She’s sweeter than a grapevine – she only whines around flavours
of great wine. Her body is feminine divine; you could title her
as a song – still too hard to define. Would I deny, the place she
lingers, in the thoughts of an artist’s ***** mind?

But maybe I’m just too down to earth – less than down bad, but
searching deep to hold your flower at a hand’s worth. Right next
to me, the heat of your body gives out such warmth. And in place
of new words, ones I never shared with old girls – your sweet
honey lips make mine appear as bees, that have you swarmed.

Alley hearts; we're two pieces of love on such a narrow path. I should
narrow it down; the many times I seen your tears running down your
cheeks, as if life was running you a bath. But I have you by the hand,
to walk into the future, with the past’s lessons and where love began.

The journey begins right here!

Heaven always too high,
down on earth acting
like I got seven lives.
I don't really fear death less I
see death in the sky.

That's the forecast of the season
hoping we make out this spring,
We're all out here hoping and believing,
We see the better light of the sun
hoping this season isn't so dim.
Counting the stars in the sky,
for the ones we betting our dreams on.
Don't we always love to act so ply,
bent over ourselves by our demons
And where they come from,
like the places we try to hide.

Let's all gather around
in this upside-down world,
What you see is only a flipped idea,
how isn't that profound?  
Far below us, an intellectual arrangement to the fold.

Seems we're all bending the
rules of life,
A risk we seem to be taking,
forgetting the consequences once in the afterlife.

I'm just spit balling here,
so cover your face
I'm not running away from life,
just out for the chase,
Tell me if there's any of you like that
out there?

Outside these parts
I believe there's a man
His name to world seems foreign
And he is who I am.

Outside these parts
He tried to fit in the mouth of the crowd
But they spat him out for his ego couldn't match theirs of loud.

So as the time grew he grew into himself
Choosing to be alone for people weren't good for his health.

Outside these parts he tried to find a place
But everything in the world tries to take up any space.
So he found it best to run in the life's race
For maybe at the finish line he'd find a type of embrace.

This man shows kindness
But the world takes it as an opportunity
When those do him wrong he sees any hate towards them in only blindness.

He called it maturity.

But many make him feel like his manhood is of small
The things they subconsciously do put obstacles in his way to make him fall.

Outside these parts
The man grows cold and warms his heart in a place of retreat
He comes back to care for the same people who hurt him, though they do such things on repeat.

He falls under no class, he tries to be unique
When people speak out of loud and high ego, he chooses not to speak.

But not to seem better than everyone else
For he hopes to the one to help find  calm from their large prideful statements.
For he's invested in their health.

So much so that he forgets his own.
Till his strength leaves him
To only get it once more when stays out alone.

Outside these parts I know a man, he and I the same
We share a name
Having a wild heart at times but finding ways to make tame.

I am him and he is I
As we both live outside these parts.

Skipping stones, and skipping rope
while skipping past all the cringy memories
All from the days of skipping a few classes,
sometimes skipping ahead in movies to the exciting scenes
As all the time feels like it's skipping away at the pace of
these days,

—Death in the end, has nobody in this life to skip

People do take off their shoes
to walk all over you,

Loved ones do take off their shoes
to cross your mind,

Things do take off their shoes
to be running thoughts,

Dreamers do take off their shoes
to get a step ahead,

And the brave ones do take off their shoes
to always stand out.

I much take off my shoes
to be outstanding.

Let me give a personal measure
to myself;- the ruler isn't long enough
But by the rules of society,
I might be overcompensating,
so I'll have to break them both in half

Feeling extra nervous, when my phone battery hits
forty-four. Feeling low at the half points of my soul,
Train of thoughts burning all of the last coals. Fossil fuels,
going into being extinct. Less than active when I take so
long to blink. So over a thought, but only after I over think.

Did I set that alarm, the daily one I always check before bed.
“I hope tomorrow I don’t wake up dead,“ hasn’t that phrase
been over said? Who really cares, and why do the corner eyes
of stranger’s have such awkward stares? Glares of my glaring
insecurities, usually when I’m treating my flaws with such cruelty.

