Look, I was gonna go easy on you not to hurt your feelings, but I’m only going to get this one chance!
Something’s wrong… I can feel it.
Just a feeling I got, like something’s about to happen… but I don’t know what.
If that means what I think it means, we’re in trouble—big trouble—and if he’s as bananas as you say I’m not taking any chances!

(You are just what the doc ordered)

I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They said I write like a monster, so call me scribe-star,
But for me to write like a beast means I’m a demon at least;
I got a devil kept in my pocket,
On my shoulder’s when I rock it.
Talkin’ of killin’ and of thrillin’; won’t stop it!
Write a demon doorway, now knock on it!
Ever since the dark days when I’d just lost it,
Way back when the world would pace and chant “Nutcase!”
I’m a ******, but I’m charming;
Yes, a crude, rude dude, but I’m still disarming.
Using syllables to **** ‘em all with this
empowering empire of powerful vampires.
The writer-type clackin’ back with typewriters, like way back, right?
Clackity-clack!
Rockin’ stack after stack, clackin’ out more attacks,
Ideas tacked out while hacks hack out their crap (but ******* spew **** all the time),
so I perform written parkour tricks so you’re not bored; strike a chord.
Show you Stryker’s tortured life of suicide ‘n strife turnin’
to strength and a fiery passion burnin’ while readers’ guts are churnin’—
teary eyes all burnin’.
Their fears are returnin’ from a story I turned out when I got turned on
to my own life.
Now I drop F-bombs;
exploding real-life scenes—
these ain’t your G-rated dreams, so take your outdated themes—
It’s the **** I’ve seen; don’t make me obscene.
I’m mean, I mean, it’s my means to screen a scene between a matte sheen.

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They ask me to thaw out these oily blocks called ink-wads, ink-wads.
There’s a body in everybody , but not all bodies have a brain that makes them feel sane.
Like a train—just the same—
Might be runnin’ but we still cast blame,
The loading docks of our thoughts; they’re locked-up in a box,
And they’re stackin’ up like blocks
That turn the stacks to empty tracks (****!)
Trainees blame their brainees when it’s not easy training brains, see?
But the boarding isn’t boring—training brains; not trading pains—
Remember: the station’s self-exploration!
Me? I’m a hodgepodge! From train station to abandoned lodge;
Bully dodgin’, fully locked-in when I freaked out, fattened-up and then I geeked out,
Told “keep it down” but then peaked when I peeked deep down.
Creepin’ up, now, and keepin’ up (WOW!)
I swear it up and tear it up scribbled swords,
And now I wear awards for slingin’ words;
Offered praise; a chance to forget about the craze that once darkened all my days,
But I write that way—say “that’s okay ‘cuz it helps me write this way—each and every day!
And hacks think I act this way just to seem this way, ‘til come the day when the cray-cray takes the doubt away.
Demon obsessed? I’m possessed! Can’t own what you don’t possess!
“Hey, devil-lookin’ boy!”
So ***** for my honey I’m rockin’ horns, look here boy!
A Literary Dark Mass-acre,
Like the devil laid waste to a church on the page, looker boy!
They got a gold star, and a high five,
Felt so alive to see their own scribes make it to Momma’s fridge, ****** boy!
Hey, schnook-ah boy, looky here, looker boy,
I’m held up by The Legion, book-it boy!
Had to push for every word—every page—had to swallow all the rage,
Now you want out of your cage, schnook-ah boy?
I’m legendary—literary—and you’re literally just a *****, little boy!
So sell out while I’m bought out, ******-boy!

