Painted clouds

Painted clouds, powdery snow,

you know I love you.

When your love skips a meal,

my heart skips a beat.

You know, like a broken record.

A mile through this race,

you've already broken records.

You've set me up for a lot,

am deprived of certainty.

I love you.

And I think it's in the way you honestly blinked

when you looked at me.

Or the way your lips innocently touched

every time you'd smile at me.

Maybe it's the fragrance in your breathe 

whenever you spoke of my perfume.

I love you.

Not like a fat kid loves his cake, no.

Not that type of love.

I want to have you but not finish you.

Like, that silently hidden well

that oft not dries.

You are love's best kept secret.

They have loved not,

those who haven't loved you.

They have hated life 

those who have felt ill towards you.

I love you.

You've cured my ill,

you've lured me into your fill.

I'm intoxicated in your drunkedness 

of beauty, as you swim in it.

You swim in grace,

you walk in your glory.

You're everything that breathes for me, life,

you're the air I breathe.

And if you don't like them grey,

or boring white..

I'd still love you to choose,

if you'd want me green with envy for your love,
or red, the colour of fire and blood,

or just blue, your favourite colour of me.

Whichever your heart of treasures desires.

Paint me to the rhythm of 

your melodious voice,

and to the colour of

your favourite lipstick and nail polish.

Paint me your bed sheets' colour 

and roll up in me.

Find comfort in my arms

as I have in your stare.

Your gaze, your beautiful eyes.

The way you look at me,

I love it.

I love you.

And as you embark to paint,

let it symbolize my place in your life,

as I will colour your world.

Let me give you peace of mind

and a burning desire

for there's passion in your voice.

You speak to me like you own me,

I like that.

I love you.

So paint me now, paint your cloud,

whether you paint me calm, or paint me loud,

I will shower you with all you want,
just how you want it.

I'll rain my love all over you,

in the colour you so easily desire.

Paint me high up where I am,

and I will come down into your bosom.

I love you.

Painted or not,

I love you.

But human

He was but human.

Occasionally glancing at the stars 

and wishing he would get that far.

Occasionally dancing with his demons

and wishing his angels would summon.

Occasionally prancing with the cheetahs

and wishing somebody was taking pictures.

Occasionally practicing his sobriety

and wishing his drinks would stop being his priority.

Occasionally fancying the company of the great

and wishing giving back to the society would be on his plate.

Occasionally spacing his defeats

and wishing his winning would be expected any time he stood on his feet.

She was but human.

Gladly accepting that she was a blessing,

but occasionally cursing at her minute misfortunes.

Gladly accepting that she was fully in charge 

but occasionally had let others she chose to believe take the wheel.

Gladly accepting that she was not fully flawless

but occasionally stood infront of the mirror doubting her perfections.

Gladly accepting that she was born a Queen

but occasionally serving at the quarters of her insecurities.

Gladly accepting that she can make a difference

but occasionally judging people by the indifference in their differences.

Gladly accepting that she is bigger than herself

but occasionally shrinking beyond her smallest of hopes.

We are but human.

We make mistakes and that's how we learn.

We create disasters for the most part,

and that's how things run.

But there's good to every evil,

a shade to every people.

Being but human,

is a cycle tied to a gear of normative.

In your years, try to change your gears,

be phenomenal and unavailable to your fears.

Tame your spirit but let it be wild enough

to create realities from your dreams.

If my son was here tonight,

by my side, by this flickering candle's light,

as I write..

I would to him tell one thing that's right,

"Be anything, but human"
Be more than human.

Being human, is being normal,

being willing to be average,

being a stuck unstatic statistic.

We are all but human,

when we let normal define us.

Define yourself and be super-human.

For when we choose to ignore signs that push us,

be available to stressful situations that tear us,

we choose to become, but human.

Quantum

Fling a rock, down off your sling,

sing a song, a song of Kings.

For you dine with them

if you are one of them.

Row a boat, and don't wet your coat,

plow the snow, whistling a song for the winter.

For you are not born a winner,

you are not born a loser,

you are born a chooser.

Write a letter, put on your white sweater,

hum as you shower, drum through the hour.

For every time you find humor in a tumor,

humor in a painful or hard situation,

you win.

Bite a bullet, another night with your booklet.

Caress its pages, undress its edges.

For how hard it is for the great,

to tell somebody how to be great.

Clutch at a straw, drown the cool waters down your throat.

Draw the line, gnaw at the thyme with a side of lime.

For your blind obsession with trying to always be right,

is a shepherd ushering you downright to confusion.

Crack your knuckles, and belt your buckle.

Colour your purple,, and paint with maple.

For you might be hated by the broken,

because you're complete, whole and in good condition.

She was winning

From the torn pages of her diary,

was she done trying to reconstruct,

and reconnect, dots and pieces

to a puzzle of her life

she couldn't figure out.

She was done drowning in tears,

being engulfed in fears,

for the years she'd yearned

to forget,

the battles she'd learned

to forfeit,

the photos she'd burned

to protect,

herself from,

from ever going back.

"Don't renege,"

she reminded herself, quietly.

New page on her diary,

strangely, same handwriting.

The vocabulary was different

strangely, same pens and pencils.

She was fighting a different war

with the same tools.

& impressively,

she was winning.

The idea of you

Let me just start by saying, that,
the idea of you, is a light-bulb.
And that you control the switch.

When you walk into a dark room,
the idea of you lights it all up.
From the corners of the freshly painted wood ceiling,
to the corners of the well-appointed carpeted floor.
The idea of you,
lights the way before you.
The idea of you,
illuminates the gloom off your shadows.
The idea of you,
distinctly defines the shade of your paintings.
The idea of you,
precedes you, introduces you, defines you.

Why? Because the idea of you,
is bigger than you.
Bigger than you, your idea of you.

You could already be the idea of you,

but you playing.

You keep postponing, you say you're shy,

you keep delaying, you don't want to try,

you keep sleepwalking, you're afraid to fly,

you just talk about it, and all you do is cry,

because nothing's changing,

you're playing.

To understand the idea of you,

you need to understand that,

no two paths are ever the same.

You're like a path, 

with your own destination.

That journey of a thousand miles

won't walk itself...

You have the first step to make,
and it's always the hardest.
The first step doesn't have to be perfect,

you have a thousand miles ahead

to make it right.

You are like a shooting star,

you're fleeting and for a moment,

but when you wish upon it,

the wish lives forever.

The wish, understand this,

is the idea of you.

It lives forever.

Legends, people who made history,

for a fleeting second,

made a wish,

took their first step,
quit their playing and

switched their light-bulb on.

Rise to the occasion, little bird..

Spread your wings and 

fly at the altitude of the idea of you.

Dive into the depths of your being, lil' fish..

Kiss the waters around you

and swim in the idea of you.

Thank you.