Mc angel

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:

Shallow tears

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Her heart breaks, not for the player and his promiscuous ways, but for the homeless lady she sees in the same spot everyday. Her heart bleeds, not for gucci bags or anything else she might wish to keep. But because she heard about families in Grenfell towers burning in their sleep. Her heart weeps not because of her flaws or insecurities, but for the mother of that little boy that was stabbed on her own high street. She’s human too. Full of her own doubts regrets and fears. But her angelic eyes would just not let her cry,  shallow tears.

 

Shadow of supremacy

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 They stand against the light to cast shadows, that make our paths dark, it’s no wonder we got lost on our way home. We once sat on gold thrones, now we beg thieves for a place in our own home…

we’ve been taught to fight their shadows, with the shade we throw, while the grave they dug for us grows and grows…Go to their schools to borrow our own ideas, the innovators become imitators, in hopes to integrate, into their hateful ways..  

 When they can’t break us, they’ll force us to bend, and blend, into the violent trends they set without regrets. They’ll pretend to be our friends, tell us they mean “no offence” …while keeping our very being misunderstood.

Until we end up in a shadow war with no end. Cast by burning crosses ,pointed hoods…and fear 

 

the mystic emotion

“the finest emotion of which we are capable is the mystic emotion. Herein lies the germ of all art and all true science. Anyone to whom this feeling is alien, who is no longer capable of wonderment, and lives in a state of fear, is a dead man. To know that what is impenetrable for us really exists, and manifests itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, whose gross forms alone are intelligible to our poor faculties – this knowledge, this feeling … that is the core of the true religious sentiment. In this sense, and in this sense alone, I rank myself among profoundly religious men.”-Albert Einstein

” yeah me too fam”- Joel chidi Sydenham

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Fake flowers 

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.

Dear lover,

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

I am 

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I am

I am

I am

I am as empty as the meaning of my opening line,

Yet as full as an avocado;

Ripe with potential to be sweet and smooth.

I don’t want to be vain,

I don’t mean to be as bold as the cock…

Of a gun,

Or to cock back my head and dictate this space,

Or dictate your pace,

But dictate my pace

And not waste…

My words, because you are going to listen to me.
even if I seem as empty as the meaning of my opening line…

Because my words are weapons, and my tongue is cocked back ready to shoot my soul at you…

I changed from a chicken into a rooster, so now I come across as cocky, when I crow at you … I just sat on my potential till it hatched.

I don’t want to be arrogant, but you are going to listen to every last word of my written rant.

Because until I find someone who can relate, at the pace I dictate

to what, I am;

Where, I am;

Who, I am;

and all. the emptyness I’ve faced.

My world and my words would have gone to waste

And I am… Just not going to let that happen.

(Co written by harmony farrell)

why she hid

she hid her face, though she was niether timid nor ashamed…

niether was she meek,  nor tame…

she felt there was a lot more to her picture than just the frame…

there was nothing to hide, but so much more to see inside…

so she hid the face she had, beacasue…

she felt she was making it easier to see the soul she was…

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Be 

Individual battles that rattle our collective mind, painfully breathtaking, left us shaking, soaked in emotion, barely coping, hoping, floating, in an ocean of negativity. We dread…

Inactivity, from A will once strong, that now seems so tender. We grow colder as sin sits on our shoulders and urges us to surrender…
Our pride,

We do our best to hide fears, we dry tears, with lies…we flee from the now, and run rings round our own eyes… Somewhere in the miserable circles we see, we’ve forgotten how, to just be…
Free.

With our feelings, and thoughts. so anxious, to spend all the time we bought, we waste what little we have left. A twisted self-theft that leaves our true selfs on the bottom shelf. And our broke hearts in dept. we seek…
Verve.

To regrow the nerve,  to learn how, to just do,  without knowing exactly how…  to just be, and appreciate the unrivaled excellence, of now.

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Beautiful Struggle

so much beauty…you would struggle to see, but be left in awe once you saw it… I watched myself profit from my plummet…

Encouraged  by contagiously courageous condemnation,  inspired by painstakingly painful perspicacity…

What gave me the audacity, to stay, to face it… I had to face it, I could never escape it, through empty glasses, or an overflowing ash tray…the storm always passes, to reveal evermore joyous days…

beautiful cliches, describe all the romantic realizations… I struggle to say…

What gave me the grace, to stay…grateful, humble…to seek not trouble, when I stumbled, to burst only the bubbles, that confined I… My life-style has been ruled by error and trail, so my eye, must Seek truth, until ONE can no longer hide behind Denial…

I changed my mind to find;

The true intentions behind ,the whimsical lies of life, the tranquil amidst the turmoil, the strength in each stumble, the air within the bubble, the relics among the rubble…all that is beautiful within, my struggle

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