My thoughts don’t explode on the paper,
like a pen in a washing machine.
They don’t drip,
dripple,
but,
stain the page with non-sense.
My thoughts don’t flow with the current,
they sink
like rocks in the bottom of the ocean.
Giving me a reason to go look for them,
and explain.
But the ocean is too deep to swim,
too salty,
too dangerous.
So I go,
on the repeats,
because all my good thoughts,
are used thoughts
In the eyes of the beholder
because I’m said to be narotic
and to need a white helmet on my head.
My thoughts on the world are deemed useless,
because “I’m too young”,
because “I don’t see the bad in the world”
but isn’t nine years of terrible enough?
“I haven’t seen anything,”
but stress eating people alive
until nothing but anger remains,
leaving the sleepless without daylight,
and the depressed without candy.
And all my thoughts on the “good”,
have been killed my evil.
Categories:
dripple, spoken word, write, writing,
Form: Verse
(Daily) And are-you constantly in my Prayers. (Nightly) Are I am grateful for such-a-
moment we spent together, offering sweet-sweet kisses as the taste of loviness dripple
down your body layer...(after) layer....liguidfied and slowly flowing in thick layer"(ss).
"Nightly in my Rapture, is a poem of Passion & Devotion. Ask-me please...to smooth
down your body with the smell of vanilla and coconut (lotion) when I massaged your
body." Some men love full figure some like-em slim, and then there are some that will
only greet you at the neighborhood gym. My moment to capture the season too shine,
most men don't know how to treat a woman or so they (lil) boy about their desires,
and then some women are able to teach but the hour will come where no one will
reach-out and capture what is needed. *Nightly In My Rapture*
Categories:
dripple, black african american, love,
Form: Light Verse
A body of water stands before me
It mirrors all in its view
Like a glass sculptor
Echoing back to its sea
It seeing everything in its path
Changing only when daylight moves
It shows us things
We may not what to see
With all the images it proves
No place for hiding
No time for sorrow
No time left to borrow
It shifts and divides
The images ripple
With movement
And a slight
Dripple
A reminder of our inner
Self
And so we look away
From the pain
And in a gaze
To see only
A Thinner ideal
Of
Anima
Categories:
dripple, introspection, visionary, time,
Form: Free verse