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Street poetry is defined as:

Is a form of urban poetry which is characterized by its use of slang and/or use of language that is traditionally used by oppressed people or small groups;

Extracted from Urban dictionary





Monday, June 27, 2011

Damn

The night moves past across our heads, waiting for the day we dread, the one we forgot to prepare, babylon, they say, "he say she say" is far too played out, I gotta run away, to a place where the known can't reach me, can't hear you infront of me, is it my ears or the fact that you are a puppet, repeating and taking orders, not leading but following, not learning but only repeating, like a parrot stuck in a cage, only repeating what his master says, watching a movie from the outside never really critically thinking and analyzing the lies the push to you, but it is all good, materialism is the dirt the credit card is the shovel, the more you spend the deeper you dig, till one day you realize that you've been living in the hole, nice and cold, the night is covered by a blanket, we can't even see the stars, days go by but we still stay strong cos we have materialism at our side, we have smartphones, but we can't tell the time, we have food, but we stay starving, we have degrees but we still slaves on our bended knees, college is a debt cesspool, a trunk full of lies, corporate alibis, the sensation of consumerism is an illusion, like a prism reflecting light, I write to ignite the spark from their cold wet eyes, hopefully I can spread awareness.

Random

I meditate to tear the fabric that is clouding my eyes,
like a veil Ive come to unveil, sort of like a hijab over my head,
following vices that only lead me to more suffering,
when will I finally see and grow,

standing in a farm over the seeds ive grown, watching them grow I spot a dying one, i questioned its existence, so I pause and crouch down, I look up to the heavens with a frown, the seed is dead while the others flourish, why is death to one seed painful, while the garden grows I grow ill, traumatized by the one seed, so I focus, I question, I toil and search for libraries for the lesson, while I look for the answer, the garden grows weary, the leaves start deteriorating, eventually they fall like the seasons, but I don't bother and still concentrate on the seedling, months pass and I let go, the weak seed grows, ready to be planted the garden looks barren, I've carried too little eggs in one basket,

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Why do you continue with this, can't you just leave this, like the make up on the dresser, last night could've never been sweeter, but Im in tuned with my conscious now, no more wine in my system now, I puff and blow the smoke through my nose, as you put on your clothes, demeanor has me froze, showing me the cold elbow, just pay attention to your feelings now, yes last night was great, inside the ego inflates, blows up every situation, discussing this will only bring precipitation, and I don't want to get wet, so lets just forget, make up stains on the pillow sheets, moving and gliding, hips are quite inspiring, like an automatic gun firing, the animal in me burning of the desiring, moving close, you must find it weird that my beard grazing your inner ear, have no fear, just stay near, and be clear that we are not a couple, we know we just want it for the rumble, the tangle, while we tango, our eyes speak of such lust that after the sex, it just feels like disgust, like old pipes the rust scales, and once we are done with the games, we both part our separate ways, just to reunite the next day, lay together we spray, infectious love and lust mixed in one cocktail, but we sail to the distant waters, not caring about tomorrow, just staring at my ceiling now
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