still be completely me and still be completely loved,
that's all, that's why I have to say it out loud,
because it carries with it a kind of suffocation that builds and builds
because everything around you pushes you down and tears at your foundation
and when you finally say it, there's a pain that's gone that you know will never hurt again
but it will always sting, little daggers when your friends won't get quite
as close as they used to and your mom gives you different looks in public
or I am constantly misunderstood and misperceived and it's scary, it's
a scary world for us, it's a scary world for us, it's a scary world for us
and it will be that way until we speak loud enough that we are heard.

Faults and faults,
That is all they see,
It is like it is always my mistake,
Something they always breed,
From looking at a distance,
What seemed so quiet,
Was nothing but distorted,
Still they squeal and squeal,
Maybe its all an illusion,
Something they all have misperceived!

Forgotten in the lust of the moment
His memories dissipate in the warmth of her movements
Her swaying curves encompass his mind
And her heated breaths eradicate his conscience

Her whispers illustrate his inner thoughts as she bares her skin
While his hands ambitiously caress her natural self
Recalling betrayal, his grip on her vices tightly for an instant in time
As she sensually digs her lips and teeth into his neck

The lights dance with feverish passion in their ambivalent escapade
As his memories ignite into a collective blaze of clouded lies
Her voice breaks the atmosphere with a powered summoning of excitement
While the bladed steel in his back pocket speaks to him briefly

Frozen like ice, the edged iron derails his controlled contemplation
Heated like flame, her crimson lips reassuringly invite his aged soul into her dimension of hellfire
Confliction between two halves disperse the balance within his plane of existence
Differing feelings unable to become one

Failure to merge two views of life
Alongside inability to accept separation of what was once whole
Leads to an amalgam of bewilderment and hatred deep inside the darkest corners of deception
The triggered fuse detonates inappropriately with his free hand now attached to the hilt of silver

Shadowed recollections of the others' tears invoke his fury with every stab
Purest inhibitions of hidden urges shatter sustained reality with every slice
Broken trust of ill-fated bonds reverse his mentality with every gush of blood
Tainted sight of misperceived intentions annihilate his reasoning with every anguished scream of her voice

Collapsed, her distorted body lay lifeless and unrecognizable on the carpet floor of the room
Scarlet liquid of distilled life now dripping menacingly from the edges of his manifested insanity
Hazy emotions interrupt his logic as he stumbles away from the scene he attempted to avoid
While erroneously dropping the reddened murderer to the floor with a crash

When I traverse the lowest valleys
and climb the highest peaks
I break forth my journal
my pencil and I feel

In the dark, it lights a path
in the light, it bursts the dark
though I must admit I write the most
when I'm in the dumps

I spit onto pages
venomous oceans of blue and black ink
in life, I've no way of reaching him
or is it for a person, a concept, or a thing?

Will pretty eyes mind poetry?
Or is that something misperceived?
Am I only screaming at dead trees
for the rest of my life; for eternity?

forward thinking
peach tea
always the one who hates to leave

hesitant lover
cuffed sleeves
organizes in color schemes

late night worker
christmas eve
lover of all velvet things

advid artist
blushing pink
seems to always be misperceived
-i.w.

When I  cannot feel anything,
I drink.
One casual sip
Two social drinks
Three stranger shots
Four misperceived "crazy" phone calls
and
Five lonely cigarettes in front of the bar.
I restrain myself
for weeks on end
and
sometimes even the weekend
But feeling feels so great.
It feels like breathing but without effort.
In the beginning, tomorrow's worry lays down the tile,
in the middle, the liquor builds the protective walls
by the end, the roof is blown off and the stars are my friends.
When the sun pokes through the blinds
my house crumbles.
Commencing the search for a possible plot of land
something sturdy, something stable
or something like dirt, to bury myself under.

in my dream
you told me you love me
But the words came out
of another mouth
I haven’t seen your face
in two years
but in my mind’s eye it shone out
like a sand dollar brushed with sun
your eyes were always slips of blue water
not shallow
but a misperceived depth
I fell in long ago
Sipped as I swam
thought I found my way
but I’m back
at the edge
not willingly
but I’ll dip my toe in

I read somewhere that life is just like a movie.
Funny. My life so far has been similar to the ads before a film.
Can I wait any longer to live truly?
I'm getting older, but this movie refuses to start...The ads are becoming dim.

I'm scared. My flame is burning out. Slowly but surely I'm losing sight of my trait.
Isn't 17 so early to feel so old? So suffocated by fate?
Wait...wait...wait.
Wait till you get older, I tell myself. Wait 5 more years, get a job, and travel. Travel? Travel and your soul will become remote.
How naive?!
How can the way this world works be any worse misperceived?!

Ignoring that, I say: Just concentrate on working on yourself.
Just work out more, learn more, add more books to your bookshelf...
For in 5 years you will be out there all alone. Struggling to figure out what you want to do with your life.
What do I want? I don't want to be alone. I just want to be free, a hero. Someone who stops strife.

Stops strife? What a laugh.

I think I should just wait forever.
As time puts my pieces all together.

Slowly and a little awkwardly.

From streetcorner pulpits near and far.
We’re watering wisdom’s seed with fear.
If your melanin’s under par,
Slave-trader heathen, listen here:
God’s own holy unpronounceable name
Now translated for you: Whites Are To Blame.

King JAMES was black. You heard it first
From me—before those Israelites
Began to preach to the accursed
Of Edom (meaning heathen whites).
So, we know his authorized text is meant
Only for those of true Hebrew descent.

No flaming redhead Scottish king
Was he who bore Azania’s crown
Upon his brow. It’s time to bring
The truth. James Stuart? Dusky brown.
No bagpipes here, nor usquebaugh, nor oats.
Just afro-polyrhythm’s gladsome notes.

Mansa Musa filled his coffers;
Sub-Saharan James grew wealthy
More than Solomonic offers
Kept King James both wise and healthy.
No puppet monarch for Britannic schemes
But an African wiseman, dreaming dreams.

ELIZABETH, of Albion’s fame,
Was also misperceived for hue.
A white rose, yes. But only in name.
Pure African was she—it’s true!
You’ve been lied to about these royal folks;
It’s high time we rewrite such ethnic jokes.

Don’t believe the Edomite hype
They want to keep our tribes suppressed.
And Moses is our prototype
His law we follow, and we’re blessed.
REAL understanding: it’s something you earn.
Once gained, ain’t no trick you cannot discern.

No context needed. History
Is Edomite propaganda.
King JAMES was black. No mystery.
Edinburgh’s in Uganda.
The first king of Scotland will not be last…
Our exegesis remains unsurpassed.