My Thoughts

Pencil in hand
Note pad on lap
Thoughts poured like an alcoholics glass
Damn mentality squeeze
Create a magical breeze
In desert air.
Unforgettable
Undeniable
The kisses as soft as pillows made of clouds
Sun dried specks of
Moisture dew
On my budding flower
Its the wild anticipation
Of the storm
Deep breaths
Non lubricated lips
Dried by loves inhalations of satisfaction
What do I owe you
For this trip to extacy's bridges
Falling down
As if bulit on the soil of London
I wondering
If forever is what you were wanting
Because tomorrow I disappear without a trace
Just a note on the bed post
"Thank you for it all"
Signed with a red lipstick kiss
I won't be missed
Only thoughts created by loves actions shared
Between a woman and a man
Tracing the contours of curves
For you it was love at first
Sight
First
Kiss
First touch
And for me it was a one night stand between you and my words!

Violent Love

The sweetest thing i've ever known..
and its fucked up
cause
calling me to argue thats all he does
well not all the time
but its
hard to count when he don't
but damn i cant get enough of him

wait let me explain
he's the kind that
brings me hot tea from the store
but asks me to pay him back
its wack
he sez he argues because he cares
but really its because im the only one there

for him i go harder than
a fifteen year olds penis
hes my mars and im his venus
and i fuckin hate him.

he gets me so sick to the point
that i want to smash his head in to a brick wall
but
id be the one kissing his wounds
sometimes i wanna tie him to a bed
and burn him repeatedly
with lit cigarettes until he bleeds
but even that wont come close to the strength of
my burning love
which he needs

its crazy cuz just maybe
hes the single thing that can kill me
but i guess i rather be with him and die
slowly than,
to be without him and
drop dead immediately

of course not physically
but mentally and emotionally
but with every finger
print he leaves on my flesh
leaves an impression on my heart
driving me closer
to killing him for the sake of
his own safety
dayum violent love
but its real

call me insane
but trying to restrain love
is harder than a nymphomaniac
trying to abstain
hes my high
personal brand of cocaine
pulled an umbrella to
cover him from the pain
yes pain not rain
hurts fighting for a broke heart
cant use the right side of my brain

we reached a point of understanding,
understanding that we dont understand shit
but we love to love hate hatin each other
yet we hate loving but love hating the stormy weather.

strenghtens the bond
repairing the faith
eliminates the doubt
adding more love
chucked with more hate
wait

take a deep breath
hes my oxygen
no other channels
i want to know his questions so
i can be the answers
i want him to breathe me in his lungs
i wanna be his cancer
not so i can be the death of him
but so pieces of me can live in him
until theres nothing left ov him.

My Love Lost Art

My Love Lost Art
I’m far from the state of euphoria.
My dream pebbles are crushed by boulders.
I am weakened by the visual memory of my lovers Victorian art.
I am trapped in my white padded box.
Hearing whispers of “she couldn’t cope I supposed”
I decided to write how I cope in the form of a sestina.

I am scratching until my fingers bleed trying to get out my mental box.
Suck thinking about crafting a watch made of razors to help me reach my state of euphoria.
That will speed up the recovery process I suppose.
Instead I decide to write how I think in the form of a sestina.
Popping bubbles of pain with warrants forced consumption of adoral boulders.
And I am painting a picture of my screams. I love art.

I decided to write what I see in the form of a sestina.
I see splattered smashed sausage spread generously on the wall is there idea of art.
The slowly walking zombies with feet heavier than boulders
Chatting about reaching their state of euphoria,
For they are able to survive in the airless box.
They have discovered a new way of breathing I suppose.

I can’t join them on the other side of euphoria.
My painting has yet to become fine art.
Maybe some time after I’m in a box
That’s when life is at its best I suppose.
I am capturing a picture of the effects of chased Tylenol with vodka in a sestina.
My health is crushed by dancing boulders.

