Category: Pieces of Poetry

I find this to be pretty Self-Explanatory. These are pieces that do not fall under a specific category..

Hempathy : Staring Through Vanity.

Posted in Dapper Suits, Free Writes, Initations, Life, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I collaborated with my twin, Samuel, and we’ve created “Hempathy”. This piece branching from a simple conversation. “Is a secret truly a secret, if everyone knows it, but no one talks about it?“

Shit, all i feel is hempathy, that’s hemp therapy simply

I’m a smoke till I see God and ask him why I feel this way mentally

Signed, yours truly, sincerely hoping that my best wishes are not just farewells to sanity

While I blow Kush smoke in mirrors subconsciously embracing vanity, and talking to myself–

 

A controlled free spirit trying to think of a purpose, is it worth it?

My heart wants to jump out my chest just so I can put this work in

I start feeling like, “damn do I deserve this?”

Whether I weather the storm, this forecast is my own, this black cloud is only following me

When it rains my cup is filled — half full, tho inside I feel so empty

Success is so tempting!

The weight of the world is on my shoulders and all I feel is sympathy.

Visions of visionaries screaming knowledge from the cemeteries.

In the moment I was being birthed I felt God’s whispers as he spoke to me.

The smoke clears. There’s no longer clarity.

Sitting at the vanity 2 hazed eyes, and the 3rd one so vivid that it scares me.

 

Cry for help like a newborn left in a bin, or for some brotha without a motha heading straight for the pen,

I cleaned my slate with those tears and headed straight for my pen,

Then walked up to the fountain of youth and threw a couple of pennies in, like, here’s my two cents–

That should pay what you’re worth, delusions of immortality,

I’ve been ready for death since birth,

Realize your lies mean nothing, they say the meek shall inherit the earth.

 

Knowledge is power, except it feels more like a curse.

I hand out flowers today because I witnessed tomorrow riding in a hearse.

The gangsta’s spray their semis while the kids run for cover.

Sirens are my alarm clock, while I hide under my covers.

A world unprepared for the voices they’ve silenced by fear.

Not me, I am no longer scared.

I have been scarred interacting with the living dead.

Conniving like con-artist, without guidance I walk amongst the blind.

Pick pocketing every thought.

They don’t get me, but at least they aint got me!

They tried snatching my spirit from me out my cradle just to place me in a tomb.

The killers perish with their intentions, but the believers never die from their wounds.

Imagine spending your whole life trying not to cry.

Misery loves company and the world is its companion.

Birthing monstrosities that  label themselves as super human beings.

Assassins assassinating, I chose to replace them.

If I were to murder one person, it would be –ME!

Because there is one thing I yearn for most is my body to rest and my soul to be FREE

Only then will the mind solider be at ease.

 

–Leighrick & Samuel

Image

The Declaration of Inception

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They know I’ll never give up,

instead they’re coming for my dreams.

Dream Killers on the hunt for me.

I stay fighting,

while your thinking it’s amusing I don’t sleep.

Insomnia’s no hobby.

I’m praying asking to be looked over,

it happens some days, but honestly

some days being grateful slips to the back mind.

Along with other thoughts, I care not to bring to the light.

I’ve only experienced 20 years of being Human,

but that’s easily forgotten, many have been given much less time to comprehend.

Who knows, they could’ve had bigger dreams than mine before permanently being laid to rest.

Either way I’m learning by living.

Their Hate,

Serenading my ambition.

Sending bombs to no mans lands,

A part of my mind that shouldn’t have be penetrated.

With an annex to my heart, and a well to the pit of my soul.

I stand guard at the pinnacle.

Pens cocked like assault riffles, verbal grenades, bazooka mics, and adjectives shaped like pocket knives.

Leighrick, Poetic Renegade.

I am protecting my aspirations,

acquiring strength through the trails & tribulations.

Cant close my eyes, but

at the same time

I’m trying to secure my visions.

Its already challenging to handle the taunts of temptation.

Mirages of freedom, a depleted cold world,

The sun keeps my heart warm, and I’m not thirsty yet.

I’m just trying to [be]Live my dreams, but

if they’re on a steady hunt to shoot em down —

then….shit,

I gotta make My Dreams, My Reality.

 

–Leighrick 

The Easy Way is Hard

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If I could write you a poem to make you fall in in love, I wouldn’t because thats the easy way out.

There isn’t a problem getting you to give in to my words, but there’s no guaranteed way out.

