What do you guys think?

so this blog I mostly post my poetry here and there,¬†I kind of want to do a little bit more on this blog. Now I’m thinking to perhaps indulge a little bit more of my personal life on here (dun dun dun!) and use this as some form of diary perhaps. Talk about certain topics I feel strongly about. Simply, bring a little more of myself to this blog, show the person behind the poetry I guess. I understand that sometimes the poetry tells a better story so I am not going to force this on my readers, just a thought.

What do you guys think? (what would you like to see more of?)

Masquerade (poem) (Stories from nowhere street – part 3)

‘You can either make yourself happy
or others, but baby your heart or pocket, cannot afford it all.’

——————————————————

As the poor paint their sheds;
royal blues and carpets of red,
for this imitation-
their backs they bled.

The judges panel,
located by the washing line-
wearing clothes scrubbed thin-
and bearing downloaded smiles.

The material masquerade,
the party where you are obligated to stay;
darling, your worth is your mask-
not in the things you say.

Happiness a lavish luxury,
all spent out on others you see,
we pander to a strangers eyes,
neglecting the vitals inside.

Stories From Nowhere Street (part 2)

‘The drugs, the routine and the circle’

Only a God can make drugs feel great-
to the kicked out kids,
man, there is nothing in my body-
that God hasn’t put in my soul.

What is the point of being squeaky clean?
To end up six feet below the earth,
tell me man, what is the difference?
In the end, we all lay in the dirt.

I’m not saying that-
doing what your not supposed to do
is the best way to live,
but for the people of nowhere street-
it is all know to get by.

The hot pursuit of the high is eternal-
the drugs never change,
just like the kids they infect,
only the date and name changes.

This is a tragedy of greatness-
it never comes to all
and for the few
not being great enough is the tragedy.

Some follow their own battle call,
some answer to a God,
but in nowhere street,
no one even tries to cry.

Stories from the nowhere street (part 1)

You study fashion,
always unbelievably cool
I don’t own a leather jacket-
guess you’d call me a fool.

I would buy you a drink in your city,
but I know you’d turn me down,
because you cannot bear to be seen-
on the cheaper side of town.

I know how to drive,
but not owning a car isn’t exactly a plus,
I would still let you take the window,
but I guess you are too good for the bus.

Your way of making me feel good,
is telling me what I could improve on,
babe I know you’re right,
’cause two of us cannot be wrong.

My friends cannot see you the way I do,
but that isn’t your fault,
yeah I know that their just jealous,
cause they don’t have what I think I got.

The path on which I stray (poem)

Let me be loose,
never to tie these knots-
an oath to myself,
not to sacrfice myself
for anyone-
I may try to be.

Not a pledge on paper,
or a bond to be paid,
but a promise to my heart-
to be who I am-
to any and no end.

When I hear that call,
I pray there be no regret
for me to whisper into the dark,
even as the coffin lid seals,
they speak of a young spark.

As my nerves come undone,
and even as I deny the gray,
there shall be plenty of colour within,
to light the path on which I stray.

Ride the carousel (poem)

You are so scarred-
and I like it,
so immune
choking on love,
like cheap perfume.
I know fragrance never
satisfied you like
the taste do.

Can we do it again,
ride the carousel-
I love the rush of colour,
deny that soft smell.

That unthinkable thing you had,
can it love you on the bathroom floor?
I will be that dopamine-
your brain cannot help but let explore.

Your shoulders struggle under that weight,
a better person you are than Atlas,
ask yourself to let yourself-
be reunited with my mattress.

Erratic (poem)

Tangled in the poisonous vines,
erratic dancing over my hand drawn lines.
Is it buried or are we due to renew?
losing sight of that beautiful view.

In love, we tend to design our own tales,
but predictions collide with innate addictions.
Debating with my shadow the worth of the light,
avoiding your sunshine because it is far too bright.

I sabotage more days to be with you,
but to take care of your previous wounds-
that is something I am not qualified to do.