Shusshhh be quiet,i dont know if its only me but ive always been adamant in believing that less talk adds gravity to a word from a wise mind.Silence is the key .Allow yourself to be missed out ,honestly it does not kill or harm but gives room to potentially wise thoughts to refine and develop into words that can never be disputed.
Wisdom walks with a mind that is absorbent to understanding to empower it with discernment. We ofteny get our bodies in shape and forget to treat equally the mind.
I would have long hit the sack,but No! I need to leave a statement behind.Times ago,they walked past me and saluted ,now all they do is mock .Their diminished satisfaction reckon this is the end…the fate…they wont see me coming back full force
Im not here to play the woman because i am the man.No matter how many times they scold.My insurmountable worth stands still..dont you fret..it will dumbstrike them and halt
As i carry your pieces every single day,give them allowance to compass me..
I have a pillar as back up.i hope you took enough pills to endure the pain.This is a battle.A battle to make me whole again.I dont take fun to trusting the process,that would be ridiculous…less murmuring…lets just say…..im coming for you
Okay, so these mature relationships be quarrels its normal!
I swear i have these gruesome livid bruises Incurable bleedings wounds Im skeptical if they need some polysporin And certainly not bandage Its beyond recuuperation Therapy just wont work here Id rather we let go and slide Clearly there is no point Tell me why we should still hold on?
Flashbacks,back then We were kids,innocently we experienced Those tummy butterflies of ecstacy It was all kissy winky moticons I was crushing You were crushing So north and south pole were personified Science said we attracted Peers got jealous They thought we would grow To build a house Make juniors And remember to kiss on our wedding day But where are we now??!
Though strategizing dreams Apparently we are chasing them,that is undeniable But they are not impediments Who else still needs to know that time has always been our ally We have been merely wounded Its the perils of this world We’re not focused,its resistance That comes with ugly trepidations We are just not willing To enhance embrace the goood fruits We myt get hurt along the way,who knows?
Now its just me sassy classy And you..all bougiee looking “We blame time”..white lies!! Hearts got hard And now love fails to flow or thaw Because we think we”re icy with riches Riches that retain our sits of luxury And our hearts of adultery I know ryt….who would die to contemplate The gross we glow for…
We would hold hands and swirl Pinky promises to visit for playdates on sundays Those little fingers got bigger And got the hang of manouvering All the way to my thighs Just to finger fuck urges of pleasure There isnt any sign of treasure Really!!!!!…… Our relationships fail because they are foul So they fall and fade…
Wake up in the morning,introspect on some cup of positivity.Having a bunch of people against you is seldomly the case.Some mental breakdowns are self applied for.Choose to be undefeatable,Choose to flourish in a world of choices.You are what you ever choose to be.Are you really willing to see yourself sink in deep whilst you had probable ways to make YOU stay afloat?
Drained with facts,so dead in reality ,the space feels like a cocoon,im totally in no room to dream,instead of sipping ,im sleeping on my dreams,just to make sure i satisfy the impressions that were made on my introductions….For how long though ?!
I write because of my silence. I write because the menacing echoes in my head have enfeebled me.. They are deafening They are scorching Not to mention vexations I feel my soul is itching…i feel my soul is itching ….. : Itching to be heard To pay society’s debt that was never incurred Each and every moment is a moment to be written The pitch of the voices in my heart keep rising “Say it out now or be forever guilt-bitten” The perks of ignorance erks my pen to keep writing …. And writing… And writing … And writing …… I feel my soul is itching, I feel like my words are teaching, I peel hate off my skin with poetry, I steal the hearts of many with my metaphors, A matter for concern~ I write because I’m black, I lack prada, I write coz I’m ghetto.. I’m so Panda I’m a designer of these rhymes; these are trying times, I write because I’m a refugee Trying to find a place so gee…… : That’s gee See I chose poetry for i keep no diaries.. My sanity and sobriety lies within these written enquiries The beauty in these quires Is of a bard composing for the choir For i sing in these poems I surrender in them my disdain My joy is in these poems The same pen traces my pain : Writing Writing It’s chaos so I just let ink from my pen bleed, My words are a rare breed ready to fight Greed, So I write because I breath condemnation thus my mind is infused with indignation It can nva be so gee Wen voicing up is a big deal They rage to infuriate They encage to excruciate Its just a generation of cats Only familiar with rats They are nothing but pets So disgusting with dirt. But we are uniquely the best Our taste make us The guests Because we write with zest..because we write with zest…. : It can never be so gee When they treat every black person like a G; I write because the world has placed us in shackles, I’m institutionalized, they burnt black cocoons~ We butterfly with freckles I feel like I’m Emmet Till, I try to emit light but plight got us in the dark, I write to produce a spark but since we stuck~ My words scream freedom✊🏾 I love consistency To me its proficiancy But lo to writers of our days So undeniable diminished ,by the amateuristic tendancies That make them underrated Yes i mean understated Priotizing so horribly to ‘ their recitations’ As if they lack proper meditations I feel my soul is itching I swear im the only one reaching…. : Reaching for the pinnacle I’d rather they stay silent than sing in silly syllables, Similes … metaphors … That cater for only the shallow at heart The weak at heart Oh damn you wicked hearts Murderers of the beautiful art Cry dear William Blake, Hallowed Shakespeare Cover thine ears and hear not this disgrace to the beautiful art I tremble at how they resemble their keen and thus murder the very essence of poetry … Being different …. But we are Roses of Harlem The remnant left to conquer Gems purified of germs And wen i say germs I mean amateurs with shortened poetic spits Lesser than a silkworms salivary glands But wen we spit,we outfox Shakespeare’s side kicks We breakdown thoughts into words Pulverize words into ashes Ashes finer than a queen’s lashes….