thought i’d seen it all
haven’t seen anything until i saw you
you broke all the rules
if there ever were
just loose guidelines
story of my life
loose and never rooted for the hurricane
Tag: Blog
traveling lover;
everyone is supposed to leave
i know that
nothing more than a walking gas station,
a luggage and a few parking tickets-
and they’ll be on their way
getaway
i can’t stop the shaking,
the feeling of giving up
dropping everything
& start anew.
somewhere where no one knows
anything, where i can build,
somewhere quiet,
it won’t stop the shaking
it’ll be back the next day
maybe a month from now
but that time
sounds perfect
surrounding fear
hear the voices climbing in
through the door under the pile of books
only you know where that door is;
you love to take control
drive around the block a few times
be spiteful as you give the keys back
& back out the trap door,
i worry the day you never
turn the controls back
gingerbread house;
is that even poetry
just a quote to me
using my art for clickbait
my art
when did i become king of this shit
this little piece is for me
changin’ this title just for me
for you, this is a plead
challenge don’t please
leave a trail to follow
not a map,
blood adjacent
these are fine
this place right here
found it on a whim
i call it a win
i call it home
doesn’t matta where you from
you my brotha for life
this one and the next
your wife will be my sista
your husband will be my brotha
this bond is my treasure
this place right here
found it on a whim
i call it a win
i call it home
waved sunday
i think about you when the walls are drawn up
everything colored inside
except us
i think about your love
on sunday morning
in a hoodie and sweats ready for a marathon
i think about tomorrow
the what if and what not
as long as the what if is you
off course
everything is diluted
run through a steel strainer
run dry
pillow talk is the only talk
ran it’s course
off roadin’
scrapyard
you changed a lot-
all for the better
just not sure who’s
all in an attempt to be better
just not sure,
better than who,
i hope you sit down a write this out
before all that is left
is a scrapyard
of mixed dreams
false identities
wrapped in a fleece blanket,
each step was good
it was your own;
all i remember is the cold
i can feel the cold
taking over
like an ice age
over summer
Saint's Muse 