End of Discussion

Posted: October 13, 2014 in Thoughts

To the boys who are pushed over, shoved out, knocked about, shouted at by people and made to feel small and who through all of the torment still stand tall to you guys a round a applause but pause and take a moment to realize.
Bullying never stops, it only becomes less blatant.
End of Discussion.

To the girls who think they are fat, so most of you.
I’m letting you know its OK to chew on chocolate,
calories wont kill you but what will are rigged scales, magazines and lean diets.
Eating your feelings taste better, waist measurements will never measure up.
Pain is not pleasure, treasure every morsel.
Three course meal plus a second helping of dessert please.
Be at ease in your skin, beauty lies within.
End of Discussion.

To the negative thinkers, self esteem shrinkers.
Blinker wearing,
close minded who are nine to five grinded and then grated in a system that only cares about the cheese.
You are the sole owner of your dreams please achieve by any means but there is no need to be uptight and quite frankly.
The world doesn’t owe you anything.
End of Discussion.

To the self proclaimed victims,
you are insane and this will remain the same for as long as you continue to play this boring blame game.
You are responsible for your actions.
End of Discussion.

To the modern day hip hop music that people make.
Lil Wayne,
The Game,
Two Chains,
Let’s take a new course of action against rhyming verse that is absurd,
there is no satisfaction in linking the ‘n’ word to the ‘n’ word.

90’s hip hop is the best!
It could pull a trigger and put sixteen bars in Kanye West’s chest.
Before the gold digger has time,
to revive,
his rigor mortis rhymes.
His twenty four carrot corpse,
would be buried with no remorse.

Why is the only white rapper seen as Shady?
Slim picking maybe,
but ladies and gentlemen.
Please can we Run with DMC again.

New school wasn’t taught this, its lazy.
Like the rabbit that slept under the tree.
Old school is like the tortoise,
with crazy habits linked to poetry.

You see unfortunately the space between first and last place,
doesn’t even really matter.
When we have to face that all the contestants left in this race,
aren’t even real rappers.
End of Discussion.

To the poets, writers, wordsmiths, lyricists and all those gifted with the pen.
Know then when you are having one of those uninspired days, those tired days where words never seem to stick to the page remember: not everything you write will be tight, but that doesn’t mean you cant loosely sprinkle it with
cursive compassion
pencil passion.
Lyrically lead by truth in whats said,
thus increasing joy when read form the deathbeds of the heroes whose lives are our stories back bones.

Spoken word is meant to be spread,
like the butter on bread that is fed to those in need so please,
never doubt what is in your head.
Your ideas can feed hunger ears, ease fears, bring audience members to tears.
Yes certain bullies, victims, rappers and poets have been doing this for years and years but never mind them,
focus on your careers.
Write, scribble scratch, erase and embrace. You create at your own pace.
End of Discussion.

Mark My Words

Posted: October 13, 2014 in Thoughts

I have always said speak your mind but I somehow end up trading
my words for worries,
my feelings for forgiveness
my lies for I love you’s.

Even though my doubts grew I continued to make this about you,
who knew I’d forget who ‘I’ was.
Lose a vowel.
rather link consonants than
closed hearts.


dead end
where you always seem to break your vow.
an A
for how you have tested me now.

I am pass the point of failure.

I have dried out pen tips,
blunted pencil edges.
I have waited up for creative inspiration to play catch up
but lead and ink never seem to sink in as hard as reality sometimes.

The irony is…
No matter the language type,
by itself a promise might rewrite history
long after bookshelves no longer
house literature.

Yet still I wait to be paid,
even after you tell me: “Your writing has the ability to create change.”

Things I Wish I Knew By 18

Posted: June 2, 2014 in Thoughts

1. You will either end up doing something you hate or hate yourself for not following your dreams. You will call the wrong people for help. You will fall and sometimes not be in the mood to get up, and you will make excuses for this all.

2. You will set goals you never get around to because either “It’s not the right time” or ” I just want everything to be perfect.”

3. There is never a right time!
4. Everything isn’t perfect!

5. You will make promises and not keep them, you wont care. The other person will but will never say anything. You will lose friends. You will try and make new ones knowing that the word ‘try’ only justifies your failure.