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
The way I’m burnin’ through these pages, call me Dark Lord, Dark Lord!
But they’d rather burn my books, so start a fire war, fire war!
Can’t get it through your head? Words are more than Edward! He’s dead! WORD!
Let me drag you off to meet Dracula; take you back to the dawn of the dark lord, yea?
Fast forward to the foreword where the F-word’s “fangs” (you’re welcome);
This is my Hell, come! Be free!
Part Morningstar; part Morpheus! I throw up a kiss and jot down the kills like they’re red-apple pills.
Go ask Alice back at my palace what you should read to feed your head.
Sentence structure so smooth they call me FE-line, and my cat’s got better plot lines,
That the hacks will all call “sublime” (it’s “sub-fine”)
But me?
My **** scenes are brutal,
And my romance? Not frugal. I don’t saturate—I arrogate—
But I don’t condemn my characters to *******!
I wanna make readers care—if readers dare—
To connect and feel and follow where they can find some hope and power there.
While also giving them a place somewhere that isn’t here—though filled with fear—
A place where they don’t feel jeered or feel weird.
Horror ain’t just movie monsters, or gore-****** scopin’ sponsors!
You speak French? C’est de la merde, monsieur!
You look unsure! But I have the cure in the written word!
And though you once were achin’ for a rockstar author cravin’ bacon,
The role has since been taken by your man, Squiers.
And like a pair of pliers, I can reach into readers’ brains and cross all sorts of wires!
I’m settin’ cranial fires behind the eyes of all my buyers!
And while I’m growing Ghost Riders—ridin’ shotgun on the bullet-train ‘tween the pages—
There’s a horde of haters harboring growing rages
With a narrow gaze of who scribes pages.
They say I can’t write ‘cuz of my tattoos or my gauges
So allow me to assuage this: y’all can’t cage this!
If you don’t like it, let me show you where the grave is!
You’re well-aged, but I’m ageless!
Like the undead through the ages!
And like Shakespeare took to stages you can find me where the page is:
I’m hip to a script, I’m at home with a poem and feeling groovy writin’ movies; and I’ll be EZ on your TV.
You write normal? **** being normal!
What a novel theory! So very dreary!
Why the **** are they so leery, they say “Writing fear? We don’t want to hurt no feelings.”
Feelings? Setting up ceilings! Just more limits! It’s life! Live it!
Set the roof on fire!
Plot is getting hotter than a 24/7 squatter on a ***** channel!
So what if some **** gets a hair up ‘er ****? Don’t make it ****!
They wanna say “Hey you, we’re here to stifle!”
‘Cuz I mentioned rifles? Do they really want to trifle?
So I say:
“Better bring a sweater ‘cuz this thriller’s gonna chill ya—sure hope it doesn’t **** ya—and ya gonna get’a fill o’ all the ***** that I don’t give, ‘cuz I don’t live to let ******* quip or give me lip about my lit.
I’m entertaining and elating and also demonstrating how devastating a stream of escalating scenes can be so penetrating—although frustrating—to a mind that’s celebrating what it means to be vacationing between the pages; wading through the stages of a war that forever wages; meditating through the escalations now that they know what TRUE rage is!
“Oh, he’s too ******!”
That’s right! Ain’t right. That’s life: not nice; it’s strife.
It’s not just me; it’s we.
I just found a better way to show it:
Monsters that aren’t monsters;
Abuse put to good use; bred virtues!
“I don’t know how to plot plots like that;
I don’t know what words to use.”
Did it really never occur to them that to read a book—just to take a look—and THEN take up the pen?
You read King if you want to be king, strictly speaking.
A writing mind that isn’t a reading mind is a weakling; a weak link.
I’m a scholar—not a bawler—so I’m a flyer where there’s fallers;
Raised on Goosebumps and Creepy Crawlers so I’d Stine while others whined.
Got a dark side, but that’s The Dark Side on my side; counter haters with my Vader:
“I would be your father… but your dog beat me over the fence.”
No offense. Pretense: incorporate comedy and film; common sense.
Suicide pushed aside, though I still burn inside. **** myself on
the page each day so my readers can feel what it’s like to be alive.
It’s okay to hide.
Only your own devil knows what’s inside.
I own mine; he’s my co-pilot when I write. My demonic side; my demonic scribe.
Flipping my words to the birds—‘cuz, you see, that’s how I wing it—and flipping the bird while I throw down and sing it:
“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
My words are my roar and tonight I write!”
The fights are in your sights like you were seated inside a movie theater;
You’d see Xander and Estella—wouldn’t you want to meet her—
Have a front row to the creatures in a feature presentation…
But ‘til then
Eat some Rice An’ read a piece by a man who
Had an “Interview with a Vampire”—
I’m a fiction author, why would I lie to ya?
Prince of lies? I ain’t Satan!
Close friends, but I’m Nathan.
Judged for appraisal—I’m priceless—I’m  nice: no; charming: yes.
Got a razor-sharp and Shining wit like a crown left
on a King… but not.
Why be a left king, when I’m a write god.

