Reality is Actuality

My clowdness mind can't see the
truth withing me. All of the lies I've
heard makes me hear the truth.
In reality, people have always
decieved me for my looks instead
of my mind and soul.
I sit by myself in a corner made of
stone with it forclosing on me, feeling
trapped and nobody else's.
People ask me my name and then
taunt me right afterwards without
a care in the world.
The trappness feeling starts to begin
and my world crumbles down on top
of me like a piano dropping on a
watermelon.
I wouldn't feel a thing but I would  still
be crushed.
My reality is smiling and being happy
for everything that means to me
like life.
Without my truth, I'm just a hollow shell
waiting in the dark.

Family Voices

When the speechless pastor sighed
with an eyebrow raised, I heard a deafening
tone in my ears, or so I thought, It was the
cold chiling voice of my grandmother saying
" The rose buds are always red, never blue."
Then, I heard a musical harmony in the sky,
or so I thought, it was my grandma once again
saying " The rose buds are always red, never
blue."
A clashing clap awakened my slumber, for it
was mother who kept saying " Bow your
head for silence."
My grandmother's gostly form smelled flowery,
and then, I knew where she was or going.

Animal

An animal that roars with such a majestic
melody; the white tiger.
His long hair, his riots in the jungle, and
his aromatic fragrance that smells earthy.
He is a non-pack oriented fellow with nothing
holding him back but the shattering of his
raging yelp, for which, he cannot save himself
with a magestical roar.

Sanctuary

There is a place, speechless with an
aromatic fragrant of honeysuckles and
berries.
The ground is florescent and warm like my
personality, my happy place.
I feel spoiled rotten because of the fresh
smells going up into my nose and out my
mouth with me tasting its sweet and fruity
berries plus its honeysuckles.
The place speaks to me in my heart giving
that warm feeling inside my body.
Then, I hear a little sound in my eardrums
that sound melodically.
It was a humming that I imagined in my
mind.
My happy place, my home.

Guard Life

It was a late night inside
a prison cell, with me talking to myself
while looking at the wall.
I was seeing a person, in which no one else
could see, forming while I kept ranting to
myself.
The man had tattos everywhere, his skin
dark like mine, " Who are you?"
"I'm you, as a reflective of you."
"Self, why is life so great?", thinking
to myself as if he had all the answers.
"Well me, I would have to say, that life
is a ride that keeps on going until the breaks
stop.
Every time you go forward the morelikely
 for it to stop."
A guard walked up trying to find me because
a fight broke out in the cafeteria.
I shuttered a bit, then walked to the
cafeteria with sticks in hand, ready for the
time of my life.

The Delima: Internal

My mind playse tricks on me showing them
through my receptors.
The loud riots that pop into my mind confuses
me to deep inside.
Should I do this or should I do that?
The intensity puts me into turmoil every time
I think.
I can see the flourescent lightning in my mind
through my receptive eyes, this thinking is
killing me.
What should I do?
I want to know the reprecusions in my choice
before I make my decision, but how?
The voices inside my head tell me go for it, but 
I don't.
Why?
Maybe because it is wrong, am I right?
Just quit, preasure is eating me inside and
out because I am unable to reason with the
reasonance of it being wrong.

The Delima: External

The winds made rackets and blasts of shattering;
then stopped.
I hear the whimpers of the wind going threw my ears.
Then, hush, the wind started again.
I shut the window, now the wind was finally gone
and now some sombering sleep, I felt in my mind.

My Name

My name is the explosion of the planets and
fun forming to make a see-through glass
mirrors in order to see the reflection of the
soul and mind.
This symbolic name is Robert and it suits me
well like a flower in a medow.
The name I want for my son is the same as mine,
super awesome.

Hellacious Life

Life is the epitome of hell
 in which the fire burns our immortal soul
 but we continue living,
why is it that so?
In which the fire burns our immortal soul
our passage to another world
 why is that so?
Maybe our lives are not meant to be
 our passage to another world
 but we continue living
maybe our lives are not meant to be
life is the epitome of hell.