Category: Dapper Suits

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The Past of My Presents Future Thoughts

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This is just a passage of my feelings that have resurrected thoughts about my own personal philosophies.

My past and my future want to get acquainted, that idea I am not too fond of. I’ve been given the present as a gift, and I want to keep it sacred. Mostly because I am not trying to feel a scar from not giving enough attention to the “now“..

When it comes to the subject of our past it seems like his-story is yelling at me pleading with me to read it; on the other hand, it as though he solely feel in love with the cover of mine. Deciding to keep it in his pocket not only for show, but whenever he feels the urge to read it.

Taunting my past I contemplate how the depleted can feel undefeated. There are days I feel like Ali without the championship belt, still I find myself floating blissfully like butterfly with the zap of a bee. I realize I am a winner everyday because I wake up breathing.  The problem isn’t seeing that continence in my future, the dilemma is I feel like my past is suffocating me!

This causing me to wake up at night; realizing my future is only a dream. In result of these thoughts I stay awake chasing aspirations. Forgetting that I cannot become complacent with the comfort of my memories.

In the avoidance of sleep I visualize sitting in the laundromat. I am being hypnotized by the washing machines, as if I am witnessing my soul on the rinse cycle. I call this flooded clarity; meaning there is too much water for my eyes to see clearly. Peculiarly the spinning cycle creates focus.

With the simplicity of complexity imagine a blind insomniac. Envision a big picture, trying to pinpoint a definition for color. Its not so much depression as it is disappointment. Basically, my heart isn’t necessarily guarded rather vigilant.

I hope that the next time I cross paths with antiquity, I’ll be holding destiny’s hand with eyes full of glee and fulfillment radiating in my smile. Once this happens my present will be introduced to my future, and only then will I introduce my future to my past. For now…I continue to transcribe my transparent impalpable ambitions.

–Leighrick

Vacancy

Posted in Initations, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Transitional PiecesTagged , , , , Leave a comment

      My brother said to me, “Sis write your heart out“. My eyes got big agreeing; I went and brought the knife out. He asked me, “What do you plan to do with that?“. Right before his eyes I pierced my flesh. Howling like a coyote when the moon is out, I keep etching away until the slit resembles the one that parts my mouth.

      In that moment I held my heart in my hands, and knew exactly how I was feeling. I grabbed a pen and switched the blood with ink. I’m going to write until the very last beat. When I can’t feel anymore and its hard to breathe.

      To that point where I need to put a period, but my conscience climbs out my mouth and resuscitates me. Write until there’s no muscle left to dot my “i’s” and cross my “t’s”. Until my spirit lift’s me up like its offering me.

      Quietly, I am screaming, “God please put your hands on me!”. I’ve let my little light shine until my soul went dim, and still these beings dont acknowledge me. They belittle my philosophy.

      Thinking at least whisper in my ear, so I can be born again and come back with the right answers. How do all these people claim to talk with you? Are you giving the silent treatment to me? Everyday my questions go unanswered. I write you letters hoping that you’ll read my pleas. I have a lot of faith, but my pride has never allowed me to get down on my knees.

      Living is getting harder every day. It seems like more trails than triumph. I ask  to at least let me die on my feet. The beats are slowing down. Have you been listening? I hope that you’re not misunderstanding me; I am okay with struggle. Mama always taught me to wash my own dishes.

      I haven’t seen too many shooting stars, but I’ve made a lot of wishes. Maybe some one was snatching coins out the pond? I feel like now thats the only logical explanation.

      Live one life? Why?! There’s millions of american idol minds I can live vicariously through. If I die tonight reincarnate me into my mind.

Night Owl Howls. The Living Dead. Zombie Life.

      I’m the only motha fucka that will come back and say, “Fuck People, Im Trynna Kill Time!”. Because it was never on my side when I was trying to get mine. Adding longevity to hate, subtracting the good times.

 I Am a Lost One. They’ve Lost One. That One Wasn’t Me.

      They’ve lost lives in war and lost souls from t.v.. Casually catch me sleeping, and that’s okay because I only dream during the day. When there’s enough illumination to guide my ways. In the dark is when people creep to destroy.

      That’s when the beating stopped, oddly I could still feel it. Now more like throbbing,  I place it back in my chest. With my hand across it like a pendant, I write a couple pieces making my self a vest. Protect your self.