If I could write you a poem to make you want to marry my every thought, I wouldn’t. Id rather you pay a penny for my 2-sense like everyone else.

Re-establish my sadness to being mad, reminding me why I deserve to be happy.

If I could write you a song to make you tolerate my attitude, I’d be mad at you.

I’m not suppose to be the only one arguing, a relationship is built for two, and your silence is the anchor holding us down.

 And

If I could write you a poem to make you into the man I want to love, I wouldn’t because then…

Then it would be no fun finding each other.

 -Leighrick

Just the Pieces

Posted in Dapper Suits, Free Writes, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Thoughtful BlurbsTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Drowning out city sorrows with Hip-Hop Blues.

Death comes in 3s,

My regrets come in 2s,

You only get 1 life to live, so

Which one should I choose?

Tapping my feet to the beat,

Bass bruising my drums.

I wish I remembered when this city was dust.

Sand storms instead of smog infiltrated clouds.

This city has my heart,

My roots intertwining with those of the trees.

I see my city; thinking I cannot look past the trash,

Atlas, I see the Art and its production of people.

 I sit back and part the pages in my Notebook.

Jotting down lines that paves ways into memory lanes,

I am consuming pens.

Down to my last two,

Thankfully I’m spared a pencil.

As if living isn’t enough,

Living it to the limit is too much.

If I could sing, I’d write a song

Unfortunately I cant.

All I have are these poems.

Pulling my own weight.

At the same time reaching for the stars,

Living in a World,

Where the leaders are manufacturing sugar-coated lies.

While we’re consuming them, free of charge.

Wondering why our blood cant make it all the way to our hearts.

I have ink in my veins, eyes full of pride.

A heart full of love, soulful cries.

I feel this pain in my chest, in the smokiest skies.

A conscience ahead of the naive,

Who are stuck in lies of the past.

That when they arrive to the present,

Surprise!

My smile is mischievous they tell me.

Only because I know what you don’t see, and see what you disregard.

The sky is soon to be falling, and the ground is now breaking.

Welcome Lost Angelinos,

To the Hell as we know it Home.

We’ve dropped from the Heavens in search of Grape vines.

Instead found bittersweet Cactus’, and the strength in Palm Trees.

Babies Crying.

Men Dying.

Women Trying.

STRIVING.

Constantly admiring the homeless.

While everyone’s stuck in their box,

They keep going.

I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard to live, and be ready to die.

Most times when I walk past them

I tend to swallow my pride.

When I need to ask for a of couple dollars,

Shit, I get mad, Im about ready to cry.

When I see them, if I can I give em mine.

Many are abandoned by Love and by Mind.

Lost the fight to drugs, or did the time for the Crime.

Who am I?

Who are You?

Who could we be together?

These thoughts are just the pieces that made this poem come together.

-Leighrick

Melancholy Lullaby

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Days like these are usually harder than others. I sit and think, what man could I possibly allow myself love more than my father and my brothers?

When the walls stop listening and the paper begins to thin. Pens dry like wells – I continue throwing coins in. Always sinking to the bottom, in relation to my feelings.

Tho my foundation has been shaken, I remain standing on both feet.

Days like these I remember smiles were to keep from sobbing. When the loudness of my laugh echoed and filled the emptiness within. When I picked up the good book, and threatened to test the 7 deadliest sins.

I felt the most suspense. How could one live a unpredictable life knowing what’s coming next? How must it be handled?

I disguised myself and walked blind into a world full of misjudgements. With the thoughts of where I should be. What I could’ve done; what would I give it all up for? Maybe some selfish loving….

Seeking love near and far, but up close is where it’s absent. Filling hollowness with questions. Is my acting so good that you feel like your words mean nothing?

To me this is far beyond explanation. The smile on my face and the frown in my heart are not adjacent.

Who can replace the feeling of replacement? Wouldn’t that be replacing you and I with something unfamiliar?

As an artist we want to be heard, and since I was in 3rd grade, Ive been curious as to why Van Gough cut off his ear. Was it fear? If so – I can relate to that.

My blood boils on the contrary my breathes are flat. I have a plateau of dreams, but I keep taking steps back. Life is all about risks they say, but I’m bored of this game.

I’m aiming at the moon, since I cannot seem to catch the shooting stars. If I had a wish, for one night I’d like to silence these thoughts.

to be continued..

-Leighrick

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

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      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