ever since i could form a thought-
i knew of this phenomenon called god.
at least that's the name it was given.
but i could never think of god as a person,
a figure to look up to and
are ultimately afraid of.

god was never my best friend,
never something i devoted my life to
nor someone i gave anything up for.

god was the force that willed the plants to grow
upwards from the ground.

god was the recklessness that pushed me to forget my reasoning
and follow my gut.

god is how you can make sense of the past,
how your heartbeat and inhales and exhales
synchronise with the ocean
how you know what it means to feel electric.

god is what made my wrists stop bleeding at the right moment.
it made my father cry when he saw the flaw in his production.
god is what refused my angelhood
and allowed me to breathe
and live.

i still had time to grow.

so i prayed.
i surrendered to the magic of the universe.
i gave it my undying loyalty.

Sinewed by the the ancient art
of tai chi, he forged the forces of  the universe
to lure a dreamer  into his lair. He stayed
silent as a spider; and with seamless
gliding of  limbs and fingers,
he entrapped  his prey like a moth
entangled in a cobweb. The sky
was bleeding then when she asked:  “How
can I walk  through the dusk?” “Just
follow me, I’m a pathfinder,” said
he. He whispered to her ear:  “Close
your eyes my child and trust your heart.”  
And to the tremor of  his voice he danced
her, deeper and deeper  into the night. Soon  
his lips dripped with her muffled sobs, the stench
of  his slobber drifted  into her pristine dream;
and he confessed:  “She came to me;
I’m innocent.”

One can turn One's eyes towards Darkness,
One can turn One's eyes towards Light,
but I've found that it's most healthy
setting an eye quite firmly on each
with One's mind focused right in between;
while living right now before it's too late.

there is a quick energy here
the scooters flow without caution
traffic courses like a delta
changing, dynamic in every moment

a city in the wake of pain
constructing, making anew
the streets are wet and *****
yet every bush is neatly trimmed

Let's speak about love and how much I love. I've watched my pen bleed out slowly for these words I've written that some have read. Only seem to trend when I speak about love.
Was told my poems are no good because they don't rhyme. Foolish guy wouldn't understand the essence of each line. Wouldn't understand that nothing is sweet just sour like lime. That my worst poems were the best in my mind. You still believe I can't make a poem rhyme? When you read this guess you'll be surprised. just to make it clear I probably read more books in my childhood than you'll read in you lifetime. Is easy to rhyme.
Said I couldn't have a 10 word scheme.
So here is one.
"*******" times five lines.
Said I speak to much about the hood I speak to much about drugs.
I don't need for you to understand I'm far away from the sunny side.
I live on Broadway never river side. From the city that doesn't sleep to the city that doesn't speak. I can tell you how to take ******* and make it sweet as sugar cane with water and baking soda.
Love love love as I tortured my pen.
I've watched my pen bleed out slowly for these words I've written that some have read. .
Why I speak about the ghetto?
Everyone poem that I've read has been about love that is far from the streets I grew up in. Every line coincides with the previous one. Love love love
I love my brother who brought me a slice when I didn't have to eat. Now I'm grown no more fasting for me. No trial he just took it 5 years later went from a blackberry to the iPhone 6. Six months in a halfway house now he's free.
I do more than speak about the hood and drugs.
Don't take it at face value if you don't know how much it cost me and the family.
I'm making it college degree and all.
I'm glad I don't trend
I'm glad some don't understand
I can speak about love though all my relationships have fallen and crumbled to the ground like the twin towers. And if that offends you then skip the line and read the next one
I can speak about love though all my relationships have fallen and crumbled to the ground like the Berlin Wall on November ninth of eighty nine. Love love love. This is my poetry and history is mine.
Love love love.

Large old door
Made of wood
Locked it was
So there I stood

Key so far
Fell down on my knees
Was it in the car
Or perhaps in some trees..

It was a dark night in November
A baby wailed as it was delivered
The mother gasped and breathed no more
Began the tale of sorrow for
And every night was darkened pain as
Hannah would have to be refrained
Caught up in her guilt
She's thinking about cutting again

But comes a rattle upon the pane
And in flies the spirit's wind
"Who dares cross this portal door
Come out I do implore"

And Hannah stepped back in fright
For it must be an attack tonight
But the spectral image of a shady form
Left poor Hannah unadorned
"Speak most devious one
Tell me where it is your coming from"

The image coalesced into physical form
That on the outside looked so forlorn
It parted what looked like lips
And uttered the word,"Chi"

Hannah was quick to know
Everyone has a chi that flows
But still Hannah was confused
And the question now arose
"Of what Chi do you speak
And tell me how it works ?"

But the only response was a hollow whisper  "Chi" , was all it said

So Hannah was quick to respond
Ran to the refrigerator and opened the door
She grabbed a can and quickly returned
To the entrance unconcerned
With a can of five hour Super Chi

She popped the top and poured it down
Into the spatial beast
It shook at first then burpped at last
Wiped it's mouth and passed some gas
Then it said , "Chi that was great !"

To the one who hosts competitions…  
Which ******* gave you the right?  
I wouldn’t listen to your rules even if you paid me.  
Nor would I let you tell me how I would write my poem.  
I could write something totally not related to your competition and submit it.  
Maybe I’ll **** your girlfriend and let you read about how it went.  
She didn’t take your name when she came(just so you know)  

Who said you could take such liberties?  
I’m gonna bash your head in with an exhaust pipe  
And when it dents and gains a sharp edge I’ll scrape your eye with it  
Just one, because I want you to see…  
You wanna host competitions, do ya? Meet my little match  
Ever wondered how a lit match feels in your nostril?  
If I sparked it and let the gunpowder catch flame in your nose, how wonderful would that feel?  
Listen here Mr. you asked for this by hosting it… there’s no backing out now…  
I still have a few things to run you over with.  
**** umbrella? no splash guard? ugh… too messy…  
Ah my favorite! the serpent’s tongue.  
For that I’ll first have to break your jaw, then hold your tongue out  
Then I’ll stretch your tongue out with clamps and slice it right down the middle  
Such a fitting exercise. For you.  
You have become what you really are.  
I’ll leave your manny parts intact… I know how we are when It comes to those.  
I will tell you though, you won’t be able to use em ever again… sorry about the irony.  

Lets get down to business, shall we?  
I hate you. You know why.  
I’m gonna inject you with a pain enhancing serum.  
Then I will administer XXXX ***  
It’s an ancient technique of entertaining someone.  
Dating all the way back to almost 900 AD  
It was banned, sadly, in the last century.  
Anyway, you’re lucky I have knowledge of this  
It won’t spoil our fun… lets start with the obvious places  
Eye lids, lips, ears, finger tips, toes, arm pits, the *******, the wrists….etc….  
You shouldn’t bother keeping count, that’s my job  
But I highly doubt you’ll even live past number 233.