I cant escape from my thoughts of ocean jumps with hands tied to boulders
So I am writing my thoughts in the form of a sestina.
Neck tied to the ceiling fan taking dives off of a big box,
That’s the last position I saw you in and it was as memorable as art.
Your thoughts are over, I suppose
Now you can send me letters from your euphoria

I scream from the pain of being crushed by loneliness’s boulder
So I tried to cope by writing you a letter in the form of a sestina.
Escape wasn’t meant for me I suppose
My naked body lies, cursing Pandora for opening that box.
But now I’m slowly reaching my euphoria
Memories burn in your mind like logs on an open fire: with pictures od blood splatters from bleeding ears, peeled off lips and scratched out eyes. I call it my Victorian art

Now go you damaged product and seek your state of euphoria
Create your own masterpiece of Victorian Art
And it will continue the cycle of death I suppose.

Welcome to the Darkside

Kisses as soft as pillows.
He inhales
As he breathes in the scent of my skin.
Just as sweet as a freshly bloomed flower, he says.

Like a God Angelically draped in his heavenly white,
I await my judgment’s fate
He loves me so. The greatest love of all.
He caresses my heart so easy to break.

What do I owe the faithful priest, that preaches
My Excellency.
Nothing he says and puts me in my purity bed.
And whispers welcome to the dark side.

BroKen SilenCe

Closed In
Boxed Freely
Controlled by what is expected of me
You’re not to scream
You’re a lady
Altered by what society has made me

Thoughts of your perceptions of me
Controlled my every move
Drop the wall you built all 24 years of your life
And let your imps shine through

Stripping off chains of bondage
Nursing wounds of judgments
Quick fast and in a hurry
I must make the adjustment.

Struggling to let go of who I am
In order to become who I should be
Not for the beauty of life
But for the sake of artistry

Breathe deep
Breathe deep
The voice I hear week after week
It’s alright It’s alright It’s alright
But when I open my eyes every
Fucking thing is the same outside

.This is not what I expected
This angry me I’ve neglected
The sensitivity in me I rejected
Building up barriers keep me protected.

My graces grew faces
Speeding pulse paces
And pasted
My life on insanity’s pages
Forced to deal with society’s persuasions
Mental invasions that builds blocks
Around my emotions:
GONE


What’s the point of having raw talent
With an infantile imagination?
Don’t seem to bother me as much
Imagining expressions on your faces.
I found privacy and in private I can be me
But I also found that even when I’m me
I can still be myself
Is a never ending saga
Life’s a soap opera
I don’t have to be a doctor to be a doctor

Imaginary circumstance
But must remain true
Crafting deep is a craft in itself
Make it ring meaningful for you
I learned to let my guard down to be real
Realizing that real eyes can realize real lies
She will know the deal.

Taking all things as seriously as the can possible be
Not letting a moment pass was so challenging
I dropped my defenses to let it all
HIT ME!

Yes I’m cured from defensiveness
No need to hide behind the fences
Can I do it?
Can it be done!?
Wait T Jae there’s still work to do
This is only Basic Acting One!

Freestlye write: Go Fug A Poet

you may look at that with the shocked face
but i really mean it
do yourself the favor
its live and legit!

Im a poet by ur definiion
i just say my life happens to rhyme
but if i take a pludge and go for a ride
my metophoric hip sway
will blow ya mind

You want some body thats gonna be honest
get a poet we're no liars
we change occupations we are also fire fighters
cuz we rescue you and put out ya fire!

but look imma be real
some ocuppaions are jus no fun
you want someone to keep you guessin
well we're not the ones

we're gonna give you facts
straight raw and uncut
where not into prostitution
my our artistry screams slut

lookin for sumone to cuff you
give you marriage a few sons or a few daughters
sorry a poet may not be the choice for you
go fugg a police officer

we drop bombs of lyrical genious
executing uneducated speed demons
takein out yesterdays trash
call us assasin trash men


you may look at that with the shocked face
but i really mean it
do yourself the favor
its live and legit!

