Mr-Poetic

So baby girl says I'm selfish- What? C'mon now – I'm not 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 Earths Sounds strange right? But see this way No matter where she turns, She'll al

Now just for a moment - let's be real; Nobody – could spit like 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 literally livin in literacy To the point that Pun we know That you won't stop No – don't sto

So 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 beautiful compliment I had ever received. For me, a hug is the most honest way I kn

They 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. And it rains – As if the souls these lost writers touched Are cryi

I know it might sound cliché But I really do wish That I could just Fly away. If I could catch a jet stream and Let the skies guide my way, I would ask the clouds to cover my escape As I glide to my favorite hideaway. If I could find my way to the one time I stayed In a life I thought I'd found my place, I would be able to lie in a hammock wide-awake And let the tide wash time away. If I had my way – I'd spend my days On the beaches of Puerto Rico, Where a sleek snow of Sweet-N-Low Tickles the sea's toes. I'd flee this diseased hole of deceased hope, Sneak to the beach's soul of Luquillo- To the coral reef groves

She's a portrait. A Da Vinci of sorts, So I call her Monalise And her smile – Her smile is the reason for the new moon. I mean The moon actually turns its face from her in fear of being outshined Though nowadays, she doesn't smile for much. And I blame love – honestly Because ever since she found it, Her face stays redder than her heart And soaked by more tears than there is blood in her veins. And I wanna tell her: "Smile sweet Monalise. If you were meant to cry, God would have adorned your face with tears. I know this man makes you feel like a refrigerator drawing, But I see you for what you really are, a Da Vinci,

Though I stand on ledge pursued by time, This is no contemplation of suicide. The truth is I'm not yet used to life And not too soon do I presume to die. And though I search for the clues to life, There is no question here of "Who am I?" Fate new that I was doomed to try, But what fool in mind would not choose to fly? -------------------------------------- I awaken to closed eyes, cold and sewn tight. Drowning in black water as ink carves These wise words from the light: Dreams aren't dreams till we wake Till yawn breaks the dawning day, Dreams are only dreams Once the alarm plays. ------------------------------------- So I s

- Dammit! Today is going to suck, why does it have to rain? God it's really coming down. Hard enough that my window has the shakes. It almost looks scared. The only thing more annoying than the consistent tapping of the rain is - Yes! Your world is mine aliens. Die die die! Why does Jimmy have to be here? I know we're roommates, but that doesn't mean he always needs to be here. God he stinks and it's not just regular stink. I swear he must be allergic to water because I'm the only one with toiletries in the bathroom. And why does he always talk to his damn computer? If I didn't know any better I'd believe he thought he was God and he moni

You think you know me, all of you, When none of y'all do. See my inner's caged So in a fit of rage Within this page – ripped I inscript These sinner's vains. I sit and wait For the bitter hate To fill in space Where killers stay – aimed At these spitter's fangs Waiting for a drip of name. They are only equipped to claim instant fame. Hoping that I will slip or stray When I have lips that stay Quick to slay With words for infinite days. Oh yes sir – Y'all have pissed me of today. Because you, thought you knew, And had no idea. Thinking I was Mr. Nice guy Or the kind guy Whose mind's eye Could rewind time