Maybe I'm Just Being SelfishSo baby girl says I'm selfish- What? C'mon now – I'm not selfish.Maybe I'm Just Being Selfish
But she says I only want my poems for myself Because my they tend to only be about What I see, what I feel, and what I want. And – well there's some merit to that. And truth be told, I would hate to make Her sound like a liar. So just for her- Here's another poem about what I want:
I wanna sing to her knowin good and well I can't Like a Babyfaced little rascal in a boat Just so she never forgets that She is so beautiful to me.
And I wanna trade her eyes with those of the
A Poem For PunNow just for a moment - let's be real; Nobody – could spit like Pun.A Poem For Pun
I mean when Big Pun's lips spun Those lyrical rhythms into rhyme fabric Wrapped around lines packed in That fully automatic Gatlin gun he called a mouth- That's when classics happened.
Back when the son of Tony Montana's Words were in Deep Cover radio Smugglin gold into our ears through audio stereo with a flow that was something like –
Like liquid fluidity wittily whittling riddles critically steadily stitching similes into me the epitome lyrically
A Poem About A HugSo I'm told I give the best hugs. So good in fact that a friend recently asked If I had received private instruction from God. She said she only asks because when my arms Swallowed her body into my chest, She felt God inscribe forgiveness into her skin. As if all the blessins bestowed upon me Merged from my heart, Through my arms, Into her lungs, And she was given permission to Breathe easy. And I – could not speak. Not even to say thank you. All I could do was hug her once more. A little tighter. And a lot closer. Because it was the most beautifulA Poem About A Hug
This FountainThey told me this fountain showed the future. And of course I didn't believe them. Not until I ran my fingers across its surface And lost sight of myself. And instead appeared the freshly painted face of God Amidst a couple hundred headstones – Each marked with a poem of unheralded words. Not of Frost, Langston or any other poet taught today. But of forgotten faces whose words Never made it to a widespread basis. These Architects whose lasting monuments Rest in pages notebook ridden Are hidden from all but the painted vision Of a graffiti'd God image. AndThis Fountain
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thx for the
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yes, i would like a poem. :]
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Please comment on my gallery, I've worked very hard on all that is in it: [link]
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