Won't You Read My Words?

You beautiful, beautiful woman.

2014-07-02T21:13:00.000-07:00

You beautiful, beautiful woman.
Just like you, your exquisite tragedy
Is impeccable - It belongs in a painting.

And I, I want to be the stranger that
You'll eventually break down with.
I want to be the one to witness your undoing
And watch in awe - as every bit of you
Lies naked in front of me.

I want to be the one that takes you
Apart. Piece by beautiful piece.

Full Of Grace

2014-06-25T20:41:00.000-07:00

Full of Grace. Hail, not hell. All burn, no ash. Her mirrors are smoke free. She's the cross to bury the past. For Her, one must fast, and not move fast. It's the crease in Her smile that makes the chase for miles all worthwhile. It's subtle, wide and mistaken for not polite even. All teeth showing She means it honestly. Pep in Her 9's, She lends a few, too kind, when the clouds shade bright the color of night, erasing any thoughts of exhausting 9 lives. Daddies Son, but not Daddies Son, plan's to stick around whether this thing between is lost or found. When the sun shines blind, She can still show you the light. When the wind decides mute, and blows all silent you can still feel the cool in Her breeze. The grip in Her fingers never leave lonely palms lonely. She's dreamy, but non fiction amongst the fiction fixated on jaded. Her ripples, calm as still lakes. Pressure burst pipes,but Her pressure on pipes burst with Pleasure.......Full of Grace. Hail, not hell. All burn, no ash. Her mirrors are smoke free.

Departed wet

2014-03-22T20:25:00.000-07:00

In the moonlight
the ghost got an erection.
But its shadow,
being modest,
just blurred itself

and took a cold shower.

It's 7 In The Afternoon

2014-03-15T19:46:00.000-07:00

Yes 7 IN THE AFTERNOON

And I have forgotten

How to write in poetics

Tongue kissed and gaping like
a siren missing from her sea.

I have been coughing up black for days.

Unable to clean the taste from my mouth,

These broken keyboard keys sewn into my fingertips scream something fierce.

They ache with longing to tell of a story

I am so damn tired of looking over railings
and wondering what it would feel like to fall.
.

Haunted

2014-03-04T19:39:00.000-08:00

His whispered goodbyes caught fire
in the whites of her eyes as wild dogs
and empty oceans devoured him.

Standing still for years,

She with a waiting heart and waiting fingers

Gave birth to ghosts with feathers.
Haunting in his sleep, swinging like

Sharp jewelery and pendulums

Carving cryptic messages upon his floor

'You, with your tattooed baptism skin
and slithering tongue of sweet poison
left her aching ashes mixed with gunpowder.'

Immortality

2014-02-26T19:19:00.000-08:00

She painted galaxies upon her skin.
Telling stores of years old kisses
resting deep within her marrow.
Her body, shaped with dirt and fireflies
was sutured together by birds with teeth

A dark eyed oracle, whispering dead blood languages in her sleep.
Dancing in fields of silk sheets and disfigured fingerprints,

As she tried to forget the perverse needs

Of nothing more than mortal men.

Muse

2014-02-23T18:46:00.000-08:00

She corrodes star shapes into the hearts of sleeping poets, slowly, methodically.

Whiskey

2014-02-21T19:02:00.001-08:00

She devoured my heart in one slow,satisfying gulp.

I heard it plunge into the gaping emptiness of her.

She drank the sun from my fingertips, licked me from her lips,

And said

"Rose petals look better dead,plucked from your November pores."

I cringed.
"They go down smoothest with Writers Tears."

Working Woman

2014-01-25T21:16:00.000-08:00

I want you.

Naked. Covered only by covers.

You've been a working woman all day. Tonight, be my lover.
Once, twice, three times if you can take it.
The sex that women dream about, I promise we will make it.

I want to go deeper,wider, provide you beautiful pain
One that can only be compared to giving birth.

She's Lost

2014-01-22T19:49:00.000-08:00

She's lost.

The "Baddest Bitch" searching for a "Boss"
She'll do anything to get him, no matter the cost.

Even if it's selling,

Her soul.

To get her wrist cold,
and some Gucci tops to go with her skinny jeans.
All because they have been telling her
she was beautiful since she was knee high.
Beautiful people deserve beautiful things.

So she began to accumulate a treasure chest.
full of meaningless watched, bracelets, and rings.
She'd never speak on the drama they'd bring.

We've failed her.

We didn't give her the proper tools
so the streets just screwed and nailed her.

17 and pregnant, diapers before diplomas.
She signed a birth certificate before signing mortgage papers.
She owns a life, but she's not homeowner.

Another urban soldier, fighting to escape poverty.
Daddy can't help with her real estate
because he's busy being state property

She doesn't even know the meaning of self-worth
Loving the crew without loving herself first.