Disciplinary, proceedings brought forth to the circles of self
beatings on my every worth. Could never describe myself with
just a single word. I’m bent over myself on a road of life, with
the longest curve.

Where am I heading, when it feels like seven seconds close to
Heaven. All the blessings in a straw nest of Christians still
nestling. Going against the world, and t.v. screen’s weaponry.
Bang, bang, boom! We cares about doom, just take it as nothing,
and quickly move.

Onto the very next thing, and trend. Do what the t.v. says,
playing the longest game of Simon says. Like wrestling bears.
That’s a very short fight of pulling hairs. Ha! Being bold to being
bald.

There I go again over thinking ahead of my next thought.
Butterfly fishing, for the wings of a wet slippery effect, I soon
never caught.

By the way, my phone is at forty-one. Rushing to put it on
charge all night for morning’s fun. It wasn’t charging at all.
Well, don’t I feel so dumb.

Sigh! The one time I didn’t choose to over think. Now I don’t
have the device to quickly dot down how I feel.

Being an over thinker is so real.

I'm top heavy; my thoughts are resting at the brim – no cap! Often
my lips leak their thoughts at the brim; and I’m a cup with so
much to spit. I'm words on a spit – burning away time, in these fires
of life. Always the unannounced guests, coming to visit your home;
to make it feel like a show, making sure everything is in order – the
house is live. Also, as you live with a drive, those around you hope
you’re a responsible driver, to arrive with you alive.

I'm the tip of a scent towards destiny – hoping the path where my
soul goes, my heart also knows; I shoot my shot with aims to shoot
goals. I hold the script of a child's life, and my younger self looks at
me, to play all of those roles.

But when the model falls, and rolls over on their stage, do you still
look at them as your role model. At times I know why my self relates
so well to a bottle – all of those emotions a man tries to keep bottled.
While life feeds you time; a man still finds it a bit hard, for that piece
of pride he has to swallow.

These days feel like too many moments of regrets, questioning what
to do next – like the morning after ***. The two sit up, deciding who
will go and buy the morning after; *** can be like sleeping with
your regrets – it's an uncomfortable bed, but the one that you made.
There's no shame in admitting your mess; just clean it up with your
responsibility, before looking to hire a maid.

That's enough overthinking for today.

Words… are lost by touch; perhaps I am talking too much… that
much is clear – a tongue testing its own fortune. The moment I beheld
your visage, a weight settled upon my skin, while the fragrance of
your skin dug tremors through my heart – a quiver igniting up to the
nerves at my fingertips. Our hands met with a less than firm embrace – yet deep down, I yearned for a hug, to ascend the staircase of your
neck and find sanctuary in the chamber of your lips.

Like a swarm of bees drawn to a blossom, seeking the sweet nectar of
connection – our fleeting moments together ignited thoughts of
seizing the flower of time, “she’ll love me, she loves me now,” believing it’s merely a matter of time.

I hear you summon my name; it resonates like a hymn of adoration –
your celestial presence beckoning me into the realm of your words.
And so, we embark once more, at the crossroads of language where I
find myself either bereft of expression or talking too much … you
know what, let’s abandon the chatter and kiss instead, for our hearts
speak a language far more profound. I’ve been overthinking too much.

I’d long sincerely to be misplaced under the
stars, basking in the ethereal glow of a night sky.
—ostensibly jubilant; as it mirrors the depth
and passion of a love once shared.

For in this beautiful space we’ve created
together; every moment becomes a
beloved memory, beautifully etched into
the fabric of space, time and my soul.

Perchance, I would have given
you the world; — that which I do not own,
still could I own the very space of your past
broken heart?

I add music to my thoughts, just to keep them from growing
darker – my cheeks, feel like lead – weighed down by the burden
of unshed tears; as my ears strain to bear the weight of my silent
anguish. At times, my screams clash like thunder, echoing through
the tempest of my doubts, a relentless storm that looms overhead.
Each flicker of hope I grasp is met by lurking shadows, eager to
shroud my path in darkness—insecurities descend like a nightfall,
one among countless others.

