"Our Dreaming...."

....How do certain people end up in our dreams when we never casted them for the scene? Is it the Heart or the mind that's liable for this choosing? Or is it God doing all the directing? When we awake and feel like Newporting, "Smoking" when we've never been a smoker. Should we call or text them in the morning saying thank you for all the selfless pleasing? When we awake relieved of stresses that existed prior to us closing our lids on life, long before they showed up in the middle of the night, in the middle of our minds grabbing us compassionately firm by hand, demanding we jog with them, with permanently painted on smiles thru a field of pearl colored sunflowers made of long soft kisses. Do we send them sunflowers in the AM with a card that reads "Thank You For Running With Me?" I mean how does this work?

"The Opposite One...."

....The opposite one, attracted to the Attractive one. An Angel, he sees Heaven in Her smile and Pleasure in Her miles, "Her Experience." Abrasive with Her decision making, brittle feelings break easy, like confection if the bearer doesn't understand Her riddles, "She has none!!" Affection is to remain mute, "Shhhhh" until the volume on the mushy knob is called upon to be turnt up, like Southerners on a Sat night down in Bankhead high off Molly's and homemade moonshine....Yeah She's this interesting to sit down and pen, but only those who comprehend "The opposite one, attracted to the Attractive one" will comprehend .

Being You Is An Art, So Paint Honest

My First Painting

Into the glass we look, arguing with the mirror of life about who we wanna be, like parents and teens disagreeing. Some of us are just grown-ass, lazy teens with bad life-ethic, thinking we can cheat being unique by shaping our mold like the molds of others, which in the end is how we come out all ugly and warped.Trying to fool the GodCasso that we're art is an insult to the painter who created painting, and who can spot a knock off; a fake, faster than counterfeit cops tipped by a snitch. It's much more wiser to face the flaws in our own reflections than to exist in the shadow of someone else's darkness, so be you, all of you and not just a shell of you.

"Today"

I yawn and stretch my mind, so that it doesn't cramp up in the middle of a long day of thinking hard. The weather out is Loving, a forecast predicted by angels, perfect for opening all the windows wide, like a rose in full bloom. The chill of Holy flavored rain spritzed across an anointed face, God is preaching with a lisp today. Soft silk pillow cases marked by a Lover's scent makes me sniff until every inch of my soul gets a whiff. I am a hound, but a hound for her. Buttercups don't just come in those metal tins, they also come in a size ten, with a smile as bright as space lights and a laugh as Goofy as Goofy, but as cute as Minnie blushing over Mickey. In the streets her brain is as deep as Maya A.'s life, and in the sheets her brain is as deep as Karrine Super H is orally. My pet name for her ain't "Bitch", it's "Mrs You Complete Me". I kiss her forehead, like a good priest, pausing the head in bed to visit the head.

I lift the seat when I tinkle and lower it after I jingle my last jingle, so that she doesn't fall in when it's her turn to sprinkle. The mirror over the sink is calling me to take a look and see the man that I'm suppose to be. I place my palms together as one hand to begin my cleanse. I wash my face in confidence, brush my teeth with integrity and bathe my spirit in a warm bath of faith; with a sturdy foundation now laid and most of the screws in their proper place, I am a work in progress. Calling my name, I stand in the door way, silent, just staring and taking her all in. Beautiful, complex, fair and unfair. She's moody, fun and a flat out pain in the ass to be around when she's mad, but a blast when she's happy and can enjoy the laughs....She is my life, man.