6. It’s ok to fail, learn from your mistakes.

7. You will miss the good old days.

8. You will forget that you were a child once.

9. You will fall in love
10. You will fall out of love more.

11. You will miss old lovers while inside new ones. 

12. You will question everything you thought you knew for that honeymoon love, when you get divorced you will forget who you were.

13. You will lose your way, you will try and find it at the bottom of bottles … Alcohol, painkillers … It wont matter.

14. Some days breathing will become over rated.

15. You will feel stuck.

16. You will close your eyes and despise your life.
16. You will close your eyes and despise your life.
16. You will close your eyes and despise your life.

17. In the morning the sun will rise.

18. You will survive.

Truth Be Told

Posted: June 2, 2014 in Thoughts

We huddle underneath the sheets,
Cuddle each others heartbeat.
Snuggle the soles of our feet,
Our eyes meet and as I kiss her cheek I tell her:

“I have always been a fast learner, but never really any good at maths.”

It takes me 136 minutes to discover she has 62 beauty spots on her skin. I feel like a child as I play connect the dots with my crayons, purposefully pretending to miss a couple just so I can kiss them a second time.

She tells me I am like a bad habit she cannot kick, “I have unleashed her mind.” While she is still trying to figure out what makes me tick. She asks if I am romantic.

I tell her:
“Generic chocolates and flowers don’t define me.”
I am that “let’s shower together” kind of romantic.
That “Don’t you dare try and take your own clothes off” kind of romantic.
That “Let’s watch a movie you find boring so you can fall asleep in my arms” kind of romantic.
That “Read me the Twilight Saga so I can see the sparkle in your eye” kind of romantic.

I tell her I can also be cheesy. I always give before I get. I’ll spend 15 minutes kissing your neck and 8 times longer than that making sure you’re wet. I’m that “love you then hug you then rub you” kind of romantic, but I have always feared commitment.

I can barely date an idea let alone comprehend the idea of dating.

I get that from my dad. He couldn’t commit to breathing. I don’t blame him for getting mad, my long run of ADD and his short bursts of temper never used to get along.

My father and sobriety had a complicated relationship and he would often cheat with bottle necks and motel rooms, and when he eventually checked out he paid his bill with 6 bullets and a fifth of Jack. I sometime dream of pulling him back just to tell him he still owed us:
4 broken bones,
9 different homes,
2 toughen up boys,
and a loving wife.

These days I always look on the brighter side of life.

I get that from my mom.
She used to go hungry, starved herself to present us platefuls of passion. Stood in the kitchen baking apple crumble. holding herself together to serve us desert dreams. I secretly think grabbing mouthfuls of her time ruined my appetite for savouring the small things.

I tell her: “I never used to believe in god”

As a boy I used to look up at night hoping to see a shooting star just so I could wish myself away.

That when my heart eventually stopped the light at the end of my tunnel would be dragged, dropped and zipped into a body bag. That my road to heaven would be in the back of a hearse conversing with death, that my final breath would be offered to settle for a comfortable coffin. I tell her I used to believe that when I die the kingdom I seek would be 2 foot wide and 6 feet deep and that through this journey praying my eternity would not be spent lying next to a stranger I didn’t even know.

She tells me she loves me.
Her lips speak gospels I believe in.
Her hips are better than any amusement park ride.
The space in-between her thighs feels familiar, warmer than the 9 different houses I have spent 25 years of my life feeling homesick in.

She tells me: “This kind of honesty is rare.”
I compare her to a real life Disney musical. A combination of Pocahontas and Beyonce.
Graceful and elegant,
That good old fashioned 90’s kind of relevant.
Heaven sent intelligence,
a testament touch.
Fingertips so delicate I drown in the miracles of her love.

Now as a man I look up at the stars and am thankful for all that I have accomplished, but her constellations make me realise my milky way white skin still searches for a purpose. I am starting to think that in a 100 years from now when the world shrinks and everything we know has burnt out. When I am unable to shout my feelings for her across galaxies, when my voice can no longer travel space and time. When her life has passed by and her body has become dust, she can trust that even then she will remain the centre of my universe.

We huddle underneath the sheets,
Cuddle each others heartbeat.
Snuggle the soles of our feet,
I kiss her cheek and whisper:
“When our eyes meet it feels as if I am being hugged by god.”