The darkness acts as a hairline, as it recedes beneath a vengeful star,
I cling to the flicker of positivity that still resides within me, yet rage
simmers when my existence goes unnoticed. The Heavens bleed
crimson as I search for solace in my dreams, and where the blood
spills, it crashes against the earth with a deafening roar. My thoughts
drift through a luminous haze, yet I remain a harbinger of chaos,
spiralling through destruction—yearning, a restless spirit, my body
evaporating, and ceasing to exist.

In this turmoil, I am drawn into a surreal realm, where the confines
of my mind transform into a grand stage—twisting and contorting,
twisting itself in these performing gymnastic routines. It is a perpetual
struggle, a delicate dance of cognition, as I pray, I do not tear the
fragile threads of my sanity.

Yet, amidst this chaos, my music rises as a refuge, the pen transforming into my conductor's wand, weaving together the symphony of poetic notes that dance upon the page – I am a poet.

i.

Painted scars,
displaying a beautiful tragedy

A dream taken away,
other's never had one to have
And so in both our eyes,
we could see each person so sad.

Two broken pieces,
trying to fit together
If you could feel your worth,
but failed to see the treasure
Alas
If you could hear your love,
but never taste your kisses.
Alas.

Perhaps you weren't nosey enough,
to scent out more of you.

Still during your time,
you wished for something
But three wishes had given you nothing.

Alas


ii.

Back then I was
going out into the world
finding what's out there.
Soon fell out of place.

I took a trip into the world,
leaving a lot behind.

I left a man with morals,
never thought he felt important
Never had a dream,
always stood woke
Left the joy and laughter of company,
wasn't one to take their jokes.

Found my seat on a train,
heading nowhere
Glanced at my reflection only once,
As once was only enough
so careless of me to say, but I never dreamt of such.

Alas,
these painted scars.

A reflection of loveliness, you spend tiny
seconds in the mirror,
Sparing not a hand of beauty's lend; to lend
cherished care,
From childish abuse twined in life's hair, your grace
does rush my eye,

In the many,
amongst the traffic of people, your sweetest self
could not deceive,

Yet...

As your nature calls to itself, to break
my heart (as you're to branch off, and leave.)
Your beauty is the tombstone, And I
sadly won't find my rest.

                                 ....I indeed loved a mistress.

Inhale, exhale,
a slave to my every breath.
In a life of hell,
waking up to fall close asleep to death.

All the ups and downs, one can be above it all.
Lord!

Hear the call of man,
one of paranoia through a storm.
Like loud thunders, do you hear a crying roar?

In this reign of time,
find myself hiding behind clouds.
Where echoes of lightning surrounds.
Out of the norm,
a paranoia through a storm.

I've reached the other side,
across an endless tide.
Twelve hours later,
sailed around endless seconds of time.
Now I found,
things I can't fully understand.
A foreign land,
not inhabited by any man.
How I got here isn't as shore,
after a paranoia through a storm.

Who alone knows a strain of journey,
finding yourself feels an eternity.
But if I sold myself short,
there wouldn't be much left of me.
At the end of every storm,
I'll be like the sea.

Free!

There's a party I'd like for you all to attend,
partly- to spill yourself over; it's all in my head
And I'm so in over my head, like the thoughts
of getting to the top, with a sprinkle of fame
A bit of extra money toppings, and not being deserted
once they forget your name

Fill up a couple of balloons with oxygen to speak your dreams,
out of breath by the tenth one; saying things in haste
Everything blows away in the wind,
when you eventually lose all of your breath
I could be a bit depressed, but I'll move on from the feeling,
so anyways  I do digress...

Pour out a line of drinks in that chlorine smell,
compare them to the pools of tears I drowned myself in
I had a stroke of ideas, with the chest to commit to them all,
a bit of breaststroke, and I'm still learning how to swim

There's a couple of snacks and snakes,
one to bite into and to bite back
Have a bit of a hiss after every person you kiss,
tell a sweet lie in between pretty lips
And tell them you had a good time, with a bit
of awkward thanks

Play some music, and tune into your negative emotions,
motivate yourself with someone else's motivating quotes
And to quote, "Just one small positive thought
in the morning can change your whole day.”- Dalai lama
I wonder what thought of quote I have at night,
once it's the end of that day

It's always so loud,
especially it all being a party in my head!

