A Poetic Blog
Love
The Creator
I’m almost certain god created me in his image, because why else would I create a world that replicates my point of view of what I define beauty is. Why else is it hard for me to control my passion and script every bit of my emotions publicly. It must explain the thunder in me that screams at times, but I know if I put more of a show on I will light up the sky with the hopes of Eve noticing me. I created you in my world and watched you develop so beautifully. I watched you closely as you would eat fruit from the garden, and how well your beauty would blend with the painted flowers and weeds that you would on occasion dance in. At times you would call me when you were down and when you would cry, secretly so would I, which might explain the rain of tears. As the creator I fell in love with my creation and couldn’t help to stand back in regret while you fall in love with Adam, but I do understand I created him as well and can only blame myself.
Homeless
You tell me that love has no home in your heart, because it tore your decorated walls of trust apart.
Distorted your beautiful flowers that you planted with passion, while the soil overflow with tears.
The fabric that you also call your skin has been unstitched, bruised and color fading.
Pieces of glass lie scattered on the carpet from the broken window, that has now distorted your view to see clear.
The pantry that once had food for your soul is empty with residue of pessimistic that the pest feed on.
The bathroom mirror shows a reflection of a person that resembles you; animation of a princess, but when the sun sets you’ve fallen in love with Shrek and your new name is Fiona, unattractive and love is the blame.
You tell me you could care less of love being homeless, walking the streets of broken attempts, falling weak of loneliness.
You even said that love could be sleeping under a bridge and you still wouldn’t give a shit.
But I question you and say what if love got hit by a bus full of passengers seeking it? What if love was trying to catch you again as you fall?…
and what if love was a puzzle that is trying to find the pieces to put itself back together?
What if love was me? Now I’m homeless!
My Poetic Life (Part 2)
“Bang, Bang, I got you…!” Dead! :Hints: the disturbing picture below…
At this stage, my life is a video game. The name of the game is Grand Theft My Innocents while the world molests me…And yes the world molested me; a low down asshole that went by the name of Influence. Pure pressure was his sidekick… I feel in love with adolescence, she was so beautiful and young. One night she taught me how to use my tongue … and nothing sexual even though that would be the usual, it was sensual; a book that gave me Goose Bumps… so intellectual.
Street slang, gangster, slick rhythms with a cool beat, I felt so cool beans. I was the poster child for hip hop. I was ready to perform in front of anyone who was willing to take a seat… but there is no escape from reality, questioning myself; who am I? The answer was politely giving to me in the form of pain as if my glass heart chattered in my chest while cutting my arteries whereas realizing the meaning of death… But why God? Why Beth? She was my only Grandmother!
At 11yrs old my imagination of her was like a cassette tape and life was her stereo and her memories were just music that her heart danced to the beat. Depending on her mood, her song collection ranged from love, distress and even cheerfulness. A collection of her heart that I have memorized in the depth of my recollection… to be continued…
Feet Bruised!
Feet bruised in sandals complimented with a reddish tone, skin damaged with a spirit big as stone, determined to become a thief of the character, while wearing a tunic that was woven in one piece, without a seam…
So it seems to be a painting of a war piece, backed by an infantry of prophesy to battle hate, and demolish hypocrisy, that was the philosophy no need for Socrates…
So you see… it was he who split the sea, his beliefs spit on by those that disagreed, although his intentions were low and meek, now on bended knee, the emotional teaching broke waves like an ocean, injecting a poison in the form of lecture, that spoke of the raptures people begin to take heed overwhelmed with grief, dancing with sin which introduced by his friend drunkenness; which feel in love with foolishness, in which gave no meaning to the term, soberness…
Now he has control of this, loose bowels, take a piss to release the non-sense, forgive my language knowing this is the end, I’m over this plant like earth; I could end it all right now with a slit wrist bleeding melody of pain on the piano keys the choir slowly plays a violin, when approached by a spirit that told me his feet were bruised in sandals complimented with a reddish tone, skin damaged with a spirit big as stone, who was determined to rob my character…
So you see… he recruited me with in his infantry to fulfill prophesy against hate and to demolish hypocrisy and in return he touches me in the most unconditional way, and redirects my life, I would say…
Converted with in belief I stared into his passion of Christ introduced has the Son of God, who came from the womb of Mary, whom hanged from the cross nailed, and buried within a rock of stone… Jesus Christ!
Consensual Music
The sense of urgency brought me to a place where the melody played a passionate tempo slowly releasing a snare…
The touch opened notes that seeped through my skin drowning and gasping for air, I became confused
I began to tremble out of nervousness, spilling and staining ink while creating obsessive sheet composition.
The percussion of my heart started to beat rapidly conducting an orchestra that displayed a show for the audience of emotions that stood and applauds…
I’m lost in you to the point that your magnificence is displayed and distorted with the view of you. In a musical way…
