As the world turns, bridges burn; there’s a collection of ashes in an urn, for a point of reflection, not return. No greener pastures, just judgements & controllers; halfway off the balcony debating on whether or not it should all be over…
I love the family. Their strength energizes, provides me with positivity I’d otherwise be blind to see. So I won’t jump or fall free; there’s more to be done still: My life, this strife – is bigger than me.

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12.9.16

Walking on air, way way up there…

Just me and my muse

Walking on air, way way up there…

Attempting to exceed capacity, abusing our afterburners, maxed out thrusters are propelling us through star clusters… Brighter than ever — will we lose steam? We optimistically scream never!

Just me and my muse, feet dangling,

happy as kids in high chairs,

walking on air, way way up there…

12.9.16 

12.1.16

I am…

too blessed to complain.

I have…

many people praying for me; blessings no luck.

I know…

everything happens in the appropriate season.

I choose…

to harbor no hate; The few feelings I express are better spent showing love.

I will…

never take a new day for granted.

Untitled.

Grade School: the sLimE | rabbit hole theory

I = I

individualism dissipated…

Classified by affiliations instead of mental affirmations…

Just another day of being stereotyped.

It could all be so simple…

They are angry because they have no access to my temple, but as I combine this white paper & black pencil, I do not think twice about revealing my true feelings to these oblivious villains.

I don’t know them: no déjà vu, no vice versa…

Coincidentally; our conversations are quite curt on purpose.

Cantankerous cohort of individuals who appear all too similar, historically judgmental…

My only critique is of myself; I care about people because I was raised to be selfless, but I know me, and love me. Yet, to those who do not love themselves, I appear selfish…

So I guess it’s probably best for me to keep all of this locked up.

Omitting the obvious ostracism of a people who are predominantly victims of colorism…

I’m black, just not black enough.

C: Color

Inspired by Terence Crutcher R.I.P

This color comes with pressure:

to want it is one thing,

to emulate it is another,

to blatantly steal is a third,

to live it, may get you 6 feet under.

I don’t want to come off as confrontational, but this color is coveted. 

This color comes with charisma:

it comes with a publicly perceived predisposition to crime and it comes from creating beauty out of nothing.

The unfortunate reality is that outside factors are often detractors who would rather see you dead or indebted for eternity. 

Both of those outcomes spurn me internally.

We will rise up.

This color cannot be killed: I say that earnestly.

Swear Words

I cannot say, “F*ck love!”Aggressively or passively or something of the varying, synonym-filled variety.
I want to remove that responsibility, that burden, of being some nice guy,

but to do so would be to remove myself from existence.

Such brash action is not needed in this instance.
So instead I say, “F*ck me!”

Abstractly not literally.

I’m wishing I could revisit the younger me and warn him against thee.

Painting People

Slighted
We are a proud people

Years progressed from the hardest of times

History glorified, often fragmented,

celebrated, but not allocated true recognition.

Made infamous for ignorance

lacking the embodiment of a true essence

Hardships fought by ancestors

but we would rather let society sequester

Education and advancement

Too enthralled with garments and dance

instead of loving each other for intelligence,

relevant viewpoints, or political stances.

Seemingly crippled by unavoidable violence

As another teen falls your senses are blinded by sirens.

Do you hear that?

The gunshots, the poverty. Do you feel that?

Senses abused and misused as I am mortified by

the scarcity of faith and hope.

Consumed by small-mindedness…

“They either ball, rap, or move that dope.”

Only a fool would ever idolize these jesters.

I am insulted.

Loathing the eyes which portray this view:

All aforementioned specimens look just like you

and I.

The voices that dare aspire to inspire

are too faint & oft times, unheard.

DS 9X15: the Hamster Wheel 

Singularly focusing on the unknown is how our ambitious & lost souls roam. 

Love’s touch is eternal, but the thought of slowing down = the same response in more than one tongue: No.

No because we are forever on the go…

Go.

Go!

Loving the potential thought of it all, but personal commitments force you to withdraw.

Subservient to the irony of the Drive; continually creeping or verging on the edge, hoping to exchange madness for greatness, watching minutes move the hour hand… A micro view of life’s proverbial quicksand… Hearts distraught for naught! Faded: That hue of the real you is simply going, going, gone.

Pushing away simplicity for complexity:

Away we say! Marred in self-admiration & dedication; we tell love to comeback on another day.

Shooting star in the middle night is all you are. Chasing you on an endless loop, I reach out to grasp and hold, but fail to ever connect: I cannot reach that far.

So just go.

Go.

Go!

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