      Burn these letters acting like this was never real and nothings left. Keep in mind  next time to rethink before you repeat the statement, “Yeah, I know how you feel“.

–Leighrick

Marauder

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Drift toward lust and into Love,

Aware that it isn’t the destination.

Tip-toeing behind feelings,

Displacing any confrontation.

Collecting thoughts, still

Coincidentally convenient to lose count.

This should not be quoted rather noted.

Visualize simplicity that isn’t superficial,

With no remorse in being sacrificial.

Stress has aged patience fine,

With thin borderlines of passing and capturing time.

Coin theories.

Laws of Love; along with its languages.

Lose change and be senseless, or

Quarter morale and gain riches.

Desire abandonment but resent the satisfaction of being nameless.

Lying around feeling shameless about the truth.

Lost Nomad unsure of where home is,

and unaware of how to replace it.

This has been endured before.

Explain this?

Can’t seem to put a name to it.

Wild streaming clarity.

Emotional obscurity.

Be Frank —

Ample of fish in the sea, but

Sure enough plenty are lonely.

Swim Good.

-Leighrick

Chest Piece

Posted in Pieces of Poetry, The Great CrossingTagged , , , , , Leave a comment

Heavy is the head that falls. Sharp are the words that severed it, with memories still embedded. If its one thing we have in common, death we’ll never forget. Who’s next on the chopping block? When that question’s asked, that is when all the chatter stops. People apply fear like sun block; I apply fear as motivation. I cried the river, built the bridge, and I’d be damned if I couldn’t get over it.

Failures always an option when winning is. Even Jesus wasn’t born with faithful witnesses. They can doubt me all they want, but the big picture being talk about is the one I’m painting. Others are finger painting, finger licking, sharing meals with snakes and shaking hands with misanthropes.

I’m a revolutionary whose evolutions wont be cast on reality television. Through my words I tell my visions. Through my vision I see my disposition.

Gone with the wind as my spirits gets lifted. I see they’re trying to shift their point of view in front of me. Their parents weren’t glass makers, still I see translucence. More fickle than straw, please don’t “Hey” me, that’s for horses.

Instead – Namaste, peace be with you and the all positive forces. Red carpet star wars. Battlefields; souls cemented in Hollywood floors. Who can act the realest for our entertainment?

They are tamed with brains washed. I am watching National Geographic studying my roar and picking my main. They said the end is upon us, it’s probably just a commercial break. Remember when the world ended in Y2K?

The computers did turn majority into slaves. Plastering faces on cyber books, with cyber crooks, and peeping cyber toms who created my space just to follow me, laugh when I take a tumblr or two, and then instagram my face.

I decided to take another approach and have people follow me to press my words for the exposure of truth

-Leighrick

Wings Under Tailored Suits

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I broke free from my chain last night. I was afraid I was going to be sad or upset, but I was more enthralled. I guess it was a sign to let go, wholeheartedly. There was little to no pain, and quiet honestly – there’s belief I snatched it off my neck unknowingly conscious.

It’s funny, I thought this one piece of jewelry defined me. I used to feel so naked and absent without it. Now, I feel released.

Interesting how that happens. Maybe because through these last two years, that was the only thing I had left. A constant reminder of how I remembered myself then. The happiness. —

I guess…I guess I finally felt the weight it had on my heart and held over my head. No longer chained, I am in search of a new piece. No longer one that tries to define me, but inspire me.

Ha!

Maybe that’s just it. I’ve been inspired. I’ve been drinking more water; in result, I have developed an astounding sense of clarity. There is something about water, the moons strength to keep pushing the waves and breeze of the beach. The Life living inside of these bodies of water, and the life it replenishes inside myself.

My mind no longer rattles thoughts but caresses them. My heart no longer beats me, but thumps to melodies of new endeavors. I no longer feel the need to chase after the truth, because I’ve realized the truth I was chasing after were lies.

Which ultimately brought me to the light. When I look in the mirror; no longer in my eyes do I see you – I see my smile wide and bright.

Tonight this caged bird is free. I ripped off the sleeves burden with my heart. I unveil my wings and fly! I’ll even sing!

Until some one grabs hold of me by a limb,

I Am FREE.