Let's break all the tension with the pretense of my presence.
Yes, I'm insensitive--but there's no other incentive others can give--
And while I'm not sure I could prevent it, I swear to no god I'm inventive!

Yes,
My hatred is incessant--ever present--and it's what I hold most sacred.
I'm a naughty narcissist with a nasty list of wasted kisses,
And I won't say that I'll miss 'em, 'cuz I'm the type who never misses.

I'm a hopeless romantic with a new sense of Tantric hope,
It's the antics of a frantic mind, but I'm too calm to cope.
They say I'm a raving, violent--rarely silent--tyrant with a craving
for the obscene,
Though, while I'm mean, I'm rarely seen within a mob or in a scene.

I'll admit I've got a streak, but--if you'd stop to take a peek--
You'd see a Buddhist, not a nudist, who's less a demon than a geek.
I'm oblique and I'm obtuse (do these math puns work for you?) yet I'm rarely never right;
Get my angle? Catch my drift? I might thrash, but, man, I'm thrift!
Hold on shift: I'M SCREAMING NOW!!
Don't know why; don't have a cow!
Remember that? That 90's rap? Look at me then; that piece of crap!
Shot down! Torn up! Shut in! Turned out!
Lips are sealed; inside I'd shout,
'Bout just how bad I wanted out!
Enraged and crazed; cravin' razors; a victim hiding from all saviors!
Turned to the pen to brace for the knife,
Started writin' and saved my life.
It's funny to say my life got better the day I started a suicide letter...

But letters turned to words and those words became whole worlds,
And before my very eyes a whole legacy unfurled!
I was GOD--not just a slob--but a shaper of all things,
And the schemes that I'd been dreaming shifted into scribing,
And I never stopped since then; it's why I'm still alive!

So my insanity became vanity as calamity turned to amity.
Sheer pessimism became untamed narcissism,
But if the mind's a prison then consider me jail broken.
Outspoken, re-awoken; take a moment to let that soak in.
That a boy doubtful of tomorrow could ditch the sorrow,
And become an immortal--though immoral, not totally amoral.

So yea, I've got my faults; I'm a sensory assault,
And while I don't mean to offend I'm just a product of the ends.
Played with fire; I got burned.
Dared to aspire; I was turned.
So I inquire to you sires as I march out of the fires:
You've seen my darkness and know my story--beginning, middle, end--
My name is Nathan Squiers, do you wanna be my friend?

(too long version)

Life indeed pushed me to the edge of the cliffs end but the jump was my decision, no one there could ever be bothered to care enough to even explore the simplest question much less begin thinkin' about askin' what I was thinkin' when I settled on the option I ultimately, on more than one occasion, failed at miserably while attemptin', like the byproduct of rabbits ******' my faults are multiplyin' as my spark goes dark at the same time my shine went dim, not worth restorin' this vessel that sits as decoration in a white trash front lawn deterioratin', startin' from the back end then devourin' the engine

One step forward, two giant leaps back pedalin', that was the general motion of regression, lookin' like I'm plagiarizin' Michael Jackson when he's on stage performin', masterin' that classic moon walkin' he's known for doin', never as smooth as him but you get the picture I'm paintin', losing track of my destination as it began droppin' out of sight behind the horizon, followin' the trail the sun was blazin'

Can't see the forest for the trees and vegetation, could have heard the pre-lumber fallin' if you would only humor me and at least pretend to listen, but that there is somethin' you have zero interest in which is interestin' cause if the past has taught me anythin' about what you find pleasure in it's that you're lovin', above everythin', the chance to keep pointin' out and highlightin' how I'm a terrible human bein', a garbage person but not a man and no CDL license, I'm not pickin' up the trash I'm metaphorically dwellin' in only then to have it pile back up again times ten, ultimately creatin' my own land fill location within, wilfully lettin' recycled misfortune to continue hittin' me on the chin, it's due to inadequate trainin', not for the lack of tryin' to defend

