Healing Is Art

All these writers are

over here typing memes

And I’m just like, Heyyy

here’s my black and white

words, they scream

Without a fancy picture

My words are an elixir

to the broken as they heal

I really like your meme though

No doubt I’ma save that

in my side dash folder

‘Cause you never know when

I’ll like to read it again

And perhaps one day

I’ll coordinate an epic

piece of artistic wake

in tune with all the senses,

colors, vibes and dictates

Your meme I admire, it’s great

Has ability to co-thought

and enjoy to co-create

Healing is Art,

our Wake


Eyes Are Going To Light Up Clever

Poets are this clever
Does it surprise you?
Oh no it doesn’t…
Who is she who builds
life purpose out of pain
Recycled for the gain
of insanity, whole
Who is that girl
who no longer knew
comfort and friends?
So fully frustrated
So f*^$*ng broke
Who left sane
Returning to
one’s inner wisdom
Prompting that
love called The


A Prophet’s Wake

Inwrapped in the emotions, entrapped in the covers. My dreams are meant for me to send you the information. Wild ink, set strength. A global assistant of high rank. An everyday recipient where sentiment meets sentence. Literature response was my dream. Beautiful conception, divine perfection, genius projection, I always down play my investments. I’m in a new logic recording words, bringing a new sensitivity of latent verbs. The pain of endless pleasure rocking me to sleep. It’s hard to wake up in your old charged distant room, distressed and noble ideas keep awakening the tune. It is a sickness to be healthy, I am sicker than you. On a new level of sophistication to forewarn you. Where God resonates is my provision. I have a paper when I voice. Can you bring the tallest sermon a poet? I woke up in the destiny, sans a choice. A gateway permission of a universal voice. The way God’s got it marked out mapped to perfection, it didn’t feel like luck, it felt like fate. A writer before who still writes about it, a prophet’s wake.