There are so many colors in a crayon box.
Everyone has their favorite.
Mine just happens to be you.

You're the pink to my hearts that overfill the page with your name written inside.
You're the blue to the tear on my stick figures that I draw every time we say goodbye.
You're the red to the fire I doodle when ever I remember our last kiss.
You're the yellow I shade in the smiley faces as you make me grin.
Your're the green to the color of nature, that has a beauty so very close to yours.
You're the orange that shows our warm hugs like the suns light reflects the sea shores.
You're the purple when we're apart, there's loyalty there that I trust with all my heart.
You're the black to my night sky, surrounded by the twinkling stars of our outrageous memories.
You're the white to heaven's clouds, and its not as far as it seems, i'm there whenever you're with me

But most of all,
You are my personal color.
A color no one could use or borrow
I'll use you yesterday, today, and tomorrow
And never get old.

In a sixty-four pack box,
You are my crayon.

I live at the bottom of a lake
I am a fish
There are gills in my ears
‘Cause there are things my blood needs to hear
I have fins in my mouth and they propel me so far
The only way to stop is to bite down real hard
Sometimes I miss the air, even though I’ve never breathed
I drive around the lake bottom in my little moving machine
I call it a Notcar
I try to find my way to the other side
It’s blue out there or maybe grey

I died at the bottom of a lake today
I ran all out of imaginary air
I fell asleep at the wheel of my Notcar
And drove right into a telephone Notpole
My friends all gathered round my little fish-shaped grave and I learned something
They don’t tell you in books or movies,
That Dead speaks a different language than Alive
So I couldn’t understand a word my fishy friends said
It sounded like this:

I’d always hoped my death would have some meaning
Or that at least my life would
But mostly I just tried to understand things
Like all the different rooms in my brain and why underwater never smelled like rain
I loved a few boy fish, had some very fishy affairs
I loved my friends the most, they were such pretty colors
(Dead sees colors differently than Alive, so now they look like this:                                    )
The day I died was special like every other day which is to say
That it was not Notaverage
And I died in a pretty Notspecial way
And because I can’t hear Alivewords, or see Alivecolors
I’ll never be sure if I left any mark

I live at the bottom of a lake
Most days I think that I’m an alien
On Tuesdays I feel pretty human
The lake I live in died
It left behind little shells in the sand at the playground
And pretty rocks with ripples
It left rings on the mountains but not like rings inside trees
These rings mark a countdown to death, rather than a count out from birth

The lake is a ghost
It sings to me in my sleep, but I don’t speak Dead
At least not yet
And furthermore, I don’t speak lake
I speak a language called Notdeadnotlake
And so do all my friends
Sometimes I wonder why the ocean was so thirsty that it called my lake back home
And I wonder if I’m part of Something Bigger too,
Whether Something Bigger is feeling thirsty
I think I might be part of a big strange creature made out of all the things I sometimes feel like:
Lakesludge and matches and sunshine and fish with sharp little teeth
Notgoods and notbads and spiders and bats
Sadhappys and angryfucks
Starsparkles and earthworms and fairywings and dinosaur bones,
It has really big ears and stubby toes
And all it needs is some alien or Tuesdayhuman to feel complete
Or maybe it’s made of lakeghosts and fishghosts
And wants nothing to do with me

This is our love ,we need to
recompose its meaning
with the passing of every second.
Love is our poetry ,or
poetry is our love.
Do you need to be yourself?
Do you need me?
Maybe it's hell ,maybe it's heaven,
Maybe it's both of them.
Maybe it's getting zero.
We should burn inside,
but no ,we make it be
our mad paradise.
It's something you should know
before touching me.
You should know
that  love is only Divine.

She saw people praying and using the violence in
the name of religion at the same time, while no
religion is preaching violence. She understood that
this kind of violence was too conflictual for peace, and
yet too diplomatic for war. And that violence no  
solution had; nor never none. She thought those
  
people lived in black light having blind eyes not seeing
the reality of life. She had to accept that this wicked
goodness and this pretty badness belong to our reality
so *****-like, vexing and hiding so many victimless crimes.
Suddenly, she realized that she could be a new victim.
She started to run while wondering where her safe place was.
  
