My bible is the lyrics of the song
My dance is the movement of the melody in the song.
My language is the distinct sound of each note playing in the air of the song.
My oxygen is the tone of the voice.
My emotions are the pace of the breath in the song.
My love is the writer of the song.
My life is a song.
And my religion is the music.

The room just started to spin
I wasn’t even ready for begin
It felt like I was in a tomb
Perhaps even my doom
The more the spinning room did
My bets were living in bid
The room seemed to go faster
It was a moment that seemed arrived
I don’t know, but I managed to survive
However when I least expected
My mind formulating on regret
A spinning room that I will forget
Suddenly the spinning rook slowed down
My eyes attempted to look around
My fortress became my destined bound
But my words, I couldn’t utter a sound.

You are shore
and I am sea.
Our constant
divergence,
can’t you
see?

Maybe people did not realize what they had done.
The ****** of the people and their hope.
Africans are no different, so why were they treated as such?
It's better now! Tables with no signs that say,
"White Only."
Benches for everyone to use. One drinking fountain instead of two:
One on each side of the building.
One in the same!
And college, striving for a better future
Is an option.
Now, was that so hard?

An Aunt and a Nephew on an adventure to explore
It all happened at the Macy’s Herald Square Store
It was the marquee eyes and yellow buses that caught the attention in a little fellow being wise
As a tot, I picked up the yellow bus
I had to have the bus being a must
My Aunt saw the bus in my hand
She told me to put back at her command
But a tot determined to get the bus became my demand
I made such a fuss for that bus
My Aunt was forced to buy the yellow school bus
My persuasion in maneuver became a must
My passion for any bus became my reality with no fuss
Buses have become my hobby from that start
I have a complete 2,000 Bus collection in making my mark
From the start of the engine to the movement with exhaust
A bus hobby I love
The structure and wheels I think of
From a bus pioneers point of view
Here is a more detailed clue
My apartment is a like a bus collector’s paradise
Each bus I have represent themselves
Yes, they fit quite comfortably on the shelves
But it’s Greyhound ahead on the mount
I have so many busses you simply can’t count
It’s my Greyhound glass stretched hound
It doesn’t make a sound
However it stands on my bookshelf being sturdy bound
Buses have become what I missed
I don’t intend to ever dis
My buses have become my catch
They are my assortments like a batch
My buses are just for fun, but everlasting as the shining sun.

The universal therapy
a common, household medicine
crafted by collaborations of talents
and celebrated by siblings far
in distance, near in heart and mind.

If ever a religion existed
which all would embrace,
a movement to seize the fires
and conjoin hands
to spread and span,

If winds had a literal way to speak
to our simple minds,
if anything could drown us faster
than the rising expanse
of miles upon oceans
and make irrelevant
the laws of land, gravity and life...

Spin spin spin
Turning until when
The wheel that was spinning for miles
All this happened all awhile
The wheel just kept on rolling
It was like the wheel was patrolling
It was over hills and determined wills
The wheel spinning all around
Destination in becoming being bound
The wheel could be heard tire marks sound
Yet the turning of the wheel seems like life’s expansion
The wheel’s movement in arriving in knowing where to be
The vision in being in sight for all to see
The wheel in having a trail in where it has been
When the wheel comes to a stop, it will be at an end.

She's well aware
that no one ever cared
for her touch.
thats why she touch
all of my guts
with her scare.

Painting my eyes until i cant see anymore
that's why im sitting on the floor.

Both of my hands
were used by the man
to dream
but as it seems
everyone could dream
but i can't.

My mind is nailed to the girls my eyes wouldn't lose
skinny bones walking the ground I use.

My spine is tied to the sheets
And purple and the doors
Was followed far too deep.
With your fingers behind my teeth
And your mouth so soft
And everything's so sweet.
Music and wires and my dreams
So softly they would die
With you and with me.

Before that I brake
By the movements she makes
In me.
I told of the need
And the movement of me
She takes.