Im a poet by ur definiion
i just say my life happens to rhyme
do ya self a favor
Fug a poet at least one time.

Contoversy

Controversial evil is that forced penis in the vagina of the innocent little girl or woman, yes rapidly stripping off more than her clothes but her dignity.

or that "water hose" shoved in that little boys bottom while the other hose is shoved in his mouth.

or maybe is those children that can call there attacker Mommy or Daddy.

maybe it's the parent that whoops that child until skin tares to the bone exposing layers of bleeding flesh.

Evil is judging that little girl that turns to sex because she was taught that she is only worth what someone would pay.

I see the devil in the eyes of that man that doesnt see the beauty in his woman unless there is more black blue red and purple on her face then her own complextion.

Evil is beyond correction.

you dont think u are evil for spreading that piece of gossip that you told because of jealousy and envy that ruined a relationship, friendship and reputation. Think again friend.

Conroversial evil is beating that boy because he likes boys as a result of his father loved him way too much.

Evil is parents not raising children but raising kids: yes kids meaning baby goats and you wondering why they act like animals.

that politican with a vision building up hope saying "with me we can" but they really mean we can't - but they can fill up pocket that are already full while the bellies of us regular people are on E. Evil

drugs that person takes to alleviate the pain of the everyday pains in their reality forcing them to hurt those that they love because they dont feel loved by there loved ones in return.

or the church people that praise the Lord every sunday but turns up their nose everytime someone that looks different from them asks for assistance.

Evil is addiction.

the devil is like a serpant in the grass slithering its way through life implanting ingnorance in to the mind of the incompent forcing uninformed decisions. Evil is jugding those you don't even know, because even thought of our ideals of right and wrong tell us we are justified to judge, but even when we judge based on societies views internally we know that soceity is skrewed. We pick and choose the things to hold on to and its sad because most of us dont even know that we ourselves are sometimes bad. easy to point out the flaws of another but our own refection we see nothing. Repeated lines of "id never do that" "i dont do this" blinds our eyes form seeing our own failures. The truth, the right, the wrong, its still unknown, but even thought you may agree there is still evil in this poem.

Science

Who understand this anyway?
We are lookin' for the absolute zero
by the acceleration of change:
change of what?
Even though we don't
understand the anthropolgical
and astronomical
scientifically biological
definations of life we live it.
telling me im made up of
DNA, Protons, Nuetrons, Electrons,
and some other words i cant quite
pronounce (so why write em)
I just say Im alive
but
How do i know Im
really alive?
I know because science
tells us because i have
a reguarly beating heart, pulse, working
internal organs and the ability
to inhale and exhale
in order to keep my functions working properly
this says im alive!
well what about the people that don't breathe on their own?
or the ones whose organs work improperly?
or the ones that cant walk talk or hear?
are they not alive?
you give me words
I dont understand
to describe who i am
to put me in a box
and stamp me with a label
we live by the explanations
of science.
But what good is science
and scientic explanations
if all it does
is raise more quesions?

My Lunar Moon

activation energy
heavy breathing
the energy needed to
initiate my chemical
reaction
is like and explosion
or emplotion
bursting from with in
theres more than one
natural form
so its not an allotrope
every position
twist and turn it all
seems so natural
to me
allowing our amino acids
to combine
time passed
so fast
but the fact that we
dont lack
copacitance we
can store our
electric charge
shocking;
hair rising
off our necks
we are in an
adiabatic system
we gain nothing
we lose nothing
just viewed it as a shared
experience
with experience
from the time i kissed him
So bright you shine
with no lights on
we reached our peak
at last
call me your
heart saver
and I call your juices my
catalyst
out of breath
i succumb to sleep so soon
damn i love my Lunar Moon.