She was better than to expect to be caught. She understood
her fear, that fear leading to frightening thoughts, those thoughts
leading to panic, that panic leading to derealization. She looked
around trying to recognize the place. She felt worry because she
couldn't see very well. She searched to make a sword of everything
around, but quickly after that, she thought that the swords are the
  
  
weapons of warriors, but she's not a warrior, she's a victim. She
started to give praise with idle tears, to give praise with wisdom,
to give praise with deep despair. She asked herself if God is there to
hear her, over those ravages of war overwhelmed by the natural
catastrophes and over the ludicrous effect of their transformation
into nothing. She, firstly, believed her religious man was a fighter
  
  
against enemies of God to conclude that he was an enemy of the real
fighters for God. This man was her husband learning in time to beat her
body and to hurt her soul. She saw herself as a little bleeding part of this
world wondering to know if her man is still the man she fell in love with
once, or he's an illusion. She stopped her run to sit on the ground. She
began to pray hoping that God is there to hear her and to bring a new light
  
  
  
to her crying reality. She stayed there to think how much a rose can
describe a flower, how much a flower can describe a woman, and how
much the feminine can describe many things around .She concluded
that no feminine thing can break this life down. She asked herself,
''What can happen to this world in the absolute absence of feminine?''
She found herself an innocent person dreaming at a new world without violence.

Dis is one dream that won’t be pleasant
I’m the master, you the peasant
Broken Ankles and Totaled Cars
Really!? More like Strange Dreams from weird bars
Guess it can’t be, Queens too young
In a club, hands w’d get tied, like your tongue
More like a wanna be princess, than a true Queen
You got weak poems like Death by Dopamine
Mo like, Death by Dope Poet, me!
Ya best run back to the Prayer Closest gurll
Time for a Waking up, I’m da King of the world
There are two things you can take
That your Unabridged Loc Bat and your Mistake
Show some Self-Control SISS
Gonna get your ******* in a great big twist
Your right about one thing, it’s My Fault
That you’re stumblin’ in the hundred, an I’m winin the vault
BOO HOO! Handle With Care
My rhymes nock your teeth out and pull your hair         (Not me, rhymes. No violence towards women!)
I Release my poems, to be a my ****
You’ll be reciting’ Memories of You, like a drug
You asked the question, What I May Lose
It aint up to you B, it’s for me to choose
You were So Close, you could almost taste it
In stepped the King, now your poems aint worth sh…..

Yo Yo! Listen up all you shawtys
Ya steppin’ to the Kng, you must b chugging foties
Take a herd of ya’ll to get in my face
Talken to you, Somethin’ and Madison Grace
This is the toughest challenge you’ll ever face
Betta  get fifty of ya all pseudo poets
Cuz you’re the what?
And I’m the KNOW IT!!!!!!!

I speak no riddle and play no game when I say I call the bluff
For I found on this very ground that love is packaged fluff
That no word nor heart goes into even the deepest midnight kiss
And so I declare in this lifetime that love does no exist

Before you ask me who I am to make such accusations
Or what must have occurred in heart or mind to scream such allegations
I am the fool thats folly lies in hopes of something more
As he found himself abandoned in his own heart's heavy doors

There is no happy ending to the twisted words I speak
No comfort or nighttime companion to banish such thoughts with a kiss on the cheek
Only a wishing and a mourning for all the wasted time
Where I searched for such a treasure that could never truly be mine

Or...

Could it be that love to me is only a distant stranger
That love is not extinct, but just simply endangered
Is it possible that love exists and strives to keep alive
The only thing driving it and us being the simple will to survive

I look to you, dear reader, and ask to look within yourself
To see within you lies something that can be found in no one else
And that every brute, every break, and every burn leads to a love forever more
Would such a treasure, so coveted, be worth fighting for

And so with each side made and each argument formed, I retire into myself
Picking up both my pen and my heart from the dusty shelf
For the answer I've looked for tonight is in both heart and mind combined
That love in all its wonder is out there, but a challenge to find