I found my pleasure in writing poems.
But technology has tought me how to type.
But today i have decided to go back to my old roots.
I write this in pain,
Tryibg to wipe away all the opressions that is behind technology.
I just want to vanish into the channel of my thoughts.
Mybe i might come back happy once again.

A greater cause,
means a better life.
Or atleast so they voice.
But how do you fight for what is right;
when all you dispose of is knife?

I ask myself who is my greatest enemy?
Is it me, myslef, or I?
Mybe all I need is a remedy.
To make all the wrong rectify.

I know that all of what I am capabe of holding is a weapon.
But how do you use such a thing when you can't tell the difference between your foe and your allies?
All I see are demons who seem to have come from the heart of heaven.
But afetr all, isn't that everybodies homeland. Even the devil knows all of its alleys.

But mybe weapons as deadly as they can be,
are the more or less something like you and me.
Mybe they weren't found for the unique cause of killing.
Pedro Reyes made weapon in art fullfilling.

What was war's greatest tool.
Has now become harmony's moor.
What was used in fights caused by sheer unreason.
Has now brought all people even.

All those cries,
all those tries.
And I still can't realize:
what on earth can possibly be my cause.

Feels like...
I'm the black dot
Amongst the white
Feels like...
I'm the only dull star
Shining at night
Feels like...
People can't see me
When their get into contact with my presence
They just lose sight
It also feels like...
I'm in a glass at the museum
And people are watching me

They say I'm unique
They say I'm exclusive
Like the clothes at a boutique
But I
Don't have that kind of mindset
I'm different
And all I think about
Is how am I going to stand out

Its like my mind
Is a magnet that attracts critics
Then it passes it to the heart
From the hert to the body
Making me numb
As a whole

Acting like I don't care
But my ears are wide open
Er drum taking all those vocal vibrations
Sending them to the mind,body and soul
Exactly in that order

But hey
This is life
Lord knows why he made me like this
Mybe I'll be something big
But at the moment
I need to dig

How do you write love?
LOVE
id say like that.
or perhaps its when a little brother grows older
and he still lets you call him little brother
as he stands, stature climbing over yours

or perhaps its in a little sisters
toothless grin,or dimpled chin
and silly giggles and sleepy eyes

of perhaps in a lovers promise
always and forever
kissing, hugging, snuggling
perhaps

maybe in a mothers arms
in her will, in her charm
found amoung her asperations
in place of a new found fasination
a babies cry
or maybe writing love, says it all
L-O-V-E
or maybe thats how you write love
mybe just letters with emplied meaning, or all the above

Sometimes life surprises you
you go from pink and sparkly
to black
from this girly girl
to a tomish boyish thing
you go from society
to individual
or atleast on your journey
you really don't know what will pop up next
what challenge
who you'll face
what you'll face
its scary but exciting at the same time
like...
you could become a millionaire tommorow
you could meet your fave celeb
you may finally find your answer to all your problems
like...
life is that roller coaster
that your so mutherfucking excited to ride
but them it starts up and your scared as hell and you dont know *** to expect from it
it may go down
mybe to the left
or upside down
like you don't ******* know
but once the twist is over
you relax and realize it was nothing after all
but in life we can't control a lot of things
like people
things just bound to happen to us
....life
but i'm practicing patience
positivity
and faith
because that is all.....

Think.
Yes, think about this question.
Do women of the world needs a man book to advise them?
When they had a mother.

Who can advise them better?

A player's can place himself in your shoes.
And offer all his personal views.
Except, they using themselves as the tool.
Or writing upon the things they use to do.

In songs written about love affairs.
It was always the mom advising them.

Mama said there'll be days like this.
Or you can't hurry love.
Even, to her son she advised him to shop around.

So, what can a book perpective from a man do for them?

If you need a man's view.
Then speak to your dad.
He know the game.
He know the schemes.
And would be enraged if you hurt his daughter.
Now, this a father.
Who doesn't have to write a book?

Mybe, it's just me.
Love advices comes better from someone with truth.
And who should know better?
Then those that gave vision to you.

Life as I knew it ain't no more,its  way too  different,i just  woke up to a whole new reality. Am still perplexed,too afraid to embrace the facts.

How long have I been lost in this illusion!!have I been gone for that long or mybe you were dieing for me to be gone

So that you cannot miss me anymore,I bet you never did anyway.

I rely loved us!! But we just couldn't make sense anymore

Pathetic





I

i touch yer skin;
you touch my face;
we broke our hearts
in ev'ry place.

my ev'ry dream:
you felt them too.
my ev'ry bone
feels underused.

technicolour dream,
black 'n white scream.

it used to be naught
but primary.


I touch yer skin;
you touch my face.
you break my awe
in ev'ry place.

my limbo love:
i carry thee
as to Valhalla
you carry me.

i touch yer skin;
you touch my face
you tie my heart
in filigree lace.

we used them past
biweekly grace
my sleepless love
yr shattered heart
my shattered face.

round'n'round we doth embrace.

maybe this time
we keep the pace.

mybe you won't break
my filigree lace.

am looking for black one                        actualy i am not in her way                   but she always come in my way           mybe i've been cassed a black speel     so that i can not avoid         i wonder if God will support.

I need to be there at five ten (17:10)

It won't be 'the worst' if I were to be late by a minute or so,

just disappointed looks and silent judgment.

Perhaps they won't even notice.


And anyway, five ten (17:10) is in five hours.

I need to be at the bus stop at five (17:00), it's a five, maybe eight, minutes drive and I should be there by five five (17:05) ,mybe five eight (17:08),

at any rate I'll be there before five ten (17:10).


It takes me ten minutes to get dressed so I better set my alarm to four thirty (16:30), just to be safe.


So now I have five hours to myself before I need to get ready.

I can watch tv on my computer, or bake cookies.

I have so much time!

...maybe not baking.


There are three more hours until my alarm rings.

Wait, did I set it right?

Yes.

Maybe I should give myself more time to organize, you never know what can happen!

Four twenty (16:20) it is.


It's two hours until I have to get ready and I keep glancing at the clock in the corner or my computer.

I'll just put on the clothes I need,

get out of the comfort of my pajamas, into my tight clothes.


The alarm rings

but I'm already dressed, my water bottle filled, my wallet in my purse, everything is where it should be.


I set my alarm again:

It's a minute or so of walking to the bus stop and I need to be there by five sharp (17:00).

I set my alarm to five minutes to five (16:55).


There's half an hour before I need to go.

The show is still running but I've stopped watching forever ago.

What if there won't be a bathroom there? I should go to the bathroom now.


Well that only took four minutes, I have twenty six more to burn.

I'm pacing in my room, the computer put away.

What if I'll need to *** there? Great now I need to *** again and I've already peed five minutes ago.


I better get going.


I've been waiting for the bus for ten minutes when the alarm rang.

Fifteen minutes of waiting for the bus in the scorching sun, wiping away sweat like drops of anxious thoughts, is fine.

It's normal, right?

I don't have time to worry about it.

It's better than the feeling of the stress on my skin, pushing on my organs until I suffocate.


It's five (17:00) and the bus still hasn't arrived.

It's fine.

It's FINE.

It's F I N E.


Two minutes later I'm sitting on the bus, waiting for my stop.

Chest heaving, I step back into the street, thanking the driver goodbye.


I don't see anyone.

This is where we're supposed to meet, right?

Yes, definitely.

It's today, right? This hour?

Yes and yes.


Oh,
I'm just the first one here.