4 divided by 4

started of with one me
until i met you
thats two
we two grew to love
and you vowed to cherish
honour
and obey
Me.
theres three.
my mind, body,spirit
need you as if your my soul
protecin my heart till it beats no
more
four.

your lies and deciet
to the one you love
or should i say loved
stomped on my heart
like a burning rug
as soon as it hit
the floor
four.
Your cherishing turned into
you cheating
your honour scared for life
obedient not to me but
to us eliminated lust
turned into disgust
for me
there's no more three.

So me meeting you
my number two
only to learn I was
better off a one
that can be sumed up
in this poem
by a simple equation.

(one me+ one you+growing love+ a cherished heart) /
(lies and deciet+ your infidelity+ hurt me+ careless you) =
in its simpelist form (4 / 4) = 1
one me until the next equation comes along.
Wrong.

This is the Shortest Poem i Every Wrote

Be greater Than your Past
and laugh because you lasted
never to be placed last.
Be the last to judge those
swingin in last because in your
past they said you wouldn't
last in this race, only
for you to have lasted
leaving them
in last place.
sad but their still last
and you never laughed thats
why your first.

spoken colors

I was in class
and someone asked
"why you talk so white"
If i talk white,
and write right.
We can a least get the grammar right.
or should i say correct

I think she ment to say
I speak Caucasion
But if i told her
I was black
or Asian
But born in Haiti
making me Haitian
Would she approach me with the same hesitation.

Correction I dont talk white.
Its speak correctly
because if
Bill Clinton spoke white
Obama speaks white


So i guess in her mind speaking white meant speaking right
but speaking white is the wrong representation
of speaking correcly
and if we correlate white and right
guess because im black im still wrong or talking properly.

In short

some think there
is an art to
writing
poetry
but they don't realize
most people speak poetically
with out
sitting down and sketching
a sonnet or a villanelle
using metaphors that no one understand
fuck the word poetry for all its worth
fuck the English language they taught to me at birth
fuck all the things that tell me what i should be
fuck you if you doubt me
this its something u dont have to read..
i know you looking at this asking
"why such vulgarity"
you know what i say fuck that.
the shit is in the dictionary
of which i was taught my native tongue
but if i use it I am deemed wrong
fuck that bitch of an ass hole for telling me
its a curse word.
why these?
these small words
that people say
are bad.
yet they fall right besides "good" words in
the book of truth
damn shit ass
words we use.
Bitch is a female dog
and it comes after bit and bite
those are bad words to right?
NO
they are actions we perform daily
so laugh it up!
tell me I'm wrong
for using the book
that taught me my native tongue
in its entirety
fuck you
for judging me
based on how i speak
i use it to write my poetry
you can write peotry to
sit down
clear ya mind
record your experience over time
in every scheme
in every line
but don't call me a poet
my life just happens to rhyme.

It Gets no better!!!!!!!!!!

spoken just enough
to shock you like cold hands
on hot flesh
while all the rest
come close but fall just short of
the best
i rest
unless they attempt to create the space
in between my mentality
and me delegating authority
of words
and the actions of verbs
in my head.

My words are the Picasso paintings on cave walls
before Picasso had a name
they paved the way for intelligent
through
written on ignorant brains.
But the mind stretches and accepts exceptions
except the ties between
loving the artist and dying for the artistry.

Heart Made of See Through Stone (Villanelle)

I am as weak as your tired ass lies.
Guess what? I'm through with you.
I am drowned by the puddles of my silent cries.

The joke is on you to your surprise.
A friendship and break up long over due.
I am as weak as your tired ass lies.

To a love that never dies:
Even though you did not intend to offend,
I am drowned by the puddles of my silent cries.

Your Medusa head exposed through the Aphrodite disguise
Now you sit singing sad songs of blues.
I am weak as your tired ass lies.

I am still in love with the one i despise.
I loved you all the way to the end.
I am drowned by the puddles of my silent cries.

Now the joke is on me I realize.
Got me good, Loved me right, broke my heart, no chance to amend,
I am as weak as your tired ass lies,
I am drowned by the puddles of my silent cries.