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Surrounded by pitches of darkness
His silence drowns in impure actions.

His first love
Only loves the concept
He visualizes his own shadow
In every open door he closes
He never exercises his mind
So he is bent out of shape
When his circle has an accident, no insurance,
He rides around in a triangle.

Home is where you make it
The problem is that home
Is also where the heart sleeps
So he slumbers in the abyss of uncertainty
Tunneled in caves
Where exes mark the spot of heartbreak
He has mutated his mindset
He is every superhero a woman dreams of
He is every rebound
The center of gravity in love never jumped for
He has tried to move on
Only to find himself back at start
He is a loner but never alone
He foreplays in four way intersections
Of nothingness

Surrounded by pitches of darkness
His sil...

Loss of a Lover

 I lost my first lover
To my first love, poetry
On a mission to find myself
I lost myself
Only to discover my fragments
Standing on the side of the road
Thumbs up, hitchhiking

My ex tells me I’m a diamond in the rough
My enemies tell me I haven’t dug deep enough
And my friends tell me keep going, good stuff
Scratch me harder, my imperfections make me perfect

This is my rendition of
Mozart’s star that twinkled at age four
This is me rewriting the melodies
Beethoven made synonymous with thousands of heartbeats
This is my remix to the hymns of hundreds of years
Of following the drinking gourd …and still being lost
This is my encore to the lynched hopes of tomorrow
That hung way back in 1619
The same tomorrow we are dying for today

The aforementioned is not a beg for your finances
Keep your money
I...

Untitled Love

 I have never met a queen.
I have read fairy-tales of princesses,
In far away lands.

I close my eyes now
Attempting to capture
The reasons I miss you
In the same jar you used
To captivate all my senses,
This doesn’t make sense.

It’s the way
You catch my eyes,
Persuade them to your direction.
The way your eyes
Reflect heaven’s gate
And I am lost
In the depth of your eyes,
Drowning in their ocean of need.

It’s the way
You speak to me.
Your words prove you’re an angel,
Your mouth opens
And your native tongue is
Heaven’s language,
How often do you converse with God?

It’s the way
You hear me.
Your eyes are an open tunnel
Leading straight to the soul.
You hear the sighs
Between my heartbeats,
And I hear the possibility

Dear Lover

 Dear Lover,

Do your palms still drip blood?
My heart steel,
the size of an infant daughter
does it to this day fit in both your hands?
Curled between ten fingers
can you still cradle it?
Skeptical to ask you these questions
But I desire to know,
as my heart sits in critical condition,
can you still play doctor?
Are you willing to surgically insert your pacemaker?
Making sure my heartbeat
drums in rhythm with your snares.
It’s vital;
for me to know
if our hearts can still dance the tango
with simple glares.

Memories reanimate themselves,
and your words inhale themselves
through my respiratory system;
exhaling in every breath I use to speak your name.
We are perfectly different
subscribed to each other’s channel
we stay tuned in to one another
even if the network’s service is weak;...