12/30

I'm sorry that I don't feel sorry
we don't have souls
so
as you control yours please understand I
like you
have been created by the Divine
in fact I believe in Him as much as you do, that's how I survived
He supplied me with knowledge and a heart
like you people
we praise Him daily, just omit the steeple
He made us a bit smarter, that's how we traveled here
If survival of the fittest hasn't made anything clear
we have arrived
we aren't green with huge black eyes
we don't come in peace and fly
those God-awful saucers
I remember being told if you believed in us you don't believe in God
but He created us, we have no facade
we'll just replace you, first by extinguishing the turmoil you suffered this world to permit
A eutopia was what He wanted
yet, killing
hate
a lack of respect for Commandments, He demanded you love him!
We don't get jealous or place anything else above him
I am an alien, truly created in his image
coming to obliterate you when I'm finished this sentence

11/30

Wow
Poetry is refreshing!
a true blessing, I mean
anytime you can rely on words to soothe the soul and tae control
no holds just assistance to fight the resistance as if we are in a war with stars
but we're poets
not superstars
our minds travel galaxies through time and space to connect to you in this place
at this time and what do you find
movement, metaphors
verse, some rehearsed others plainly stated,
deliveries reverberated and demonstrated to expose emotions
from cerebral cortex to toes
thoughts to omit smell so you can inhale it in your nose
and it seeps into your blood
heart rate increased, and the drama?
ceased because at least you've escaped on our asteroid belt
at least we can take you away and tell you how we've felt
Sometimes I love words so much I wish i couldn't even write em
sounds silly but I wish i could telepathically recite them
How enlightening
would it be if my generated visuals became pen thoughts
mastered but humbled
papers no longer end up crumpled because laced thoughts forgo flaws
pause.
a moment to plead to you,
I read what you need to do
that's let go
open arms to unfamiliar situations
live stress-free from life's complications
and listen
listen to verbs, words, metaphors and meanings
poetry is seeping with release and burning with conviction
sick on life?
poets can write you a prescription
It starts with diction from the heart, encryption near and far felt from sounds waves and historically marked on a page
poetry is ageless

10/30

there's something about you that speaks more than just sexy
volumes of body language explain that you're exceedingly beautiful
I have internal documentation that when you love
you share the wonders of the foundation that the four letter word was based on
your love speaks great diction
as many have lived their life in fiction
i can see the description in your eyes
the summary of your heart has stanzas proving it's worth
I wish to indent your life and read in between your lines
all the manuscripts prior to our engagement left me unfilled
their stories short and sweet
yet I'm compelled to feel that I've begun reading the greatest story ever told
and if it were read aloud
without a doubt, Morgan Freeman would be reciting

This story is exciting
inviting,
touching
moving
honest
real
true
and it was written
So now that i've been livin'
and reading
I'm seeing my own life involved in the narrative
and I hope I'm a long lasting character
or that my description holds true to you
We're writing history
no mystery to the fact that our intersection was inevitable
So now the key is not to skip thru the pages
because the story we have is ageless
Even opinions from the Sages would deem this love gaugeless
so thru the stages to your arms
I'll read
and live
and live and read
and this will continue to be
your bestseller
and our greatest story.

9/30

I wonder
after the seven days God used to create the world
The 8th was a time He had a moment to Himself
to think
to reflect what He had just completed
wondering what should've been omitted or deleted
on the 9th day of the first month He ever created
God may have just sat to write
enjoy the beautiful day He created and the wonderful night
He wrote on top of the stars and used the darkness of space as ink
God wrote in His own journal
pages constructed from the earth, binded by the trees
lines of loves marginalized by eternal memory
scripting in every language He fathomed would exist
The perfect poem
from the perfect being
The all seeing
all knowing
Intelligence forever growing
On my 9th day I look out at what He fabricated for me to appreciate
His journal probably has millions of words never even uttered
scribbles and errors,
mistakes and digressions
never existed until humans graced the planet
God probably wrote at the speed of sound
and thoughts traveling at the speed of light
He needed no incite
He never grew tired from writing, or weary for inspiration
His dedications to love
intended for motivation for us
He was the first poet
blessing lines unmarked by time

8/30

It's at that point now
when the reality of loneliness sets upon me
an aura of solitude dominates me
and i never asked anything from you
i'm far from spoiled
and the necessity of love is not far from expectation
still
just as sane as my eyes lead hundreds to believe
i revert back to a desolate dominion
and you promised me poems
it wasn't a contractual agreement
but more of a requisite responsibility
you promised me poems and gave me excuses
told me poetry was useless
now i sit and wonder

7/30

-headache is killing-

I'm tired
I crave sleep just as my eyelids desire to contact
but what disturbs my sleep is softer than slight touches
sensitivity due to luminosity keeps my activity on a regulated stillness
I suffer from no illness
just a headache
like an earthquake occurs from my heartbeat
then i hardly want to talk
I barely want to see, everything begins to effect me
quiet comedies like
the Cosbys can't calm me
maybe in dawn it'd be gone you see
hopefully
but hope can be
faint because
this aint no game
my head has no shame and it will maintain its current condition

Pillows feel as if they are stuffed with rolls of socks
i can't stop moving my head
i toss and turn in my bed and instead of subduing to a submitted sleep
I creep up to my computer and begin to use her
to complain about my head
which feels as if its expanding from the inside
and contracting from the outside
yet it hurts on all sides

Go away!
Leave me be, this is no condition for a writer you see
I can't call on my thoughts with a throb
I can't turn down the pain with a knob so internally I sob
as my inspiration becomes robbed and my motivation feels more like a job than a liberated feeling
I'm on the floor kneeling, looking toward the ceiling with my hands clasped
"Please oh please dissipate this destruction" I asked
still it persists
it never goes away
not with a wish
or a prayer
an advil
or a bayer
not with water
nor lack of fun
hiding from sun
or solitude from sound
It disappears without thought and dissolves with time
so I wait
then maybe later I'll be fine