Pucker your lips and kiss the wind for me Let it fluster underneath my feet See how high a hollow being like i can go
Go, Go
Chase me through the field Let my lens warp the sky you see Suspense as I lower my self to meet you Don’t rest keep kissing the wind for me
Keep it puckered up Tight enough to squeeze the air through So I could fly for a few moments, minutes, maybe less I lower my self again
BLOW!,BLOW! Before I drop any further You mustn’t see this hollow being POP from existing What then
When i cease to exist What then When the blades spread through this field split my hollow shell What then
I lower my self to meet you flustering beneath you I may pop this time but Go, Go Don’t rest Chase more beautiful things
What made you turn around? What shimmering thing from the melanin ground Had you running quickly to my arms again? I was already down, out from being used, But still you found the nerve To turn and face me.
You criticized me daily, Served razors with a kiss on the cheek and an "atta boy." Was I indebted to you? Was I the carrot and you the stick, Constantly stringing me along?
The nerve of you.
To gently place this list in my hands— I never thought you soft, The type to make amends for all the bad between us. The good and the ugly steps, All fine-printed, written in regret, Gently placed on my hands.
These hands that still shake to this day: Do you recall When my back was against the walls, So I shoved my fist in defense? The walls couldn't break, but it broke Something more.
I see it listed that you will never leave me for dead: A monetary system you've envisioned that would save me from debt. Policies dressed, razor-sharp, Intricate text-styles woven for fashion Covered the threats. Honesty never was in your policy.
So turn around and face me. Find the nerve to tell me What's really going on.
Like a release, of sorts— A scream of all cells, A microgasm of everything. That's just the poet within me saying: It's alive.
Look, No one explains what it is, And maybe I don't know what it means.
But for me, It is to sit by the car window, To look at trees And not really see them, Never honing into the speed at which they move But focused on their relentless scream.
It's like living a paradox: Unconsciously awake, or consciously asleep. They are dreams Waiting to be put to words, But not most of us do.
For some, It's honey dripping from their tongue. For some, It's a chemical scent— Drenched On a pen's tip.
But for many, It's just fast trees, Screaming from ear to ear. And still, No one explains it. Maybe no one must
Yet to put it to words: It is being alive
Who do I lend an ear Now that all is gone At what rate shall my feet tap the floor Now that no music plays
When alone, who am I
I’ve been known to follow the many’s march Synchronized myself to that chaos Sway to the strings the crowds shall play But today as the music fades Who am I
Now that silence remains I create From dust i pull out artistic value I turn the shaking world to words Even today, When no soul quakes for music I create my own
Who are we ?… well
We are the image that comes forth When walls return the gaze We are colors Dripping from the plain ceiling Into a canvas or book We are creative’s
So away from prying eyes We create
I hate that im open to you still Waiting on you still
For moments held firmly within you
Still hoping that you feel_ like you don’t need to hide yourself
Paranoid thoughts had your back arched
Curved in a stance Hands pressed against mine
I felt it and yes I hate it
Express your anger Test your limits again Tell them I am yours
Lock your eyes to their jugular, rip out their throats
I know, it’s not your desire To hurt, make worse a given situation
But fuck forgiveness All this sorry for your loss shit
I hate this feeling
Let me scribble it through this page Clean your dishes for you Steal some weight from your plate
Tell me I’m yours
Sick of your messes All your good intentions make me sick to my stomach
This perfect self you’ve perfected Self preservation at it’s best I feel nauseated of what you’ve become
Im sick of you
I remember nights spent with your pen Held us both till the AM
I was the blue inside the ink The tap within the sink
But now your sink remains untapped You said we’d meet again
You told me I was yours
I cried, poured my heart out tried to rekindle a flame, un existing
No more lamp lights or Nights sparked with our thoughts
I think we’re through
You don’t need me Say you do, but you don’t mean it
I can see it in your eyes Decided choices don’t have me in it
So I’ve blocked you
Angels working
Tethered strings closes in connected by bad weather
‘Do u mind if I stand under your umbrella? Let out a sigh and I’ll walk away’
“It’s ok”
Threads ends loose meet at last Now two paths have crossed as intended
‘A heavy rain today? mornings like these have me wishing I was in my pj’s
Under the covers counting thunderous roars like sheep
Nature’s sweet melodies tucking me in as I sleep Crash-endows ring Quaking the outer windows of my room’
‘I love the rain You’
[Hesitates to say but fates game she must play]
“More or less the same
I like to crawl along side my pets as their feline friends pour from the outside
You know how the saying goes” ‘Yes, Cat’s and dogs’
“Well i like to keep warm to huddle up with me at its center To cuddle for warmth were cold seems more prevalent”
Conversation had one bound to the other
Ties of human connection
lines drawn between dots tied together
For fate may bring rain But not the heat within the umbrella
“Let there be…”
In the beginning you were like divinity All consuming
your grace embedded, itself, deep within me
Like spirits moving You reached for my soul as formless as it was It stood still, cupped within your palms
Your hands, soft, held me for the first time and brightness grew
You said onto me “Let there be two in one” and there was moon and stars
And now I am art
Free is he who bites the hand:
if this is true Does this mean There dogs that know freedom
With able mind and soul that roam the streets with bruises on their backs from fighting its own breed
I wonder, Is this freedom?
To be alone Bobbing for scraps to lay your scars on the cobblestone Cold to the touch and what parallels dose this have_ to my life what does the lice in his fur signify?
Why should It be me _ the one that bites?
While other’s skin remain clean within the confines of their leash
Should I be a flea and take, from those, with plenty to give
Become soft and drink to my fill Only to be killed with a simple flick of the wrist Or the **SWISH!**of a strays paw
Who wishes to be pest anyway?
It seems to me that the cost to be free Is paid in blood
The lice and flee of the world scurry along the backs suckling on fine juices while the free roam rabid
I guess they must be a dying breed
So last night I got inspired by music I Put the muse in this pen And it's rhithm I move with
Subtle fluids stain my hands as I write my feelings in blues
I have so many paths Too much narrow roads to choose
I would write every day but my soul won't let me.
Too heavy to move this pen on the daily and reflect dreams of those who love me
“So whats in your veins and pumping your heart?”
I have so much in my blood couldn't add them up
I've been infused long enough I depend on love
I pulse to the drums before me, have struck
“ So is that who you are” No, I'm not “ Tell me then”
Important is the ink It's like_ a miracle man to me I feel the spiritual through the pen
Written into thin slices each line ripples of all my friends what I've done and who I am It's not pretend I swear
“ Tell me more” I don't think this feeling can ever stop
“ Tell me more” I never really wanted to grow up
“ Tell me more” Is it greedy for me to go on my own To choose the path to roam To find why I was born
“You tell them what you've told me”
“Show them what you've shown me”
“There's a place the blood doesn't reach that's your story but don't write it in blues Choose a color that is your own Which best reflects this is you reborn”