Could we, still taste the stains of tears on a collared shirt
–whereas you cried, while being embraced in their arms?
To every new lover, every smile is just a spark we both
seem so hopeful will last us long; never to burn out.

Still there isn’t a crash course to love – for when it comes
to falling in love; it feels so heavenly as if Heaven has
made your angel, that stole the last breath in your heart.

But what happens when they don’t smile as they did
before – when ten thousand sparks, is just pieces of dust?
It's the answer of whether it’s a lasting love, in what seems
to be a lasting time, of not feeling those sparks…

We’ve all known the feeling of too many passing loves.

Hearing what you say to me between your lips,
Focus of my eyes are by your hips.

Stressing way too much on the few seconds left on the time,
Making the night worth the wait as I surely make you mine.

Politeness I lost by biting way too ******* your empty flesh,
Seeking a sweet treasure hidden underneath your colourful dress.

But it just takes a little while
For that heavenly scent across your neck to make me smile.
Down for the type of loving taking us across the mile.

Losing control out of the grip.
I take a piece of your taste by the every sip.
For you have a flame running wild across my entire body. Now reaching the tip.

Ready for the mount
Don't need this time to count.
Lose track of the time. Being the animal you need, breathing the warm air out my snout.

I love the feeling. I take it to no waste.
Passion for my love for you is never displaced.

A subtle gaze into these mesmerizing brown eyes,
captivated by the intensity of the desire that burns within
them— these eyes are like two galaxies, vast and infinite,
in which I find myself happily swirling; as the joy of all
my dreams, are like a kiss that pulls me in deeper into orbit;
a celestial dance fueled by this magnetic connection to
achieve all that seemed so impossible.

The pull is irresistible, as I find myself helplessly drawn to
it, unable to resist the gravitational force of passions.
A moment of cosmic unity, I yearn for you with a fervor that
surpasses time and space. The past becomes insignificant, and
all that matters is the present, the unyielding longing for a
touch, an embrace of accomplishments, playing out in my
life’s celestial opera.

To describe beauty—isn't by sight,
rather insight.
The mind is beautiful,
a *** *****; pleasing of the know how it shows,
of how much experiences it has catalogued.
As the heart—filled with passion flowing,
lips of course express the words of love.
The hands place action to the physical of one's
love to their own, given once by another.

To a resting place, is a forest of ten thousand
trees,
Where sweet nothings echo into their final bite
of one's words bark.
So as the two make love, under the canopy of
two's embrace—
Seems the passionate partaking, wisps the morning energy
for the day, and a reason to leave.

Too passionate beings, two lovers making
love.
Under covenant, as the circling ring,
she is his, as she calls to him.
He greets her always with a wet kiss.

It's bliss; ignorant forgetfulness.
"I forgot what we were even fighting about"

A sick person rushes to feel well, yet
Ironically, "patient" they'll be –

Are you tired of the wait,
Or is it just your fate now, to find that
Patience is the way of life?
Sincerely, "patient" we'll be –

As I pause in his presence;
  he's the one who pushed
   back oceans, for foundations I see,

     walking in valleys of darkness;
       he's the lamp guiding the
         ways of my destiny's feet.

As I pause in his presence;
  I have the privilege to be
     in God's Holy Place,

      waking me up; armed and
       ready for battle,
          Made invincible in every way.

As I pause in his presence;
      I'm lost for words to say,
        at the Oasis of Spirit's peace,

         overflowing, your love's blessings,
           shaking my heart at it's core,
             for your love is sweet to my lips.

I pause in your presence; waiting on your will to be done,
I pause in your presence; knowing that I am always loved.

A life ignites, only to extinguish in time’s relentless grasp – just
as a year dawns, yet fades away without so much as a whisper.
Here I stand, teetering on the precipice of the new, bidding
adieu to the past, resting upon this pedestal of moments;
I yearn to voice my thoughts, yet hesitate to preach.

It is all too simple for one to recount the trials of a year, to boast
of triumphs over adversity. But what if, for some, the conclusion
merely serves as the bitter prelude to yet another distressed chapter?