No direction just a lie practiced to perfection too keep 'em from noticin' my state of depression, leave 'em guessin'. But to keep the honesty rollin' in I have a confession, I'd loan you the money to pay attention but you'd never take that good for nothin' offerin' and I ain't even placin' blame, just sayin', I know my position, I'm fully aware I'm on the losin' end of this game of tug-a-war life and I are playin', though I think it's cheatin', countin' cards to ensure a win, gamblin' that I'll give in and fold before noticin' I'm the mark bein' taken, the journey of life is a rigged expedition

What am I doin' besides losin'? Why am I here became the daily question, how do I get out this mess of confusion that's drownin' me to the point of extinction? It's an impossible equation even for a mathematician with years of education, so you know for certain I'm lyin' when, for no good reason, I have a go at answerin'. The slipknot is workin' just as I was expectin', slippin', goin' taunt, slidin' into its final position

I should mention, if you're thinkin' this has taken place solely for attention you're sorely mistaken, you never come to that realization, dodgin' conversation in an attempt to avoid confrontation, leavin' me noticin' there's no one standin' by and extendin' a hand to help and lookin' back there's never been. No one attendin' my lonely execution by decapitation in an effort to stop the spreadin' of harmful misfortune I feed myself, bad for my mental health, a deadly addiction that's become somewhat of a tradition through repetition, turnin' a weapon on myself, worsenin' my condition, that's a fact based observation not an opinion

No resolution in the hard hitting revelation that there's no salvation for someone who's gone and done what I've done and gone on livin' in a web of fear that I first spun for protection but couldn't stop the infestation from gainin' the traction it was needin' for the completion of my complete elimination

Cravin' anythin' real to place my faith in, I'm bein' told the hate and pain I'm bathin' in is of my own creation, I can see the connection as I sit broken down in the intersection of real life and fiction, I've lost control again and once again there's no mulligan. Am I seein' the glass half full or half empty or maybe it's all an illusion regardless of perception? Lost my vision, can't see through the pollution and corruption runnin' rampant with no solution comin', I'm a simpleton so this ***** gettin' confusin', a complete brain malfunction

I've awoken the beast within and just as I was predictin' we instantly began battlin' to the death, fightin' for position and a quicker end to the situation I'm always findin' myself in then findin' out for myself that it's always been my own reflection startin' back in my direction, the ugly inside is finally outwardly projectin', can't even pretend to be my own friend, enough is enough, I'm saying when

Its lurkin' just under the skin, waitin' for the moment to strike and beat me down to nothin'. When will it end? Never I'm guessin'. I'm gonna have to try to put an end to it all myself again, tirin' of the repetition to the point I usually take no action, sometimes due to exhaustion but still just lettin' it all happen like that's what I was plannin' from the beginnin' but that makes about as much sense as quittin' ****** right after the needles insertion or waitin' till after overdosin'

Frustration givin' way to aggravation and aggression leavin' little satisfaction even if I could squeak out a win, but I'm no longer wastin' time waitin' for that to happen so I'll probably most likely be caught sleepin', dreamin' about what could've been had I listened to my gut feelin' and put in the same amount of stock I place in what my treasonous mind and heart are always sayin'
and not let doubt creep in and claim top billin' as it's permanent position, knocking out compassion and reason, replacin' both with the hate and weight of a nation

It's a fools mission, I WILL be beaten' into submission, the last thing I'll hear as my energy gives up on existin' is the mortician statin' then time stampin' my expiration, that and the body bag zippin', family left pickin' out a coffin from the bargain bin, not worth payin' a fortune, only payin' little respect to the fallen then quickly forgotten at the drop of a pin

You're sayin' I have a purpose but I'm witnessin' me wastin' every minute of the earths rotation and never reachin' the conclusion that I was slackin', far to laxed in the preparation for a home invasion of this mental prison I'm caged in where I'm servin' a life sentence and I'm mentally and emotionally starvin' while my vision of any kind of future begins to darken

No open invitation, but that's not stoppin' my personal demon from just walkin' right in and startin' the killin' spree up once again, focusin' first on positive motivation just for existin', of course that's just my imagination, but could you imagine? A horrible vision to the average pedestrian, I know, but I still crack a grin at the thought of it happenin', the devil on my shoulder is at it again

