Your dip pen inked the blank sheet  Your hand, I couldn’t see!…   One black, wet, wavy, long beat   My sigh lent… silently…Your name   Blessed caligraphy! Not really the same,   But my soul knows you!   I saw the dip and got the notion,  and felt the satisfying motion…   A single wave in a wide ocean  Was riding quietly .

The Art of Michael Christmas

Am I wrong? For loving this strong, and not knowing how living can continue without him? Am I wrong for seing him with eyes of a child, fascinated like in a fantastic realm, taking in every bit of what he is, my deadly tease? For finding in him treasures hidden so deep, gems so brilliant, fruits so sweet like never touched nor tasted before? Am I mad if I crave for some more, and for feeling such steam? For loving me through his gaze, and the beam in his eyes? For wanting to be his pride and his rise? Is it arrogance to fight for keeping my emotions alive, dreaming of his cuddle, and the way he used to kiss my hands and my forehead, or caress my thighs? He gave me oh so little of what he hides, yet so much more than I’ve ever dared to dream; I was too shy to believe I could surf such tides. But now that he opened my eyes, I want to explore the majestic world that he kept secret for so long while waiting for his dearest to give her his all. Even though I know it can’t be me, is it wrong if I wish I was? He’s my heart and my soul. He’s the most. I wish I was black, smooth chocolate skin like dark roasted hot coffee bean, so fragrant and precious that none can be lost. Am I wrong? Does my blood not carry oxygen through my arteries anymore, just because I wasn’t meant to be what I wanna be? ….. I’ll always love him for all he is, not for the way I wish he was loving me!

  No Exceptions!¡! She’s way more than I’d ever wanted, though she’s no-one I could ever save.!. She says no more of feel’N haunted, lows & highs are centre stage as a better phase.!. She wasn’t what I was seek’N, YET, since we’ve met she’s left me freak’N..! She fills my hunger, then tells me I’m not a number.!. It’s like, she’s aroused to see me slay.!. For her I’d starve til I behave..! For her I’d starve chills I begave..! And though she always takes me higher, she could never save me from the fryer.!. It’s all her ways that I admire, living pass the edge & so close to fire.!. Piss’D all my years & what I acquire, giving glass the sledge & boast who admire.!. I’ll forever be her patient, cause I’m impatient & she’s a rush str8 to the grave.!. I’ll remember being patient, with her patients & she’s pushed gr8 through the rave.!. She never chooses me, besides she’s so clever she loses me.!. She’s never through with me, besides if I let her she oozes me.!. Each time I’d take her, she’d take me and break me with no motive.!. Then I’d date her like she forgives & lie awake, like she’s not supportive.!. She’s been my company & my attorney on this journey, when nothing gives..! She’s once tried to drown me we keep no boundaries, except to the point of where no-one lives..!  She’s had me deal with intent to floss payments, you’d question me to declare she gives.!. She’s had me deal with agents & cross’D agents, who’d question me of where she lives.!? I must be dumb..! She’s never hurt, she preys to give.!. I must be numb..! I’m always hurt, YET prays to live.!.  

Her laugh was wild,  pretty like her smile, 16 her, and 17 I our age, the day we meet, facebook world web,  she was cuban she said,  Ecaudorain, native, a punk guy, a girl 25 miles north, New York, up in Monroe, I a Brooklyn kid, living here, down below, she was different, cute, good taste in music, she was like someone I never meet. and so our story started,  2012 our date.        

A crackling lightbulb fizzlesand flickers. It sounds likea flame sizzling on a thinstring of wick attached toan explosive dynamite stick.This scratching noise slidesacross my eardrum with anelectric itch. Now that I thinkmore about it, its swirling tickresembles the scanningfrequency of a radiationinstrument; Made toread toxic waste.The screeching of thiselectronic pulsation alsoreminds me of a teacher’snails, scraping against anold green chalkboard in aclassroom without thestudent’s full attention.Strange indeed to seethese similarities fromhearing a loose wireswitch trickle a formality.

                                        THE CHEF AND THE TWELVE COLOURS         Long live the CHEF who teaches of the twelve colours..! Over his favourite green juice and pink cauliflowers..! A CHEF who’s rarely amused yet laughs for hours.!. Who said; “You won’t always be right, like January’s WHITE.!.” So like February be BLACK & stay true to the facts.!. Like his teachings are right but he swears he won’t write.!. And March never marches, just  follows the next fellow.!. Who loves that he’s YELLOW but is scared as he bellows.!. Now that April’s estranged, to its deep-love for ORANGE.!. And May becomes BURGANDY, to suupport their uncertainty..! Of June-BROWN’s John-Brown, claim’N; “We all came from the ground..! Where we all fear to fall, yet so many are bound.!.” Until July as some say; “J’ui suis desole.!.” As the scene seems less GREEN, from day to day.!. Like holiday beaches covered by bodies under the sun..! YET August remains GREY, for better or worst til his day.!. Making September as RED, as the coals that baketh the bread.!. And October truly BLUE to every word that is said.!. Hence why November refocuses the mind, like the vine link’D to PINK..! Leaving December a glittering GOLD, from the heart that touches the soul.!. As CHEF too would agree, to a slice for you & a slice for me.!. Since only half the truth’s ever told in every sold story told.!.         #SKS

He has the repertoire of a troubadour and the mind of a good hearted soldier. War isn’t always on a field in a foreign land,it can be in your own home or maybe at a neighbors. Life doesn’t need to go according to plan, as long as it is moving forward. Circumstances can get sloppy but if you are equipped with a good head on your shoulders I wouldn’t be worried. Care for the zealous amber thats glowing in you and watch it shimmer. ©  

Fom within this room he designed the perfect cocoon. A safe place where idea’s can roam without being harpooned. His precedence is cloaked by credence  which in turn, supersedes the confidence to pay  what is due. While entrenched deep in thought he surrounds himself with false presumptions about  the world he once knew. Dreams cause a ruse in the existing reality built by strangers who follow  rather than lead into a better tomorrow.    

Fom within this room he designed the perfect cocoon. A safe place where idea’s can roam without being harpooned. His precedence is cloaked by credence  which in turn, supersedes the confidence to pay  what is due. While entrenched deep in thought he surrounds himself with false presumptions about  the world he once knew. Dreams cause a ruse in the existing reality built by strangers who follow  rather than lead into a better tomorrow.    

A valiant man waits patiently for his fate. Ferocious friends hide in the form of a hand  shake. An appearance shows the outlook a mind  chooses to dress based on how it feels that day.  Some of us weren’t built to be tamed within the walls  of a society. Strange as it may seem, there is more to  life than materials or financial gain. To conquer death  is to behead the fears attached to its egregious chain. Freedom is sitting alone biting her fingers in solemn pain.