In the grand of our existence, there are moments of sweetness,
fleeting as a confection – yet the bitterness we endure clings to
our lips, overshadowing the once delightful flavours.
This year has been a grand banquet, glorious yet marred by
unwelcome intruders: fury, regret, despair, heartbreak, betrayal,
pain, sorrow, and loss – a feast both lacklustre and so dreadful.

Yet, amidst the fury, there lies the soothing balm of silence to
soothe a troubled heart. Where regret lingers, it serves as a
poignant reminder of paths best left pathless. From the depths
of despair, a vivid portrait emerges, crafted from the ink of my
struggles. In the wake of heartbreak, I find solace in the truth that
even the most hardened souls harbour a tender echo of softness.

Betrayal has bestowed upon me the fortitude to extend trust,
albeit with an alert heart. In the face of pain, my spirit bears
wounds yet remains resolute, ready to rise beyond the scars.
Where sadness dwells, cherished memories dance through
my tears, illuminating the darkness. And in the shadow of loss,
I glean wisdom from the echoes of what I once cherished.

All these revelations I have gathered upon this pedestal of time.

some would pen words—
few pen poetic sceneries,
in the less of lines; are things
profoundly interesting.

A gun for hands;
bullets for fingers:

Words in lead,
violence in my pen;

And in the end;
the paper is dead.

A pen in the right hands,
is a dangerous weapon.

Let a pen run dry from it's creative ink,
maybe take more time to create your words before you say them,
put a lot of thought into what you have to say &
try first to think.
That's honestly got to be my loudest silent prayer.

Only time I'm running out of luck is when I'm running out of reasons to ever live,
thousand reasons not to wake up to this beautiful  life we all live.
And a couple more to throw everything away, before I'm ever open to receive.

That's got to be a point at the end of the tip,
at a mountain peak bleeding out on those below me and pouring out knowledge onto these small kids with my ink.

I see black things much blacker in the dark,
and it's not a pretty site but still a reason why black is art and who we all are.

And my pen is a paintbrush to a poet painting out his every word,
Probably blinding out your eye, so take a better listen or haven't you heard.

I'm only here to spell out the info of True,
So don't misread me for spelling it out to you.
If you can't take the truth then it wasn't meant for you.

That's what the relationship between a pen and a poet had to sink into your head,
so he best wipe his fingers now, cause his fingers have bled.

Penny for a thought, penny for the waves of emotions to buy a new boat.

Down goes another relationship, another relationship going down,
once was a dime, a vessel better known for it's time.
But all aboard the ship, another relationship going down.

Pennys and Ships,
Vessels of giving girls a tip.
Swallowed down through the sea's lips,
lost at sea in pieces of silver ships.

Truly for truly, did they not often feel
like everyone’s personal convenience.
So convenient for people to know them, — just to be
what’s in store, for them all to buy into their dreams.

How convenient; suiting people’s purposes so well;
well enough, as a worn-out suit; to suit those only in
a matter of addressing their personal battles, grievances,
qualms and historical hurts.

It must be so frustrating, to see the reflection of such pain
in these eyes; painted red from every tear we all had cried.
A mask in disguise; a disgust in the discussion of how
their given something, is looked later on as purely NOTHING.

Truly for truly, it must be worth the hurt,
for us to repeatedly be the better person,
around those who only give you and I the worst.
People are truly the worst; and so too
must be loved the most.

See through hands of giving;
closed hand into sinning
All of us are lately tripping;
falling off, death inevitably proceeding
All at our tries of living;

As are us, of our people.

All are a riddle,
how then is it solved?
The answer,
we all needed to be loved.

How wondrous it is, the way we shift,  
Like seasons turning, giving life a lift.  
Yet more enchanting is the way we feel,  
As transformations weave a poignant reel.

For just as storms may brew in skies above,  
So too do changes stir the hearts we love.

Perceive, triest understand love;
      As a child, seeing many try;
As a young adult, I made my attempt
      Following in man's knowledge.

      Spoken, was their love;
Yet with a tongue rolled under itself
      Seen, some have claimed;
But without center of an apple's eye.

