I am not proud
That I stayed my hand,
She deserved my hate,
Her inaction stung,
Malevolence held captive on my tongue,
In bars unsung.

God gave good grace,
To a demon bound,
In leashes to fences of fear,
That refuse that description,

God intervened,
Kept my mind fixed,
And hands clean,
Divine tricks,
To prevent…what some would call extreme.

I am not proud,
That I remained non-kinetic,
Dignity be questioned,
Decadence be much,
I mattered not to her dressed,
In garbs of those honorable men,
But rather the cloaks of the dishonorable,
A boy not a husband.



Two hard boiled brown eggs,
Three strips of premium turkey bacon,
Half a cup of grape V8.

6 chipotle seasoned chicken tenderloins,
Salted potatoes,
Half a cup of grape V8.

The three remaining chicken tenderloins,
A sleeve of unsalted Rits crackers,
Quarter of a plate of green beans,
Half a cup of grape V8.

11:56 (Midnight)
3 bowls of delicious honey clustered fiber one cereal,
A bottle of water,
Half a cup of purple stuff.

Entirely, alone,
Happy Valentines Day.


Controversy aplenty,
Forever making tongues dry and walls sweat,
I tangle with the epitome, but I’m not quite there yet.

They lay with their jaded definition of bigotry,
I am controversy, I do not stand for normality,
I am a bigot, because I want not ears filled with tales of meaningless sex,
I am homophobic, because neither do I gay sex either,
I am racist, because black on black crime exists,
Of two boundless brown boys bowing to stereotypes,
And here’s the best one…….I’m a Christian…
Go ahead, alienate me, I know your brain wants to right now…just dying to appraise…and living to misjudge.

North Star

It’s second nature,
To vibe with those alike,
Nervous notions nulled by hexing similarities,
And a smile like the North Star in dead night.

The music in her voice heard,
Over loud crowds and words-
Musical nomenclature propels and reverbs,
Off the chapel’s halls,
Enough red hair to contradict my self confidence’s fall,
A shaky burst of laughter to show I’m enthralled.

I’m tapping my foot on the carpet floor,
Arms crossed and head wrapped in rapport-
Forged from present fantasy and something more,
I decide then to not place my hands where I no longer want them anymore.
The corruption of her white righteousness by my black hands,
Staining and-
Debasing things grand-
Clocks just strike four.

A Forth

A ton of arrogance,
I know she can’t do well without me,
Not internally.

A ton of certainty,
I’m sure she presents her image happy,
To persuade herself joyous,
And appease their wandering eyes.

A ton of ire,
I’m sure her chest burns,
From consequence of poor decision,
I’m glad.

A ton of space,
I promise she’s empty inside,
Like a beaten tin can,
That can’t accept her bruises.

A ton of insecurity,
I swear she’s still hideous,
In her eyes,
And still blind.

A ton of curiosity,
A check up on me,
Will kill the cat.

A ton of pieces,
I’m sure still forth a woman,
The rest a jest,
Presented whole.