My light fractured through a prism and some went missin' and I never got around to lookin' so no chance of gettin' it back into my possession, there's no raignin' it in, goin' from a fools errand to a search and rescue mission seemingly overnight but for what reason, just to teach me a lesson? I don't test well, I won't make it to graduation

Choices made out of desperation got me lookin' and feelin' like a felon, to survive I had to become the villain of the biography I'm narratin', this isn't livin', at best it's just barely holdin' on for dear life and weakenin', a measly attempt at survivin', forced into an intimate relation with the unforgivable, each of the sinful deadly seven

The line not to cross was paper thin, walked it like a drunk person in front of a couple corrupt police men, heathens but feelin' better than, lost control long ago, before I fell off the wagon, I ain't talkin' about drinkin', it started way back when with prescription medication, ones that were suppose to be helpin' but then used for wreckreation and that's when it began draggin' me down to an underground parkin' garage elevation

I didn't have a break down, like I said, it was a break in home invasion with the assumption there was somethin' worth takin' to begin with but everythin' inside is broken and you can see the corrosion of the foundation built on sand, makin' this temple worth nothin', even self worth is fadin'

Graspin' at the air and yet again findin' nothin', grapplin' with the notion I'm nothin', prayin' my emergency flotation device will suffice cause the water is ragin', feelin' the undertow currant strengthen in it's concentration, I think it's attackin' and there's no escapin' so I began blinkin' SOS in old fashion morse code hopin' you don't need help with the translation, if that's the case then I'm done for, why bother debatin', I'll take myself out of the equation, preparin' my soul for the comin' evacuation

You begin lyin' just to raise my spirits but I ain't buyin' into what you're sellin', counterfeit concern bein' spoken with no emotion or conviction, after the extensive evaluation I see it's no garden of Eden I'm livin' in, again, someone's been lyin', I'd be wakin' right into the den of a rabid lion shrouded in original sin, I ate the fruit knowin' full well it was forbidden, straight up poison but zero ***** were given, so this was bound to happen, the writin' was on the wall, who am I kiddin'?

You have my permission to begin the process so let's just go ahead then and get this over with so I can silence the voices within, I've eliminated every complication, layin' on the tracks at the crazy train boarding station, awaitin' the unavoidable, provin' I was correct in the assumption that this is the right time to initiate my endin', a personal Armageddon...oh, well hello, you must be that Satan guy I've been hearin' so much about from everyone preachin' directly in my ear then going out the other, it's still hard not to listen, I'm just tyin' up a loose end or two then I'm yours for the takin'

...alright, thanks for waitin', now then, let the journey to my endin' begin shall we? I'm takin' the lead on this one cause I know where we're goin' and I'm no good at followin' direction...obviously, it goes without sayin'

©2022

walkin on water

walkin on air

LAND WILL DO

walkin down streets
the mouths of alleys
spittin up ex-soldiers
and children

i

arm in arm with
the *******
--
-

we are such "commodity"

comic book characters
in ridiculous stories
we accept as truth

walkin in quick sand

on oily gulf coast beaches

WHEN ONLY THE TRUTH
WILL DO
-
--

take the dirt from your mouths
the chains from your legs

the "lover" from your side

forget the
"lame excuse"

walk down streets
enter the alleyways

where the ex-soldiers
are dyin

children are starvin

prostitutes are cryin

and i

sittin there

writin poetry

--
-

walkin on water

walkin on air

LAND WILL DO
WILL DO

will certainly
do

Disquieted

( Not amused anymore )

••

We shed our Humanity
For

?????

?????

?????

And the Rain!

And Death., too

And

She wanders on in torn

Clothes

And she is ***** and enslaved and goes mad

And we go on

????

??????

?????

Long the evening it's stories are sickly and men are weak

•••••

We

????

????

We are men?????


NO!

NO.!

NO!!

