Mirror Me

Mirror me!

O believe that you've been ripped from the rib that was part of me
your next breath is mine as I inhale, so,
your lungs fills with life....
I plan to never exhale.

My eyes are embers, that burn for you.
Your eyes are, ebon-asiatic bold enough, never to disconnect
the resolute of your stare silently reassures,
That we are tested to withstand eternity in your gaze.     
So get up.

Oh Mirror, mirror me!

With change, this win came from within

The wind sang a new tune of a hero
From a rising sun,
the son of Cesars and Pharaohs.

A man with such a pride
The last lion. King.
No matter what defects, faces him
He proclaims! "He is him" and him is me 
I can't let obstacles and instability deface, defile, nor ridicule me
Its ironic my ego by default has been built as big as me

(the sun)

Have a daughter her name, Sierra Leonis

Oh stained mirror, mirror me!  

Soaked in espionage

Each word a blood drenched bullet.
Random stanzas are my magazine clip and I empty it
Tagets aquired,

to take down the states of man,
Now I'm realizing which mirages are mere realities
living outside the margins of reality.
To be in a run for presidency of the free word
we coined the term Artistry,

but vote for ourselves,

cause we honestly don't give two fingers about democracry. 

My minds stays busy the term "idle hands"
holds no prevalence because a pen is always to hold...

as:
My mistress - when I tell it to bend it does my will for me.

 

 

Oh Cracked Mirror, Mirror me!
Remember I used to be 3/5 of a man in an unusual land

now superman
and that's superior to man, but why not woman?

which is no good.
That ideology ingraved in us

metaphysically though the hierarchies:

The robe wearers and chain bearers

Modern history named them slave traders;
But when I know I can no longer leap over skyscrapers with a single bound...
Louis Lane would be there to hold me down
that's why I may be king by blood
..but she's my golden crown
Queen.


Oh Transparent mirror, mirror me!

I may be reckless

in saying I'm the best,
but look at who is...
Currently well rehearsed in verse
Only competition is, who was
And Shakespeare, move over
Be cautious for my lyric
Let your spirit become the rhythm
To the hymn
I sing in praise to God.
Godly these words are
Like oil slick
The Black to that Gold
Shakespeare wrote great plays that was only play
Socrates now can't touch me
Aristotle and every apostle
My apologies John Donne, I'm the new Don Juan
 Hammarabi's code, decoded and
Rosetta stone would be chiselled has my grave stone
 last line reads:
 Here lies true diction, satricial fiction, may he rest with the rest of the abstract living
I wish this to be existent, as non-fiction

Oh Mirror, mirror me.
It's been so long since my
reflection shone so.

UP ( Uncensored Poetry)

When I write I try to be on my best behavior

I can literally talk about anything and give it flavor

However,

by public demand, sensory and limitation are what build annotation

And tell us write according to who's who savior.

Well I'm to go into labor

Give birth

To something that act as a disclaimer

tales about the government, love, and religion,

Sexual preference, disease, and drugs, I can scribe scrolls about addictions.

Speaking publicly, being hetero sounds just as homo so I guess that why they created metro as to say in the middle. Medii to you!

 We're all anal-sexual, once in a lifetime attracted to some type of asshole

Just taking the literal, and giving the abstract point of views

Obviously these are made up as life goes because everyone knows...

God, just started to disrespect gays, Jews, rap, sex before marriage along with everything else
The church decrees don't agree with.

Thank you Fathers. Priests. Gods.
 

...

By the way every religion is Catholic to me

Christians, Jehovah's, Islamics Hindustan, and the hundred others all have the same faith I do.

Hard work gets you places and in the grand scheme.

But still, do as the Catholic do.

Artist are dangerous

The public glorify you

Your views

Your crafts

And that spreads what you do
while you humiliate and debase everything,

but Love...
but Admiration...
And Color.

To much shots are fired

The aim is directed at me 

I'd close my eyes and fire back blindly
probably not hitting a thing.
 We artist, disregard the wright,
protest feeling.