Your kisses feel like wet cotton.
Your embrace is energizing like hot coffee.
I notice you have this glaze in your eye that could make a donut jealous…
Each moment is memorizing, like a dream that’s never ending.
Existing in this space together; such closeness can be invigorating.
Who knew we could time travel?
Behold the future.
Who knew there could be privacy in honesty?
Trusting you with the a version of myself I have yet to accept.
Who knew beauty could exist in such awkwardness?
Giving me the chance to feel special through the blues.
Talking all that jazz, whispering sweet nothings..
smooth like a 90s R&B single.
They don’t know…
You make me wanna..
Love a little bit harder, hold on tight, so we can get stronger
In the face of right and wrong
Everything is everything, but nothing even matters.
Disown the mis-education of unconditional love.
Stopping is the hardest to start, and starting is the hardest to stop.
Told my family I was going to make it to the top, like building blocks.
Then knock yours down, ’cause I don’t like sharing spots.
Put the spotlight on me,
I may reveal something you forgot.
BET I rip mics, and you run away.
Why do you get so high, only to still be-low me?
This Square humiliated you.
Now your living under a rock,
Patrick Star lonely.
Cold world but I’m just heating up
Bout to go HAM, like the other folk you’re just left over bologna.
Beggin’ Oscar for a wiener.
Feeling like the realest out, except for my twin,
He is a mirroring image of me.
I look in his eyes and see mine.
Your reflection is transparent, its apparent your soul is never present
Like drop outs.
You pretend and I’ll educate.
You have friends, I have soul mates.
You sit around, I bus through time like tour dates.
I’m sure you’d hate for to me to succeed,
I wont be greedy tho.
I sell you a dream for a dollar,
Then wake you up, like I’m one of Krueger’s kin.
Too dope for crack, and too ill for common colds.
Meaning if Common was as sick as me, maybe he’d still love H.E.R,
Instead of H.E.R lusting some these other foes!
Placing my heart in his hands, he embrace it.
Trying to describe falling in love with him, is like describing colors to the blind.
My heart has finally realized what my head has known all this time..
He Loves Me.
He looks into me, my eyes feeding his ego..
I catch myself being so deep,
that I can see the reflection of my smile taking the shape of his soul.
He Loves Me.
This is how I express my love to you —
Descriptions of him taken by every pleasurable adjective
I can try to further elaborate my feelings…
But I begin to make up words..
He heals me.
I fell so hard into this hole we’ve dug, that we know we can never stop falling.
It’s not just one thing, or somethings, its everything.
He is my everything, a gifted by his presence everyday?
He kisses me, I inhale his seconds of breath.
I sink into his mouth
He ingests my every reflex,
Dreams have become a tease, cravings and wishes of you here,
have been replaced with the warmth and realness of your skin.
Love is an endless battle, he fights for me.
I’ve fallen for all that which my warrior defends.
His love for me,
I cant sleep, if I do I dream about you…and when I dream, I cant sleep…
Its too hard to be without you..
I whisper in your ear the depths ecstasy, I long for you to see.
I wish I could lay my head on your chest, allowing you to be all I need…
He holds me.
In the still of the night.
I am restless.
He places me on top of him, and I fall asleep
to the rhythm of his heartbeats.
Even a thousand miles away,
He loves me.
Even with a heart of gold is my talk still cheap?
Music isn’t soothing to me.
This page is comforting my spirit, but my body is still lonely,
I miss you…
My pen strokes illustrate your energy.
I begin to float towards him.
Hijacking the wings of hopes and prayers to get to you, any way I can.
If I make my wish, will you still grant it?
The shooting star heading exactly in the direction I want…
But I’m taking my time with him…
Everything about him makes me want to exceed all boundaries.
Surpassing our present reality;
Moving mountains, Throwing rain…
His body as my promise land,
His heart as my home.
I LOVE HIM.
Dear Lost Children,
I am writing you this letter, asking you to take my hand. I would like us to take a trip to see this countries past. I am writing you this letter letting you know not to be scared, because I am here to prepare you. I know you yearn for knowledge and guidance, but they’re hiding and burning the books in which some truths are kept (in order to sustain this well lit Hell). I know you are starving, but please child, do not kneel to the Golden Arches of the Burger Kings. I know you want to play, but please don’t roam these streets following the blind, and unattended.
You may ask, “who am I?” or “who are you?“; I am the Present and you are the Future. You see — I am writing you this letter as a gift, so TURN OFF THE TELEVISION and READ. I know you’re young, therefore you need to understand they are killing Our Mother, Our Sisters, and Our Brothers! But this Nation was founded on lies and corruption, so you have every right to blame our Fore Fathers.
