Through the lens...of my pen
If I against my conscious,
then who against my actions?
If I against demons,
then who are you to bless me?
If I am stuck in my own head,
then why invest on my heart.
I'm a bully who breaks beyond breaking point,
trained to overcome adversity and wipe my tears,
Dust myself off when I fall.
Hide my inner emotions and build walls.
My love for thy self ,
Is thy selves love of thee.
If we don't find ourselves now,
then when will it be?
A sip of her juice Will have you quenching for thirst from simply the sway of her hips. A kiss from her delectable lips, Taste like a chocolate kiss on Valentine ’s Day morning Her attitude Feels like a venomous sting A puncture to the heart An arrow through the chest A brick wall as I ride 60 on the highway. So classy, yet so hood in her own respect. On a hustle as the moons rises and suns falls. Chasing her paper and cashing her checks. Her tone, sweet like caramel drops Yet, citric like lemons. She’s my fresh squeeze every morning before I begin my day, Every night before my head I lay. She appeases my dehydration With the cultivation of her taste, Lemon drop grazes of her love, I savor, her sabor and aroma on my oral cavity. She is my favorite flavor, Garden-fresh and homemade, She’s my favorite cup of ice-cold Hood Lemonade.
With words full of passion,
Actions full of sorrow.
Carrying her burdens in a
Crocheted hobo made of tears and bitten fingernails
From her agony disguised as glee.
She made an acquisition
Using only her flower;
As she remembered the composition of her most powerful asset,
She kissed him with succulent lips,
Of robust love.
It was then she realized
this love was organically grassrooted from the depths of her seeds.
The seeds planted at her temple.
Her precious temples that lay beneath the clouds
above her shoulders.
Convincing him he had no green thumb.
Unsuccessful was he who tried to woo a women using only his words.
Fallacies of fantasies and fairytales,
Painted with the blood shed by her virginity
escaping her innocence.
Finessed was she whose knees bled
as she plead,
for his attention.
It was then she comprehended her worth was beyond her flower,
Her succulent lips.
She regretted not finding love
In the Garden of Eden.
"Farewell, I Pardon"
I can’t worry about your feelings, When I’m too into mine. I cannot begin to fathom my existence, Without your presence. Your absence, Becomes disguised as demise And to my surprise, you still stand here Look me in my eyes and tell me I am your greatest gift. That together we can lift Each other off the ground, Make love with our tongues, Wet sounds- as your soft tongue caresses my taste buds As our oral cavities make love Exchanging gallons of passionate fluids From my lips to my lips From your kisses down my spine, back, and hips, I picture your demise as an unpleasant surprise in my horror story. The mere thought of you gone, becomes revolting and gory. Bleeding your heart out as you chase my spirit, Bones become dust, Love became lust, And I just had to do … …what I had to. Carve my heart out, Cause I have to. This poem ends with 2 lovers, Holding one another tightly, Embracing in a pool of love. This poem ends with 2 lovers, who gave it all up for love. This poem is the whimsical description Of Shakespeare’s depiction Of a Romeo who fell for the Juliet. So dejected, cause I bet, She never knew this will be a love Her heart will regret.
"A Widow's Song"
I told him not to caress me too hard or I’ll get attached, Refrain from telling me he loves me excessively, or I’ll become convinced I’ve met my match. I told him I was made from his rib, so from his being, I could never be detached. Physically Fragmented and Heart broken in the past, But alas, I have found the remedy on how to ensure it can reattached. I reached for his hand. I told him these are your most powerful tools. Your touch can be so soft, yet so excruciating. Your caresses can be so heartfelt, yet so remorseful. Your love can be so unabridged, yet so departed. Your words can be so affirming, yet so empty. What I am saying is though I am with you, I am so absent. Though I am here, I am gone. Numb from your love. It was then he savored his own poison. He who breaks hearts, Grosses heartbreak. This is a departed woman’s song.
Photography By: AcePhotography