Scorned

Scrutinize my eye’s,
look upon my body,
like it’s some kind of prize…
That temptation,
which elicits such elation,
Is the straw I draw…
from your last sensation.
I am not the body,
to which you may rob me…
of my self respect,
because this temple I’ve kept,
is the closest you’ll ever be to the Godly.
Mine is the body that mimics the earth,
yours is the body in which the seed is dispersed,
I am life – not to be seen as some kind of curse,
this stigma of your aggression must now be reversed.

Original Draft

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I, the…

“R”eflected, differential of an
“I”llusion, amongst ravenous conclusions, but also a
“G”luttonous transfusion,
“H”ysterically mistaken as a
“T”reacherous revolution, while maintaining an
“E”lusive evolution, of an
“O”minous mental fusion,
“U”ndertaken by, I, the most obvious
“S”olution


Original Draft

Poetry is…

What is…
poetry,
but a rhythmic persistence,
of something magnificent.
There is no written scripture,
in which to make this pursuit simpler,
emotion is the key to unlock beauty much richer.
By simply taking a breath,
this constant pursuit to avoid death,
we create the art,
that all our hearts search without rest.
It is that beauty,
I allow…
to always rule me,
to keep in line,
these words of mine,
to give reason why the sun will always shine.

Instalies

We live so out loud,
show me your achievements
or risk being disavowed.
Take a still shot,
stay connect,
and attempt to stay relevant.
This is the philosophy of the now,
all eye’s on you,
this is not the future Orwell had found.
So surreal it seems,
strangers enjoying these highlight reels,
while at the same time
not giving a shit about your ordeals.
I don’t mean to sound bitter,
only showing what is to be considered.
Don’t be distracted by another’s “success”,
focus on yourself,
and skip to the beat of your own life’s process.

Original Draft