-Leighrick

Symphony of Cries

Posted in Parenthood, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Scrolling through any social network, watching the news, reading the many articles written about this world today often leaves me with sickness. Children, your future, my future, our future…THEIR FUTURE is being tarnished, cut short, and manipulated. It really hurt (for lack of better words) when I read about the abuse, neglect, malnutrition of children; who do not asked to be brought into this ball of atrocity we call a world. Today, I read that a 6 month old baby got shot 5 times in Chicago. My heart is  in mourning, R.I.P to Johnylah Watkins and to all the other fallen babies, children, teenagers, people around the world.

 

Symphony of Cries

Harmonize the crying children.

Turn their sobs of sorrow into

Melodies of hope and intuition.

 

Gather the chorus.

Line them up by the level desperation to be understood.

 

Conduct the songs of everlasting love and inspiration.

 

Someone call the symphony.

Tell them they’re late.

Tell them not to come.

We don’t need to add the sounds of pity, so leave the violin section out.

 

Instead

Bring out the Orchestra

Let the Saxophones, Guitars, Trumpets, and Drums beat out

the Lies & Mind control.

 

Visualize the music notes soaring into the sore hearts of the crying child inside

constantly asking, “why?”

 

The healing is remarkable, if my words fail the music of my creativity should speak.

And say to the Choir of Crying children that mistakes are inevitable.

 

This is dedicated to the children that cant understand the gospel.

 

They don’t understand who they are, or who they’re suppose to be.

 

This is dedicated to all the children who want to show themselves.

But the cities smog is too thick.

 

For these screaming children

I take off my sunglasses.

Extract the ink from my veins.

Subtract all positive vibes from my heart.

And with a lost voice, sing songs of purity and understanding.

 

For these screaming children

Id save every tear I shed in  water bottles because they are left with a thirst for knowledge.

 

For these screaming children

Id give away all my clothes, because this world was cold and they’re left outside bare.

Naked Truth.

 

For these screaming children

I will position my hands and we’ll all kneel for prayer.

 

Harmonize the crying children.

Turn the sobs of sorrow into

Melodies of love and meditation.

This music is restless yet peaceful.

 

Who is the conductor of this concert?

 

I have yet to answer this question

but if you find them…

 

Ask them to describe the difference between Hell, Earth, and Heaven.

Because us confused children, are screaming and crying, searching for the difference.

 

 -Leighrick

 

Take Me to Your Future

Posted in Illumination, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

My mind is racing. My shoulders are heavy from the burdens I carry from the past.

Memories are forever, there is no altering longevity.

Currently I find myself tip-toeing backwards while the future is whispering, “come to me“.

I have to be all I can be, except I find myself at delinquencies doorstep.

Throwing boulders through glass; unfortunately this is my dream house.

Who dared to arouse these feelings of superiority?

Mistakenly believing I control my fate, and can wooo it in to falling in love with destiny.

My days are challenged by just waking up, ironically I refuse to lay down.

Often when I think there’s nothing left to say, I tend to repeat myself.

The same message, with some different words, and a similar rhythm to a piece you may have heard.

—

Understand

You don’t have to listen to me, like my style, or quote every line;

However,

I do ask that you feel apart of what I write, because I rather not use my hands to touch you.

I’d much rather let my words set in place for the feast your will devour.

Served with sweet dreams, soulful auras , a breast sided with pieces of my heart, and a wholesome mind — all catered to you on a silver platter.

While you’re asking questions, like

“what’s that pink matter?”

“what’s the grey matter?”

Answering your questions with my curiosity.

“Why does color even exist?”

Blessings in disguise.

Would there be judgements if we weren’t aware of the color of wealth?

Would the word savage exist?

Once I was asked, “What is Power?”

I balled up my fist and raised my arm. I am Power in it’s fullest existence.

You can seek my name in a dictionary, but you would fail at discovering a definition.

No image  is worthy enough to moderately depict this.

This being the reason I create masterpieces with writing instruments.

Judgements are endlessly passed. I’m intrigued by the witnesses.

Every prosecution plead to the 5th.

In life every one makes mistakes — I’m just tired of defending it.

What is “It” ?

It is who I am, what I want, and how I plan to become accomplished .

Tho when I do,

Forgiving will be the death of me because Forgetting is despair.

-Leighrick