Tag: wordsmith

Comeback

It’s been some time since my last keystroke, I hope I don’t choke on the word-vomit that my thoughts provoke. So yoke the throat of my utensil and you’ll see how my heart spills out the tip of my pencil. It’s suspenseful and will drive you hysterical when my ideas spit onto your theory’s material, leaving a stain so deranged that you’ll rearrange how you feel about my take on the game.

Don’t be a fool and pick up these jewels that I’m putting down,

’cause fate deals the deck and you decide whether to fold or play for the ducats.

So pull up and come through and see how me and mine do.

Peace

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Bold

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!

Live and Let Live

My life is like a quarry, where what’s valuable is dug deep, underneath this thick crust-skin

Those who dare mine the gold in my mind, declare it to be extraordinary

Though most seek the jewels & glory of saying they took what’s good from me

Like a fool I stoop low for letting another abuse me.

NO MORE

For I am the generator of this diamond-like energy

I must have responsibility, to share my love with only those that are worthy.

Now, go out there n tell my story for it’s the only way I’ll keep living

Even when I’ve returned to the essence.

Withdrawals

They say that you’re one of the few that doesn’t make you drool in pain when you’re far away

Some claim that you’re a miracle that can cure the hysterical without any repercussions to one’s mental health

I say that though that may be true, let’s not ignore that most of us abuse you

Acting like a fool when i’m in the clouds dancing with you, i can see why most just use you to “feel good”

I’ve noticed that i’m still the same person, even when you’re gone.

The days I’ve spent away have helped me understand that you’re just my crutch

Supporting me up because i haven’t worked on myself enough

To be honest the only withdrawal you have is boredom

Dependency

The sensation you make me feel when i pull hard on the inhale takes my mind away

Thoughts stray and i’m chipper you say but only when under your trance

With the burning bush, I push through, but you see a difference in me when you distance yourself from me

I’ve noticed that you steal my appetite when I’m not with you

Making it hard for me to eat and i can admit defeat, but why must i need you in me to feel complete

Is there something suffocating in the dense smoke that i toke?

I can’t believe that I’d be the one claiming dependency to thee

Or am i just too afraid to face the devil that stares at me in the mirror?

A grand daddy purple band-aid is what i place over the scars that are keeping me awake

Indica indications notify me when i need to choke the pain

The sativa smiles i give are just a facade

Because reality is, i feel like i’m living through life like a fraud.

Am i really as “high” and mighty as you make me feel? I’m starting to question if i really need you

Covered in Paint

You choke the shaft of the brush,

wet the tip with what looks like spit

and begin to stroke.

I blush and hush my screams,

from seeing the streaking paint cream,

leaking onto your fists.

Yet you maintain a firm grip and

giggle at how I’m stoked

from your every brushstroke.

You’re talented, creative and reckless

when you allow the paint to spray onto your canvas.

You finger paint with the clumped up droplets and

smile at the masterpiece you accomplished.

While ignoring the paint sprinkled around your eye sockets.

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.

Moments Away (30Dec2018)

Lacking fear,

ecstatic to cap off this year.

A troublesome season,

for those lost and looking for reasons.

Responses to questions better left unanswered,

time is soaring by quicker n faster.

Three hundred sixty-four pirouettes, one rotation left,

a hustlers last attempt to cash unsigned blank checks.

Mother Earth spins for eight thousand seven hundred-sixty hours,

and society O N L Y cares about the last 10 seconds.