•••••

We are dumber n **** and men are not dumber n ****

With dumber n **** daughters cutting themselves to get high

n sittin back waitin for the police state to make em dumber n **** slaves

••

••

(No they don't

Really)

••

No offence  meant

••

But yer all ugly dumber n **** *****

••

Writin yer dumber n **** love/hate poems

Glorifying

Yer absolute indifference to those you claim as the ones you know n love

You can't even tell if yer a boy in a girl's body or a girl in a boy's  body
Or a donkey in a pig's body or whatever YE just stick something somewhere wiggle around and then feel somethin n then get irate at whatever n whoever

Is there.

n cut yourself n get proud n tell the world who in their dumber n **** fashion tell YE how sensitive YE are for bein dumber n ****

And I so dumber n shitly read it n go mad

--

All on a quiet evening when we should all be out playin with the children in the park

But no!!

!!!
!!!!
!!!

We too dumber n ****!!!!!

•••

Anyway

I DO

love you all

Maybe we all best settle down

n leave our simple

Bodies alone

For THEY. ain't dumber n ****

It's you livin in em is

many a thing i have on my mind
when writin' the moment decides
the floatin' words there are to find

driven by main 'n' carried besides
a flowin' of all feelings expressed
for it the occassion itself provides

tho might it seem as dispossessed
consciousness to which it depends
'n' to whatever it may be addressed

the more it takes the more it bends
tho no block delays on to the move
thereby thinkin' too much extends

rather it's not 'till i myself approve
forever perfectin' tryin' to improve


*..love always...


عرفان بن يوسف © AH 25/03/1437

this poetess known as Elizabeth Squires
with ways of writin' by waves to admire
the one i read here caught my attention
managin' all styles of apprehensions

for i love all of her works she gets penned
i say readin' her poems i find well spent
by her, learnin' beauties of Rosarians
i dared attemptin' to the rotarian

this writin' to her, for she to inspire
seein' as one of my inspirations
it's hers becomin' as musin' impends
bein' it against or pro-contrarian

i am a fan of this amazin' ma'am
hopin' she'll keep blessin' us with her slams


*
..love always...



عرفان بن يوسف © AH 24/04/1437

Bobbin my head to Public Enemy
Lookin' like a misfit Chuck D
Sittin' in the corner  clickin' keys
Drinkin' honey green leaf, not coffee

Not the normal old dude in a coffee shop
Shakin' his head to old school hip hop
Writin'  poetry and he just can't stop
Hope the baristas don't call da cops

Soon be closin' time in dis five and dime
Kicked to the curb, but I'll be fine
Got my tea, my raps, and my rhymes
They killed the wifi, coulda lost lines

Waiten' for my daughter outside dance
But I'm da one jamin' out my pants
Refusing to listen to dance moms' rants
Bein me, that's always my stance

don't we all look up the skies as we start to wonder
aren't all of them writers up at night just to ponder
might be out of many a thing bein' stumbled upon
or like breezes of winds that are blowin' into mind

tho most of those times feelings bein' put asunder
by emotions as much as the rain, storm 'n' thunder
although aswell as the sun, moon 'n' stars beyond
just seems as if many don't manage nor get to find

so ye can contemplate but never thyselves deprive
to define these nature's bonds 'n' the beauties of life
for be it lessons by foremost the hard ways learned
or of one of those lovers onto which ye have burned

thus whether ye're writin' accordin' rules to follow
acknowledge thy messagin' by thy heart's wavin' flow


*..love always...


عرفان بن يوسف © AH 22/04/1437

as i do not rhyme in metrics any more
i do not care as i used to write jambes
all i want is just to express the words
in ways by tellin' ye how i exactly feel

waves might be there aswell a melody
tho to ponder upon ye'll have to dive in
the stanzas may seem made purposely
if love is the drive the answer is within

a heart ever rhythmic as its beat plays
to emerge a writin' of a sonnet kind of
by the inner burnin' that never decays

tho no words known ever to be enough
witness me sayin' as forever 'n' always
lo my love is for love 'n' love is my love


*..love always...


عرفان بن يوسف © AH 27/06/1436

i'm gonna get me
a new set of eyeballs
too much readin'
n writin n stuff

can't proofread
worth a dam
gotta go live my life
not set here n write

now i got me's
a little nut
and she writes
not so slow

i ain't much
fer words
likin the
sound of silence
myself

but this little
new nut
she's kinda a
cute little darlin

so with my eyes
whirling in despair
i slog forth
until they can
be repaired.

i gotta get me
a new set
of eyeballs,

one new set of eyeballs
i'm gonna get
me.