Untitled 3.7.2018

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Only girl in the fam, number 3 out of 4
Nice on the eyes but mean on the courts
A former cheerleader balling
Smart, the dean’s list is her home
Away from home
Though that place is gone
But not forgotten, nor legendary
Maybe scary
A year-round haunted house
Cursed, how it seemed like love wanted out
Not too long after moving in
The cracks in that fairytale weren’t her fault, truthfully
It was all the messes that man refused to clean
That left the house broken
The hollering down a hall with holes in the wall
The screams from behind a door that wouldn’t open at all
Too busy punching on mama
To be loving his own daughter
And that’s no environment for a child to focus
On just being a child
Meanwhile
Her vision was fast distorting
What she seen between her parents was ferocious
The worst example to grow with
Fast forward
She’s hand in hand with a woman
Too busy learning herself and enjoying her life
To teach anyone wondering why.

S.O.S.

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Proposition S.O.S.

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Fantasies so inappropriate
Even though I can only make them rhyme, I still hope for them
Since I’m sick of love yet lovesick
I bet my life, the antidote’s in your lips
Or
Maybe holding your hips
In a staring contest
Afraid you’ll disappear if I don’t get the win
So every time I blink I’m securing my grip
Cuz these titanic feelings are ill-fated
Didn’t hit an iceberg, but they still sank in
To the floor of my cardiac
Torn in half
Never to be in cahoots again
In this lifetime; it’s a beautiful twist
I’m hungry for relations without ruining the ship
Fill you with me just one time
While we’re tongue tied
Bruising your peach till your nectar runs dry
And the memory of me is your sunrise
On a dark day
I know I’m illin’, but I got that feeling, that’s word to Marvin Gaye
And you’re the prescription wrote for it
Your mind and your body, sans your heart
I know I can’t have your all
But I’d sure appreciate a dose of it.

S.O.S.

hey island girl. an excerpt. freestyle.

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forgive me
this is difficult
but this simple dude is digging you
and I didn’t want to miss my move
even ditched my nerves; this isn’t typical
nor is the way you make my pen move
the way your hips do
all that dancing in cursive
has my ink splashing verses
on these sheets, maybe one day on your walls
my graffiti on Banksy; these hieroglyphics
on your soul are set-in-stone intentions
from my own; my attention whispers ‘where you from?’
while vibing to the rhythm of your tongue
mind requesting it do a duet with mine
your repartee has a homeland zest I like
got a starving heart asking ‘can I get a bite’

S.O.S.