I just want to write a poem no one ever thought of writing
It must have the same effects as walking on the moon
It must trend faster than a meteor as it  hurdles through cyber space

I refused to love any man, who dislikes my poetry,
My man must support my passion ..
not only the warmth of my body
but the passion within this poetess, my secretive mind he must be able to balance:
Without wondering why a woman like me is so naturally secretive
I am always embracing the dark side of my creativity
Dropping little hints here and there throughout the years,

Sidney   J. Harris once said something that left pondering thoughts
He said “When he hears somebody sighs,
'Life is hard,' he’s always tempted to ask them, 'Compared to what?'
I would simply say dog-gone it: Compared to struggling poets whose tries to make a living as a writer

While an upcoming rapper like Chief Keef
signed a several-million dollar deal
with offending lyrics in today music industries:

I just want to write a poem no one ever thought of writing,
With lots of intense emotion bursting through each line:
Because a poem can’t exist without a poet's multiple voices
and most of all his divine missions

How do I find myself falling for a boy?
My damaged passion, choking at my throat
I let it percolate and run for cover
Imagining him as my lover

Pulling tricks out of never
Salty skin, I love his taste
One last chance to break this fever
He grabs me round the waist

The heat, so close, I shiver
No more tip-toeing along the shoreline
I submit, my lips quiver
Sensuality is mine

Warm, heavy breath
This boy will destroy me
Soft teasing tongue
I die, willingly

people in love are more beautiful
than people who are not in love

you can see them becoming more awake
like for the first time something really matters

little lights shining in their eyes
when they hear the name of the person they adore most
the feeling that the time stops when you are with this human

but that wasn't the world I lived in

the princess in ******* you up
the queen of ******* you over
thats what they have always called me
and the only king I have ever had was a bottle of *****

every minute of the day we were talking
but whenever I was near you it always felt like sleepwalking

I didn't deserve a lover like you

you were like the gold I could never afford
you were like the clouds in the sky that I could never touch

life was a game and we were losing
or maybe I was just born different.

This food was bad. The grease dripped off the polystyrene into the bowl as if life itself was disgusting.
He sat in his flat, unable to write. How ironic that a writer with so much experience couldn’t write his own story. He was so good at observing everyone else.
Then the haze of dubstep pounded through his apartment walls and he imagined a ****** scene in which the cops would find his neighbours filleted on the floor and all over their filthy couches.
The blood spatter, the details in which their ears had been molested as he felt his were... what happened to real music?
He felt raw.
He felt injustice.
He felt motion in his fingertips and began to type.
Ferocious typing.
Typing to the beat, angrily aiding and abetting this criminal assault on his senses.
He stopped to take the last sip of his last warm beer. He smiled…