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.
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…
I pictured a slave in the midst of a war of soldiers who are also enslaved by the government
My life revolves around me in images of myself; my mind produces extraordinary emotions that are buried deep within thick layers of flesh. My heart pumps as a percussion producing music of my soul, which release feelings beyond belief.
The only cure from this infection that drains me as the ocean drowns the rocks, is to make the world my wife, and rename her earth, then romance or love her, then I can create a culinary masterpiece, a dish, I named: poetic Stories…. Please click the picture below to follow the life of a Poetic Genius -
I often contemplate, especially in times of struggle; on the past at times as if my mind is remotely set to play and rewind, consistently searching for that part in life, in which I was fine. And not fine in a physical sense; but in a place were the only worry I had at age 5 was where I could find plenty grass for the grass-hopper to eat that I had caught on a leaf after playing Indians and Chiefs. I was an innocent nerd. I believe I stood about something feet… I’d hear my mother chant, “We must eat” with a plate of chicken, broccoli and peas in her hand which reminded me that life is a plate of journeys. I ate, even though I was not too fond of the peas I learned not to disagree, because disagreeing usually resulted in a beating. Alas, I am now only 14 teen discovering me with a bottle of cream. I was discovering every girl on TV hoping that one day…. they would discover me. And that probably explains why my first kiss was a practice on my wrist… perplexed as to why anyone would resist. She was a crush I knew I would get. I admired her personality and wit; after school we would talk shit using bad language, which made us feel legit, as if we were grownups talking shit, discussing life knowing this wasn’t it, and there was more to it, a globe artistically blue & green designed for you & me, although we grew apart and now it’s up to me to find myself. Digging deep for memories trying to find truth, I know are buried deep within the arteries that are expressively pumped from a heart that is hard to believe. If I let it tell me. Chances are, I will concede. To be continued….