      Some do hid to mind;
But quickly listen to heart's feeling
      As only a few;
Hold truth, facing love's grip trap.

      One by one we fall,
Into the deepest parts of love
      For a large and long,
Number of us at a time fell in love.

      A nose dead cold;
Running it through snow
      At the highest of emotions,
But no being can subdue its drug.

      For love is many,
Beautiful, tragic, joyous, painful
      Maddening, sentimental, wicked
Ignorant, wholesome, challenging.

      But what then is love,
If not perceived as all understood?

Putting my shoes on backwards — stepping straight back
to the past, searching for another path; where the fisherman
never loses hope of reeling in something worth keeping.
Another catch…fishing, baiting, catching on hope’s lines.
We filled each other’s hearts with perfect laughs, ran side
by side on the marathoner’s road — but I never thought
love would be the trickiest mile.

Hey — whatever happened to that silly boy who swore he
loved all of your vibrations, the ringtone that made him dance
whenever you called his name? He smiled in group photos
with friends he didn’t like anyway — if it meant he could
fit into your picture, He’d frame his discomfort and pose.
He’d stand in the rain just to give you a sunny day.

He wore casual smiles to match every conversation, he played
your superman in shorts, his confidence a little short too; fogging
his own glasses with the breath of your words. We stood so close
the air between us could have been a kiss, but we stayed as friends,
our thoughts and hopes sealed under the covers of  “what if.”
But we dressed our hearts in dreams of maybe — perfect lovers
undercover, hiding in plain sight because losing each other
would hurt more than never trying.

Enthralling – the vanished fragrances; my olfactory senses
are akin to a daisy, each petal plucked accompanied by
a murmur of “if she loves me, loves me not”

Her scent – sends sparks of shivers through me;
a fragrance bold enough to fill the space, gentle
not to drop it all.

My dear, is that very scent that ensnared my heart.

Our fresh starts are merely ancient tales played out in new
roles… Drop me off at the edge of time— with the subtle
notes to the steps of love; alas, it's only a footnote. Bearing
heavy thoughts as the wearer of this crown— wear me
down; preoccupied with the relentless question of,
'where do we stand now?'

Torn in two; we are the wounds that stitched us together,
only to fall in love. I'm still scarred, only this time I chose to
bring it all on myself. Sympathized symphonies— where
all these falling tears don't fall from your eyes, but from
the heavens crying out at night.

Though time grows wise the longer it runs; why do I persist
on chasing time, as if there exists a finish line... In hopes that
loving you would grant me wisdom on how to love you better;
spending more time in this chase - or how the story goes.

The boy who chases after a wife, often neglects to transform
the title to HIS wife. Fresh starts that are merely ancient tales
played out in new roles. But who really owns up to their role
at all?

Falling in love; well at least falling for the person- the narrative
of our love, a romance narrated from a distance — seen in third
person. You’re the third person I find myself whispering, “I love
you,” sharing so much about myself, sharing so much that it
aches to be so personal.

Sometimes my words disappear under your breath; I’m fading
away, and not feeling as myself; no longer existing as a person-
impersonal.

I catch glimpses of uncertainty in your eyes, and I sense that my
many personalities can be overwhelming- please don’t take it so
personal. You sometimes feel diminished in their presence, as if
you’re non-personal

Yet, as the day draws to a close, my greatest desire remains:
to know you deeply and to call you, my person.

How so strange,
it's only on your birthday people fill
up your inbox.
As is with Valentine's,
the only time you seem to show the most love.

Be it some sort of widespread event.

I've found it sad that people don't cry much for you now,
But can cry a thousand tears when your life is lost. Ever wonder why or how?

Still I ask a question,
why haven't you cried for me in life.
In the times I myself was actually lost,
when things seemed to be down.
Why not also cry a thousand tears of joy once I'm found.

Just a personal observation,
and personal concern.
Please don't think me condescending.