Lost Children you may not be concerned because they’ve put you in a box, and marked the target with an “X“, but Ive come to help heal you. They are trying to strip you of everything. I hand-down to you any and everything I have to ensure your Knowledge and Safety.
PLEASE PAY ATTENTION! I know it’s hard because your young, don’t let them trick you into thinking you have some disorder, they are just scared at the fact that I’m lining you up like soldiers and preparing for you the take over. I can BET my life and guarantee that these next couple of 16 years wont be so sweet. You’re absorbing all this like a sponge, but I refuse to let them dumb you down like Patrick.
TURN OFF THE RADIO! Don’t repeat those demeaning words, I know its hard because the tune is catchy, but my generation is the victim to the venom , and are now they have become lost generals. Listen to me, you Lost Children are our not so distant futures last chance at hope. But you don’t need the whips and chains, to see that this countries is trying make your life worth less rather than change. Be the change, and the sense, you are worth everything I’ve wrote.
Do not eat the shit they feed you, because it’ll only stunt your growth and widen the chances of you being incapable, but NEVER GIVE UP! And if I am not present, and they so happen to knock you down its okay. Just GET UP, do not stand by and allow them to keep thinking they’re stronger. PUT THAT HAPPY MEAL DOWN!
Lost Children, I know it hurts, but I’m trying to ease the pain and heal you, because these battle scars leave marks embedded in you physically and mentally. I am sorry my children, but war has been declared. I’ll just end this first letter asking you to join me on the next journey, our brother and sister countries, and prepare to save them too….
Reminding you to DROP THE REMOTE & PICK UP BOOKS.
I will be here to help guide you…
–Leighrick, The Present
Too many mics and not enough MCs
These rappers are still babies to this game all they spit is gaga..shit driving me crazy
How many carrots will it take you see, guess them diamonds really blindin and the cats got more than they tongue,
cause those grills got they mouth on freeze…and these lames still swagg biting.
Still Evil wearing true religion, constantly being fake like any implant on Nicki.
My words boom like echos in a tunnel you can’t help but hear my message more than once
I Do Right And Kill Everything I can’t help that my Young Moneys growing up.
Fuck Pink Dollaz I’m trynna turn the whole world back green and blue.
I write fire so flame is after my stage name like Wocka,
And record labels still handing out deals like candy..Willy Wonka
But this paper is my factory, and these beats are my workers, no machinery I don’t fuck with auto-tune,
just stay tuned into what I’m providing you to read, knowledge is automatic
Be ready to get real
Like the I in Will I can’t help but maintain being ill.
Because I’m sick of this so called music, and allergic to their wanna be attempts at lyrics
These rappers are all my children, they’re so full or drama my words making em young n restless
These lames are driving me Ludacris, I had to stand up for what I believe in.
Got them thinking I’m crazy, this exactly why I need a doctor producing a beat behind this.
All these artist so dry now, I’m parched.
I need some juice man, where OJ?
And since all they worried about are groupies
These rappers needs some fits man, where the Gucci at?
I wanna bring up the underground not that Illuminati, I’m not a mason just amazing.
I ball, these New Boyz can’t play my position,
Ima Cool Kid bruh, the Pacific’s not they’re Division.
I know writing like this can be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare ..
You can get real and join the circle or you can just stay a square.
Either way get real…cause every line is a step closer to my dreams.
I look left, everyone says I wasn’t right.
I look right, and it seems like there’s nothing left.
I look ahead, the clocks telling me I’m running behind time.
Instead — I looked up this time, and that’s when the light shinned down on me.
Often I want to drop to my knees, and bow my head, but gravity won’t let me know defeat.
If this is my brain on drugs.
Killah California is the place to be.
Serve em up something street.
Take ’em underground
In awe holding your breath,
Racing your thoughts to your heart–
All while your body is trying to adjust to resurfacing.
They would never believe.
That these groups of misfits, outkasts, and nerds turned out to be so superb.
That we’re the ones igniting the flames in the core of the earth.
I wonder sometimes, are they really surprised?
Could the ice from the 2 chains really be that bright?
Those fans mustn’t really be too bright.
Wouldn’t have enough light if the sun son’d you, and
I amplified enlightenment through a projector and a mic.
I wish the government would kidnap Waka Flocka, and take him
to sesame street to spend the night.
Gucci down to my juice mane,
That’s that shit I don’t write.
Tho I don’t condone violence
The guns in the beat and my lyrics might.
Old Nigga, Young Money
Skinny Jeans, Thug Life!
Riding through the city bumping Nicki,
I hate my life!
I was seeking Romans Vengeance.
I must’ve lost it somewhere with the other barbies and bubbles, while I was doing dishes.
To make it simple,
This is what my wish is.
Please make another genre for these characters, so
Hip-Hop can stop being disrespected.
The Gifted Neglected,