I am not my Faults I am not my Darkness I am not my Fears I am not my Chaos I am not my downfall I am not my Failure I am not my Regrets I am not my Mistakes I am not my Wrongs I am not my storms I am not my Difficult I am not my Sins I am not my Demons I am definitely not my Past but I am "ME" and that's all I am,all I have,all is,all that will..."Me" #Poetic Genetics _Karabo R
Go ahead laugh,smirk do or say what you are going to do..i wont and cant stop you..its ok and except that im the fool..you have proved yourself out as the klown..as you thought you were cool,walking around claiming to be down..at the time you knew you bad me fooled,i already had the clue;you never or knew how to be true..but its all good cuz who am i to judge?iam able to at least except tbat i chose to be the fool..and to sit back in the crowd n enjoy the show;rather than wanting to be the ringleader and run the show..while you were in the streets claiming to be down and believing to be on the grind;im the"REAL WORLD" of reality you were doin what a ring leader does...marching around advertizing"the circus is in town"..but its ok in your own unrealistic world to believe in what you see and who you claim to be..so im willing to settle with compromise instead of regret..at least have a lil respect to turn our backs to each other and walk away and live in our own realistic world.. MATILDA MADRID
only you, my rose more beautiful everyday it will not wither
If you were a butterfly, you would fly. If you flew over the sky, you would shine. Moons and stars can be your prize, but I've surmised. I love you most when you can read my mind. But yo, It feels like mountains when we climb. A few short steps to springtime, my guy.
Rhetoric plastic, poetic, exhausted, flat, Writing financial, desperate, jotting of man, Jotting of women, writing like Hopkins' cat. Knocking, hawking, a life exhausting. Like a bat, man wishing to live robin, Honor lacking, yet adapting cotton. Promises not lacking, action falters, River flows, close your eyes, Wake up to another life.
Angels sings Remember The glory The old flame The old days Time again Daydreamer New glory A new song Angels dreams Sing glory
Feelings made up, makeshift, Ideals for tomorrow racist, She remarks foundation. He responds formation, Endlessly talks mountains, Flying fowl, howling oasis. The boy comes around, Left alone unanswered, Too late for pounding. Too late surmounting, Midnight is the hour, With a toy box full of clowns, Breath like oneself drowning, Her words are like fire, Counting her countenance, Even if she implied flowering, He runs away cowardly, trampling.
Poster of an omen, toking, Dreaming by a plastic ocean, Most fast forward, hopeful; King of post, tasks chosen, Still lives Midas, hands golden. Lapland where they dig holes, Smoke weed and dance poles, Kings of the foal, antsy, cold. The older they grow, though, He loses his power, cowers, Curses feeling, eats pantry. Banishes his people of necessity, Carelessly manages feeble himself, Paddles the plastic ocean, relieved; Departs common and flowers nothing.
Nickname earning: flight to nursing. Pursuing blind rhymes eyes dictate, Spouse filate, being bed-ridden, Fed paste, lies told too tasteless. The self irate, then ergo inflated, A burrowed snake safely slithers, Within a borough named Richard, Who lives past the poison sword, Ego position lord, nails fingerless. No one wants to die a virgin, but some are doomed to that fate. It's a cruel world, I know. Lates.