It’s a new year n a new me and fear is no longer my enemy

I’m stronger and bolder, like Tyson vs Frazier, dropping the hate 1st Round

Then snatching your paper!

Best watch out n check how I’ll collect clout

‘Cause I’m coming out pointing both barrels,

Putting hate in it’s place, then kicking it down the stairwell

It’s the year to hold on to those dear,

For hope is in my scope, me and mine know

I’m the fella who shares his d(h)ope.

Best wishes you trifling b*tches!



A flame in my heart is burning through my chest

and my stomach churns from the butterflies fluttering within.

The dark smut that was in my sights

has been wiped and my mind is clean,

precise and pristine.

I’m in love with life.

I’m in love with myself and

most importantly i’m starting to love everyone else.

No longer am i turning sour from the unknown variables that surround.

Because my heart and mind are now aligned.

Time to go out there and take whats mine.

Crossing the Pond

It’s about 0300pm

and im strapped in.

I’m comfortable and leaning back,

with magic edibles stashed in my sack.

Instrumentals snap my synapse

and hysterically arrange my vocabulary.

I’m soaring through the skies,

while dosed out of my mind.

Testing to see,

if i can get higher than astronaut pussy.

A stewardess’ stare, reflecting on my screen’s glare,

will cause some turbulence up in this air.

I’m on full throttle from tiny whisky bottles,

waiting in line for a club that’s “Mile High.”

With no companion in sight,

I sit tight through this transatlantic flight.

2.3 Million Rupiahs

About 2.3Mil rupiahs was added to my hotel’s bill for “damages” that I paid for, cash, in Indonesian $krillz. Compensations for room reparations of a gazillion memories worth more than those indomillions. Never have I ever felt so confident to cop a bill containing so many zeros. But in Southeast Asia one can live like a “king” when holding even the least American green and with stacks of greenbacks imperialists can wreck shop in these metric barhops. I play tourist amidst the conformists in a city so polluted with beauty. My elated heart throbs asphyxiated by gorgeous mobs of hijabs that cover like a dense smog-like fog. With a dropped jaw and breath robbed, I’m stuck standing and waving to them saying “As-salāmu ʿalaykum :)”

Gallivanting open and loud through conservatively quiet Indonesian towns, I stand out, I’m seen and unbeknownst to me my ethnic ambiguity would lure those pursuing to savour a foreign {bule} flavour. With GoogleTranslate as my saviour I begin to mingle with local singles carrying unbelievably distinct and palatably spicy conversations; some lead to my hotel’s damages and accusations. Though those claims made have only one culprit to blame; the good times, now memories, shared strictly between my {*uhmmm*} “Tour Guides” and I. Be judge free and trust me that only if a connection was made, would I invite these lovely dames into my temporary sanctuary. But, when you mix loose alcohol abuse and the use of Allah’s name in vein, that safe haven loses its reign. Only after a consensual erotic wrestle may sovereignty be handed to the last one standing or limping.

So, at the end of my Indonesian holiday the front desk clerk says with a smirk, “I see you have enjoyed your stay.” I giggle and he then strikes me hard with the bill and comments, “Sir, we require some reimbursements.” I solemnly say, “Ok, let me have it, what’s the damage?” He then holds up a tablet with images of the aftermath from what looked like a contained tsunami. He swipes through forensic scenes of debauchery and reads off a list “2,280,000 rupiahs, for the broken coffee table, the chair and sofa that was dowsed in squirt soda, bed sheets with no fix from spilt bloody mary mix, emotional distress caused to the neighboring guests.” I stop him from finishing off my list of sins and blurt out “Ok, ok. Let me just pay, so I can be on my way.”

“And will this be charged to your card?” He questions my payment.

I stare at him smiling and say “Nah, Is cash okay?”


Biologically complete and fixed with deceit. Ethnically ambiguously I storm through the streets. “Half-breed” is all that’s perceived from this creative creature with desirable features. I host a face, constantly called “mixed-race,” and wield words that quake, to govern my fate. Hitting the genetic jackpot and delaying the old eugenic plot. My soul holds more gold than you got sole in your sock full of holes. Not grafted but enacted by different accents, this god was made in no accident. Always imitated but never duplicated. This squire went from least admired to most desired. This sinister flavour you now savour and wish to impregnate your frozen TV dinners.

Persuasively Asian and unapologetically Latin, this revolutionary’s actions must unite the factions. Bodies flop, by the knowledge I drop. Striking thoughts of those who fought but got caught by the onslaught I brought. This adversary vocabulary brings you to the hinges, cinching arms, mainlining these orange-chicken bars through syringes. Flexing my lexis and causing more harm, than narco poppyfarms. My flavourful verbal, spiced with aromatic herbal, is portioned precise. The perfect vice, to splice your mind’s eye and satisfy your hunger. I conjure 3 different tongues, leaving you floundering for how I’m linguistically hung. So, grip my dicktionary and fit words in your mouth. Prepare to swallow and not spit out, this load of lingo secreting out this Chino-Latino.