I reserve my freedom to be free,
but I don't talk enough to earn freedom of speech
I'm just a piece of peace, and the resounding sound of silence
spelling out my thoughts in cursive; who could read my mind
But just a person more of an open book with charming words,
as I sliced my throat to be cutthroat at most
In those days I used to pray more often when I was sixteen,
still feeling like a preteen; thinning out himself to fit in with others
—I was always petite

Let me relate to guns,
somebody who took one for family
The bullet is adopted,
-a stray that killed a cousin
Gun powder that tastes like baby kisses,
to die tastefully, while she cries
But who am I to judge; I keep one in my pants,
some keep theirs inside, some on their side
I could use it to bring death in her eyes,
or bring in her, a reason to spawn life
This gun is a tool, and it's user a peacemaker
or just a weapon

                  I'm so attached to my gun.

Dial, dial,
the beeping is going so long.
Hello,
do you hear my silence or best do I sing it in song.
Hours,
Here be a thousand hours filled in a bottle on this one empty call,
I lost track for a moment and had to restart. Excuse me I had to stall.

Calling all my friends,
could we meet at the corner of the bar.
Wait outside till the bouncer would blink and move past him faster than a speeding sports car.

Rather yet I should call my mother and ask her how she been.
Last I would of heard of her voice would be ages older than her. Never ment to be mean.
Yet  a bag of ten pieces of silver quarters.
Would I call my father?
Daddy, daddy ,
I don't want to go to school no more, it feels too risky like I'm still crossing illegal borders.

But I never pressed a button that held that number.
Though I could of called a doctor to cure such insanity. To it, I be it's newcomer.

To have people move past me and see into this empty box,
Thinking of who to what I would call, with my silver pieces hidden inside my socks.
Just don't try to call me right now, I probably wouldn't know the time to call you back.
This time feels too short, so it's time to set goals on all the things I lack.

Quotes of my words paints the picture of my name,
a kid stuck in is head sticking to his dues
And due to the bigger picture of things I'd much prefer to stay stuck inside my frame.

But the painted picture can't remain the same,
so let me add a little detail
Hang myself with interesting people
and be part of the craft of painting this picture.

Still I don't see what's the final art piece,
it's a puzzle piece against puzzle piece
A stroke into another stroke,
and a hit line into the fine line
But I should try to find peace within myself from this rhythmic rhyme.

Find the grand stand of the outstanding,
amount to the worth before I lose interest
into my soul's investment
Banking onto the little pennys spent into my dreams of wanting to be grand standing.

For I believe,

To be of cause is only when I'm heading in the right direction;
a long way through life and the challenges
Cause life's a trip and quiet battle that hits low by the midsection.

To be one of the greatest means I should have hang with a few,
Hang my thoughts and ideas with them and  borrow a few
Still I see you as great, but I aim to be greater than all of you

I'm the painted picture that your eye fails to sway from,
the piece art critics wish to know the background of

"Hey where did this piece come from"

And my theme of it all is behind the detail
so feel into my words through braille.

In my eyes—wide shut—
I rearrange the scattered pieces, trying
to build a better version of myself from
what once felt like a creature. I frame
my thoughts to get a clearer picture,
decorating the past in shades that turn
away from mistakes, and painting the
rest with the soft light of my achievements.

Time drifts like dust—
blown apart in fragments. And I wonder
if anyone has ever truly been put together
perfectly. Even the greatest successors were
once victims, parts of themselves quietly missing.

To be complete is to keep finding yourself
again—to return, again and again, to the
reason you began. I stay committed to the
foundation of a dream, building it day by
day from these few, fragile pieces.

As really my mind isn't
always at ease,
Frustrations of the day
are often plenty.
But keeping to the love
of my heart, is the beating of peace.

Say if my mouth were
to run dry.
It's words must be lost,
say if my eyes were to turn blind.
There's really nothing good in
this world to see.

As feet tend be overstepping
on matters,
The hands are scheming
against each other.
Our very spirits are the
only pieces left strong in matters.

Even if my nose is
****** from running.
The ear will be constant
to hearing Truths.

So let it always run to Truth.

These pieces of the body
are simply complex
And like man, is the
tools of being ******* into being complex.

