We as human beings, all have a choice. we can chose to compete with the beauty and power we see in others, or we can chose to celebrate it
It’s always a pleasure making art for fellow artists. This was commissioned by a friend of the very talented MC Angel. I used symbolic representation of her values and her own lyrics to make this portrait.
Check out her spoken word poetry here:
They’re in the dark corners you pretend not to notice, and they come out to play when it’s dirty inside… or sometimes just at random…
The rats that you tried to hide, running rampant chewing up your curtains and carpets…taking your values for randsome. They grow if you feed them, they become rabid when you attack them, they only get smarter when you try to trap them.
Try to drown them in poison, that might kill you too… So what can you really do?… except make it worse…
Well, we all have rats ofcourse, and You can’t get rid of them, you just have to find a way to learn to live with yours.
The rat tamer
Feelings that had blossomed into something beautiful, thrown back into the undergrowth, like a beam of light sucked into a black hole. I couldn’t see the picture, you couldn’t play the roll… So we fought what felt right, and turned dawn back into night. We buried our emotions… a thought that has left me terrified. because I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I burried mine alive…and that is such a cruel thing to do, to anything at all…
Dear inventor of fake flowers, why?
I understand that maybe you just wanted to capture beauty and keep it forever,
but don’t you let people believe that looks will last.
Didn’t you realise that there is beauty in aging,
that there is character to the bunch with a few wilting stems?
You can’t trick me into believing that there is beauty in perfection,
see I’ve tried to reach it and failed many times.
Starved of water, we all die,
so how can pretty be pretty without the spark of alive?
See, this bunch may have been beautiful at first glance,
but I’ve had it for years now and nothings changed.
No new sprouts, no death-
No need to nurture and love for that won’t affect these fakes.
I don’t even look at them anymore.
Beautiful as they may be, they are less beautiful to me knowing that this is all that they will ever be.
please don’t ever buy me fake flowers with the hope that I will feel comforted by everlasting beauty.
Buy me ones that will die.
One’s that I will therefore cherish for every moment that they are alive,
One’s with bruised petals and wilting stems but still fragrant so that I can see that beautiful is more than meets the eye.
Dear inventor of fake flowers, why?
Poetry by the amazingly talented https://fontsize4poetry.com
Soaking, in hope; tired, from riding the tides of life’s ocean. Floating, from coast to coast with nothing to boast of; bar the treasures of truth. Navigating my thoughts through, future mist, towards something new. Blue, when I look back on ships that sailed past. Lost, for all that’s here to see is my eerie reflection, drifting. I find myself sifting through ship wrecks left behind. Diving too deep, yet somehow washed up on freedoms shoreline… Im tired, and I’m lost, but I’m doing just fine…
Memories faded from the day I swapped hills and valleys for streets and alleys. Time wasted, days played out the same way, summed up at the bottom of a rhum cup
Darkness comes and goes as it pleases. Time may heal all wounds, but I’ve been a patient patient, now I do what I must to ensure the pain eases. I find short lived moments of peace, while lost in the solitude. I’ve been struggling to force fortitude, while watching my darkest fortunes come true… I run towards yesterday, for I fear Tomorrow is just another today…
Memories faded, from the day I swapped suits and ties for peace of mind, and busy scenes for planes of green. Temporary moments of peace found their way to me, through fresh air and stunning views. Almost beautiful enough to help me forget the hell ive been through…
Bluer skies and brighter days, all to help memories fade
They came like ants swarming the school,
Guns blazing, voices raised to decibels I could only assume
My time was up.
Lined against the wall, everyday tasks now twisted
Teachers pinned against the black board
Red chalk newly scripted
Self fulfilling prophecy eyes now at the back of the head.
Some, could no longer see a head.
Another dead lesson, everyday tasks now twisted…
Mathematics, as I panicked, trying to sum up the time I existed
History lessons, my life flashed before my eyes.
Terror from fellow pupils followed the flashes across my pupils. reflecting, thinking, life is but a lesson… over the hellish harmony of scared screams still singing, I could just about make out the sounds of the school bells ringing…
Co written by: https://soromtbte.wordpress.com
The ‘hows?’ are locked down in the basement, the ‘whys?’ are trapped up in the attic.
The truth is often several stories too high, or too low, to be of any use, to us…white lies are just, easier to trust
We strive to see, our perspective rise, with our pasts disguised as now, looking for the wise with know-how
For every waking minute, we see, the ego diminishes, what we analyse… within our minds , we realize, eyes were never that precise.
As we visualize and manifest our goals, the ‘why?’ is the cause, the ‘how?’ is the reaction, governing our laws of attraction. A dispondent correspondence, that vibrates even the greatest of pagans…
In the maddening mystery, that is the architecture of our surreal reality, it is from the ‘whys?’ we derive true satisfaction, the ‘hows?’ are but beautiful distractions.
Perched in the dark, like the old owl, The whys make us wiser, the hows make us howl. We take flight into the untold night… The wise always find out how, by asking why