Make-Up Your Own Mind

Posted: June 2, 2014 in Thoughts

We try and work so hard to stand in line and swipe our cards only to bring plastic home anyway.

Maybe we are born with this, maybe it’s Maybelline, or perhaps maybe through mishaps and miscarriage the marriage of our genetic make-up has gone wrong while Maybelline has adopted the idea of birthing babies into beauty salons.

Mothers getting tested trimester after trimester. Told cover to cover up while they secretly molest her with photo shopped HEAT, image cropped GLAMOUR. She reads into every paged caress, peels through pose after pose of synthetic heroes modelling views on “10 Easy Steps to Anorexia.”

They strip us bare until all that remains are vain criticisms, painkiller prescriptions and cocaine addictions. Magazine subscriptions turn fiction into fact like:
Skinny is better than fat.
Choose oil over matt.
Don’t buy this crap, wear that.

When will the concealed memories and eye-line emotions they have based our image on crack? Guys rub your eyes, realise it’s OK to cry Honey Boo Boo. Why plaster on another smile when Revlon lose lips stick like failed diets? Yet we continue to try it, hold on tight. Kiss the thought that someday someone might embrace the person hiding underneath the mascara, beneath the tols of nail polish remover and ether alcohol chemical scars, we have burnt out but refuse to see the fault in our stars.

They place crowns on beauty pageant princesses parading pretentious dresses like Gucci and Louis Vuitton. Do you really think Dolce and Gabbana wanna pull you from the front lines of this Armani army admitting it’s nothing more than clothing thin values?

They take our vision of perfection and brush all our opinions into “This Summer’s” collection where our perfect imperfections are covered by all the products Mac can make.

Take the time, don’t you dare read another line designed to dress up your fears, shoot them straight up into the atmosphere where Barbie doll infants and Kardashian delinquents sing nursery rhymes. Pretending everything is ring a ring a rosy, when we both know it’s only a matter of time until this all falls down.

Conversating Sun

Posted: March 25, 2014 in Thoughts

Her words clung to me like that Sunday hangover
after a night of tequila and second hand cigarettes.

“I swear I don’t usually do this, I’m only casual smoker.”

She utters,
her body mutters
under mine
as I trace the line
of her skin with my tongue.

She is blushing,
but we not rushing.

We stop time
to greet the sunrise
locked thighs
and vanilla pod ice cream.
She screams silently,
a sound that resonates from her solar plexus and then
lunges up her lungs,
where oxygen is in short demand due to her heavy breathing.
It tip toes towards her throat.
It’s lost steam now,
it’s merely a flicker
as it spills out her lips
in the form of a groan
when I lick her.

She feels content in this
safe zone
where nothing is
The taste of her flesh ignites a flame of my own.

She is delicious.


It’s love at first sight…
The kind you experience six times in one night.


Posted: March 25, 2014 in Thoughts

Pull the trigger
dont linger
in this air of confusion and uncertainty.
Certainly she is into you,
isnt she?

Does she realise she is twirling her hair?

I stare at her lips and wander what they would taste like next to mine.

I find myself gazing for a little to long, and just like that…
The moment is gone.

perplexed by how feelings can change.
I may have game
but this woman
holds all the high scores.

This causes an effect
inside my chest,
a beating.
Not one where winning is concerned,
not one where we see who is best
or extra lives are earned.
I understand how the ‘game’ works but my heart doesnt feel like playing anymore.
Its bored
of the society norms.

It wants to whisper
“I love you”
mere moments after meeting,
and embrace you
seconds than what you used to.
A gentle hug
that sends a clear message.
One that speaks volumes in this otherwise quiet interaction.
If only for a fraction of time,
a single breath,
you could climb out of your head.

Im not asking you to trust me but rather to trust in yourself.
Imagine what it would feel like if I was to slowly kiss your neck,
towards your earlobe,

Drop all your defenses for a one breath,
Feel my caress,
undress your doubts.

Allow your past to
fade to black
as I slide my fingertips
down your back,
then reverse the motion
to bring them

That shiver you feel is real!

As authentic as the knots in your hair,
as unique as the freckles on your skin.

So forget what they tell you.

I’m still going to respect you in the morning,
I will call you back!

I may not understand the chemiclas involved in love,
or desire
but I know one thing to be true.

I need to kiss you.