Hourglass figure of time;
I found the extra seconds gasping at your body as if it were
made mine. The magnum opus; of two youngsters kissing on
their parents sofas. The details of it feel less and less as I get older.
Should I be worried about the weight your name rests upon my shoulders?

So ahead of myself; is the last step I should take,
So far ahead of my thoughts; I planned out our first date.
But by the grin I forced into picture, showed it wasn’t how it came.
But I blame myself for it’s sudden change. And try hide away me being
so ashamed.

But misery knows company; my company then makes you miserable. Your texts seem always so predictable, and my pride makes me so pitiable. The hole in my heart as usual, I’m usually a nice guy but at times on a foolish will. Fitting the bill of the thrill; deceased by looks
that ****.

I look at her but I don’t see her, I see myself and broken pieces.
A taste of sorrow in the longest kisses. Wrinkles of all negative emotions we felt in our heart’s many creases.

We piled our selves on each other, driving each insane,
whether laughter, tears, pride, love, excuses and shame.
I blame it all for that reason, that both our hearts were pile driven.

Piling ourselves onto this love. We've piled enough.

Sometimes I'd cheat on myself just to get the feel,
Pinch myself if I'm dreaming to feel what's real.

And I can't deny
How often I'd fall quick to lie.
Still I try the best to move past that. I do try.

While acting camera shy
Behind the lens I'll often cry
I can't deny.

While the days will wait on my arrival,
They'll wait that long enough it's best to idle.
For I spent most time designing myself by vinyl.

By then pinch me if I'm dreaming that often. But I'll pray never to wake.
For the Lord's sake
Add more flavor to my self raising Heart to then bake.

Pinch me then
If the first pinches aren't working that much. We're probably by ten.
Still I'll pray never to wake by then.

I'll ignore the hurt,
Pray for wakeness to be foreign to me.
By then
We'll be at this course of this dream  once again.
Try me that much and I'll show you what's the True worth.

Is falling in love like dreaming – for I have tasted a mere pinch of
love, and I implore you, do not pinch me, and wake me up. My heart
dances like a brush upon the canvas of my flushed cheeks; I yearn not
to rush into this enchanting feeling, yet I find myself swept away in
this exhilarating feeling’s rush.

Like a lush forest adorned with vibrant canopies, I sense a love that is
both elusive and captivating—so wild is the sensation you evoke, as I
strive to quench my eyes thirst, for one more glimpse of you.

My emotions are splattered across the canvas, each stroke a testament
to the artist's longing; your aim must have been true, for this feels
nothing short of a masterpiece. I draw nearer to you, like that very
pencil, etching thoughts in my mind, desperate to articulate the
depths of my affections.

Tell me, is falling in love like dreaming – for I have tasted a mere
pinch of love, and I implore you, do not pinch me, and wake me up.
I quite enjoy being in love.

_

I’ve slipped into a realm of love, ensnared by
yet another crush— no wet floor signs in sight!
Overthinking, deep thinking; I am adrift in an
ocean of thoughts— no life jackets in sight!
I’ve been a jug of emotions, constantly pouring
out my heart— yet these days, I offer only a cup.

These eyes, are crafted from paper, with all these
drawn-out plans— crinkled, and crushed!
Cast aside like a forsaken heart, unguarded by the
walls I used to bring up— please, don’t bring up my
reluctance to divulge too much— not much to say!

Just pinch me to the starkness of reality; I have
been tickled by the allure of dreams too much.

pink blossoms – in the forest of thoughts; I seem
so lost. as a storyteller, I must have consumed a library,
every day is a memory of all that you’ve learned, and
the scriptures on your skin of the Word

where true prophecy reigns – the taste of one’s future
rains, watering faith’s garden. you beautiful tragedy,
making blissful mistakes – life hurts and stresses you
out with heavy thoughts of tomorrow, that you seem
too scared to even let down your hair; it's an anchor

yet in these pink blossoms, any piece of hope blossoms
like a blush on your face – when the slightest beauty
smiles back at your worried face… weary child,
go and pray.

The sky's cheeks touched by a dream –  
Blushing softly and bashfully, in shades
Of pink.

As our love ascends –
You are my heavens; embraced,
Radiating in soft shades of pink.