How can you blame her?
No home training, so niggas trained her.
Disrespected and neglected,
Never knew to correlate the dick with danger.

We associate this stigma to that enigma.

We need some help here.

Have you seen Her?

2014-01-18T22:00:00.000-08:00

I'm looking for love, Have you seen her?
I don't mean "like". I don't mean lust. I don't mean "wifey." I don't mean fuck.
I mean love.
I mean one plus one. No extras.
Just us against the world.
With our love to protect us.
I'm looking.
All I keep finding are these other gigs.
I've met a lot of woman I could take home,
but none I could take to my mother's house.
I've had pretty girls: pretty smart, pretty bad.
They all wanted pretty "shit"
Pretty watches, pretty bags.

When I didn't provide Pretty with pretty.
Pretty got pretty mad.
She switched up pretty fast. So I left her pretty ass.

I'm looking for love. I'm not concerned with a trophy.
Pretty doesn't last anyway.

I'm looking for love. Please don't tell me, "Let it find you."
If that's the case, I'm going to sit on my ass and tell love to bring a job too.

So yup, I'm looking for love.

So patient I will be, but not because it's a virtue.
But because when you fall in love and don't get caught..
That fall right there will hurt you!

Regardless, I'm still looking for love.

That will forever be my agenda.

I'm looking for love. Have you see her?

Let's wait

2014-01-18T21:40:00.001-08:00

Am I wrong if I tell you that I want to make love to your mind first?

Before giving back shots that sweat out hair and make spines hurt.

I want to make you mine first. I want to put in time first.

I want to eat outside before I devour your insides.

I don't want dessert. I want to dine first.

Can we have a glass of wine first?
Act like kids and bump and grind first?

Don't spoil the pleasure of anticipation, leave the lights on.

I want to see you shine first.

I'm already impressed with your body;
I want you to show me how your mind works.

What makes you focused, how your grind works
before I make your inner thighs hurt.

Postpone the climax for the end of our love movie;
don't give it to me in the intro.

For now, your beautiful face is the only place
I'm checking for a dimple.

Having sex is simple; making love is for grown men.

Let's build a relationship with God first, if eventually we're going to sin.
Let's not do it when our bodies tell us.
But when our hearts and mind say it feels right.

I'm just praying it feels tight
because loose lips sink ship.
Weak walls makes house tumble and fall.

Ramblings.....

2013-11-30T18:09:00.000-08:00

Is there something called fate? Can we be the authors of our own destiny? Is there a god who decides what is best for us? Or is it just a defense mechanism that we have created around ourselves – an illusion of security that has managed to fool the best of us?

Why are people so complicated? Why is it so difficult to find peace; to discern and to understand? Why don’t we know what we want?

Why is the grass always greener on the other side of the fence? Why do questions of “what if” plague us all the time? Why can’t we just accept what we have and be satisfied with it?

The human race and its urges/desires/ambitions are a curse. I wish I were a cat.

Faith

2013-11-29T18:31:00.000-08:00

A teardrop baptized the baby’s tiny nose.
Quietly the mother said, “I’ll call her Faith.”

Failure

2013-11-27T18:05:00.000-08:00

The bitter taste of bile that stings your tongue
Just before the stale food from your tummy
Rises to your mouth and spills out.
The bitter taste of failure.
Abominable. Disgusting. Nauseating.

Deal with it. And move on.

Conversation

2013-11-25T18:24:00.000-08:00

“Are you wearing your special perfume?” she asked. He did not respond. As usual, she had spoken to him inside her head

?????....

2013-11-20T17:48:00.000-08:00

Have you encountered love?
What is it like? Is it an intense,
unsaid conversation in a lift packed
with strangers? Is it smileys sent over chat?
A lingering stare albeit a guarded one when
she isn't looking? Is it concern when there is
silence at the other end of the line?
Is it melancholy? Is it hope, so tiny, it could slip
between your fingers and disappear forever?
Is it patience? What does it feel like? Does it feel
like a thousand pins pricking your arm when she
chooses another over you? Does it melt
your knees and stir your loins and make you want
to explode? Or is it a lever that unlocks
your deepest, most guarded dungeons?

Maybe love is all of it. Or none of it.
But love has found you, hasn't it? It has
stirred you, disoriented you. And trust me. This could
only mean one thing. That you cannot turn back now.
That you must see it through. And whether you win
or lose in the end, it wouldn't matter. Because by then,
you would have found love too.

Dear......

2013-11-17T19:45:00.001-08:00

I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars
And wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs,
Burning and cleansing wounds of my own making.
Sometimes,I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code.

