We hate that We’re like We but We wouldn’t change We for the world though the world changes for itself other planets uncaringly in its atmosphere
you wouldn’t want no different than We but you are filled with questions confusion a volcano tugging and probing for readjustment
so may try or think We lesser than you but We hate what We are what We are We wouldn’t change for your world you publicize as perfect but tuck sunsets into dawn
We hate what We are. Why are We like this? Return on character investment happens before an answer arrives, that won’t change much anyways.
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I wanna do some things tomorrow, so I need to leave early. I have to go, dear friend. but don’t turn it off; leave the entertainment in the night
pleasure can rejuvenate, but life will go time will find its match, while you’ll be here inundated by pleasure, staggered by intimacy.
let the dark preserve what could’ve been guard the memories, so each time regret gets too near, we’ll recline into the night—give life to these moments again
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my mother struggles for the care of her community drop outs on broadcast with a curriculum in their mouth, the avenues always studying. so why the education that you offer?
which level of this cycle begs the most for attention? my brother strives to open our eyes presenting to a collection of disguise he’s the example, avenue. a Promise but our stomachs ask for attention, too
if death comes for me, tonight where in my sleep will it place the blame? am I a bad student? or do certain teachings drowse me amiss to the dreams deferred before i knew of sleep the dreams yawning, yearning, to be awake in the present
my uncle’s teeth are rotting but Which lesson in life did he not learn? Which course initiated the faults in him? Which choices were his to make?
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This poem was the result of an assignment I was given by an organization. The instruction was to write a poem that touches upon the idea of “The American Dream Deferred.” I wrote the poem and sent it to them, but I never heard back. It’s a great piece though. I surprised myself too.
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you first wake up by setting six alarms that you cannot tell yourself you will ignore or, much better, turn off as that will stop the lousy disturbance
the smartest person in the world will tell you to go to sleep early and make it a habit, but they surely have forgotten about the dark sleepless road before success
now their words have some significance to you though most of you think it is much easier to give merit to a darkness with struggle when all of your garments, actions and words reek with success already
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I wrote this after watching a Billy Collins Masterclass. It’s something quite fun. I hope you wake up early this year 🙂 Happy 2023!
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I never knew how it started. I’d just always be sitting at that seat when she walked into the car. Then
That became our thing. That became our time. That became our train. That became our car. That became our seat. That became our corner. That became our station. That became our greeting. That became our expectation. That became our reason to smile.
That became our every day. Until someone was missing
From our thing. From our time. From our train. From our car. From our seat. From our corner. From our station. From our greeting. From our expectation. From our reason to smile.
Every day, 11 days. She knew that was it.
When I woke up, 11 days later, I knew that was it.
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So then will you forget our love? Do you plan to throw all that we had away for the sake of “moving on”?
No. Do you know these old-school jewelry boxes that have a ballerina inside? You can open the box to get your jewelry, but you can also turn a key, press a button, then the ballerina will start dancing.
For the space that we shared, the love that we bore and cultivated between the two of us—for the two of us—I’ve decided to not leave all that love behind as I onboard new adventures in my life. I decided to carefully and safely place our love—all the heartfelt moments, all the laughter, all the conversations, all the sex, all the tears, all the adventures, all the poetry, and all the simplicity—into a special box that holds my precious items.
From time to time, I turn the key on the box to let the ballerina come up to dance. The memories play in my imagination; in front of my eyes. I relive that time, once again—replacing my reality. Feel that strong emotion. Remember you. Love you, again. Love all that you were and all that you became. All that we became together. Experience our love all over again. Forever.
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Why do we encourage each other to stop loving someone and move on? Isn’t love like a Rubik’s cube?
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and the nervousness is in every crack in my confidence it slides on all the bends in my personality then leaks out my fearless structure like an egg almost saved
i shrug i make excuses i mask the disappointment with reasons why it was not meant to be, concealed with a blame away from me.
i dictate the supposed sequencing of the events of the past perhaps God had made a mistake on how things developed surely the powers that be mishandled this encounter
i contempt; the opportunity was not of merit, regardless even though i’ll spend the rest of time thinking about my deeds, reimagining the event in a world where I get second chances, and thirds, or a world where i flawlessly predict the obvious next occurrence
even though i’ll shame myself in future recounts about a great missed opportunity.
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Rest In Peace to all the opportunities we missed because of lack of confidence and nervousness 🙏🏾✨
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A train runs in the backyard but the wooden fences are still leaning from the previous generation so the train kept going on its own tracks
five executive reps stuck their ears to the ground to locate the incoming sound but the train sometimes runs above so excuse New York City if it seems to have lost its way
maybe a train runs through walls so since the great discovery, the bells have been a mystery and the rolling rocks have discovered the purpose within their spirit
but the people collecting tickets are well accustomed so they will never check the carpet in their living room even though in a rush they’ve broken the plastic tracks
built on the dead heat of playtime because that’s where all of reality makes total sense the conductor on bruised knees. Who’s also the engineer, the passenger, the fuel, and the only one who knows the way.
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the sharp edges hurt like a flower’s petal the texture receives grief like a cloud’s golden smile
if I fall in grace forever, eventually I’ll reach hell so I remain in confort. Soundless movements of my body obedience to my wishes, without complaint
so I ask how? but acceptance is not a choice it’s a decision made after a day of heavy burdens even when surrendering all the weight is done relentlessly unaware of the permanent pain, poison, pressure caused even when it has to bend unusually for your confort
love is only an idea for the amateur, and the cowards who overthink the purest form is “what else is there to do?” but embrace— let me lay my heavy head of a day’s frustrations somehow, turn density into dispersion, dissipation.
the nights are frustrating. they leave you in the morning, with creases to flatten for you to accept a bird’s song that is already rejected so you might as well choose to live in hell. so long as the fire shine for my confort what else is there to do?
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She’s the light of my life! ❤
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your eyes in mine we’re pondering each other’s thoughts we’ve shaken each other’s understanding of life and we know the dust will never settle
there’s a game made to bring us closer but i’ve already fallen into the river in your iris so i hope to always be a part of you, regardless.
let Earth remember us as artists overwhelmed by passion, so we consume each other in the tight chamber with royal elephants on the wall; a forest of sunshine or absolute darkness; a temple with mirrors on the wall
webs of betrayal bundled inside, connecting our eyes; galaxy, flavored chocolate. cobwebs attach—closing the distance between
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