This body does not deserve a warriors death.
And poetry, you're a monster,
A creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots,
force feed you down the throats of others.
De-format you and leave you empty.
free-versed to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers, and past lovers.

We are the perfect poster children for
battered homes, aren't we poetry?
The dysfunctional couple
black-eyed and angry love.

You can't protect me from myself forever.

I'm a Vase...

2013-11-06T19:29:00.001-08:00

I'm a vase
to break me
you have to
push me over the edge.
to fix me,
just melt me with your lies
and mold me into something new

something you'll be more
infatuated with.

and when that something
gets old,
change me into
something new.

Sweet smoke….

2013-10-30T20:14:00.001-07:00

At the other end of the wall
She leaned and smokes
The weeds vapor
Spreads like fog
Sunlight filtering through the haze

Multiplied ten folds
The stinging smell of burned Weed
Or is that flesh?
Can’t tell the difference
Spreads slowly
All around

Fills the head
The lungs
Ah! Sweet surrender
Into the arms

Of smoke….
Sweet smoke….

She...

2013-08-05T21:26:00.000-07:00

I might be dangerously on the verge of being poetic, but-

Sometimes I don't feel me in my own skin.

I am too many breaks between pulses,
and a heart still living in the autumn of 09.
I'm telling stories about a girl.

A soul made of ink and godly metaphors,

too much for a non-homeostatic body.
There were once fireflies in her smile,

alight between the gaps in her teeth.
A rebel,
love letters carved into wrists
she never sent.

She is beautiful...

2013-07-28T21:11:00.002-07:00

                                        She is stardust leaving sweet bones in her wake.
                                              A trail of poetic destruction
                                conceived in verse--answering questions with kisses.
                                    There is a hunger in her freckled constellations,
                          like spider webs woven together with golden thread.
                                        Like the wild roses she braids in her hair:
                                    She walks back-boned and head held high;
                           the strongest of letters on a page left to rest in your mouth.

God, please do the needful.

2013-02-13T14:45:00.000-08:00

Despite differing drastically in form, name and dress code, there is one thing Gods from around the planet have in common – Omniscience. By the virtue of being the creator, God sees everything. God knows everything. Sometimes even before the things happen. He, or Alanis Morissette in one particular case, is the master of everything. He is aware of it all. He hears the pin drop. He knows where the needle is. And all that without even trying. So when you go shoot off your prayers, requesting a better job for instance, aren’t you making a fool of yourself? The bugger knows you are struggling with your current job. He's the one who put you in that cubicle. He even knows what you secretly call your boss. And with a bit of common sense, and of course mind reading skills, he also knows that you want a new one. So what is the point of praying to him and cribbing about something he already knows, or even better, something he himself devised during potty? Instead, why don’t you just look at the sky, or any of the million divine symbols, and say, “God, please do the needful.”

I am....

2013-01-02T17:22:00.000-08:00

I am a scientist;
Pinning down ideas
like butterflies
preserving them in
their fragile beauty
as I take away their freedom,
their life.

I am a parasite;
sucking the soul out
of music and leaving it
a hollow shell
that plays like
the noisy silence in
my ears.

I am a thief;
taking what is not mine,
the world around me,
and pouring it into
a mould that
I claim is
my own.

I am a blasphemer;
playing God in a
sacred place, changing
the world to my
liking when the orchestra
is not under my
conduction.

I am a liar;
selling false havens
to lonely runaways,
giving them a glimpse
of a world more glamorous,
more fantastic than their own,
smiling as I snatch it
from under their noses
while they thank me
for my crime.

I am a slave;
hanging in a
leeching relationship
with the language I choose,
caving to its rules
when I draw in
smears of its
blood.

I am a writer –
these are my vices.

Confused while confessing!

2012-10-29T19:37:00.002-07:00

Feelings embed in a world of words to become thoughts sometimes. At least for me. These feelings are about a world around me. These thoughts are the gateways for the world to enter ME. This world interrupts into the space within me through my thoughts. I wonder whether I have an antenna tapping out information as signals through my eardrum, right on an unknown side of my head. I am sitting here comfortably observing my thoughts. What I wish I could cuss on are just memories of my past or desires of my future. Understand this thing. My desire to become rich or attain some goal in future is only a speculation. The future is unseen. It may or may not be like I think. It is my own experience that nature does not repeat itself maybe… By concentrating on my future I might be spending my time on something which might not happen. Neither my past nor my future is alive. The alive entity is ME. I am alive here. But my thoughts are not about here and now. My thoughts do not coincide with my existence. Thoughts are dragging me to think what can happen. I don’t know where I am trapped. Maybe deep inside a body which might or might not cheat me. Maybe with an air bubble surrounding me never letting go where I started everything from. The only alive entity called ME! Jailed within me.