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I miss you only if you miss my smile
                                                 Don’t smile with me if you don’t want to Because I am not a mirror Don’t be like a bluffer who gives me a black smile
It is your style It is your smile It is the charisma It is the aroma
It amazes me how some people are able to make their bodies move,  And how they work countless hours in an empty studio to try and improve. 
Use It For ... " Your Music " ... Use It For ... " Your Verse " ... Use It To EXPRESS What Makes You HURT ... !!! Use It YES ... To Write Poems ... But DON'T ABUSE It When You Use Your Pen ... !!!
Is Poetry ... DEAD ... !?! Well NOT According To CERTAIN Heads ... !!!
Gimmicks.   Gimmicks give me kicks like treats and tricks.   Gimmicks give me name a face and  me butt a place.   Gimmicks give me eyes looks
I'm caught between a rock and a hard place Praying but searching for an answer is a race What path do I choose or which do I take Time flys by and my decision I must make Do I follow my dreams and see where it leads
Sonnets are spoken for through a story.
Like summer cockroaches they come out hot & defiant - scattering swiftly in all directions. Breaking free from decency
I’ve always liked that sense of style With the chains And the blood The gore and the bats and the spiders
Did you see the Fire dancing light likeSunbeams and ants we All are taken little by Little did we Know that everything happens For a reason you doNot remember Those icy frozen days and 
Do you or I find literature difficult to read, or write, extract a verse or two? A poem by meter, to cause a stumble upon style. Where o’ where doth the rhythm peak. An anapest followed by dactyl treat.
                                   The dark that engulfs                                                             The missing piece of my life                                                             Where I am asleep
Twas never a Sight such as this - Orange - Autismal Veils - A Royalty and Wanderer - Falls, but does it Fail? The Viceroy does but not Contend Mimic all but the Name - Subordinate Species is but
in white she was to be in in a different place   eighteen of the ninth month it was to be   white as an angel she was having papers of white   time took its time
    my soul is well, yet my mind is lost in an Identity crisis.
Of all the things my life has led to I never would have guessed it would lead to you I was inexperienced quite,
You may have it all, With your lovely eyes and bashful smile, But all of you won't matter in a while. I've given in to the greater good, And it's time to let it be understood.  
What sayeth thou o' wise confidant, You old self-Omni-potent fool; Believeth in the ways of the scholar yet thou hath cast out, All faith all reason for such frivolous worldly attires.
This world is all about oppression. It seems that's all we really care about. To slam our likes. To slam our beliefs. To slam our backgrounds.   We never seem to stop. We do it more and more.
Saluzcion's Never been the type to write my name on a ballot and cast a vote Placing my goals and aspirations on the next man's hope; nope Wasting time slow; going through procrastination,
I rather be thought a fool then open my mouth and remove all doubt; speaking on things I know nothing about or live through But the sad truth is so vague Like body ash in a cigarette ash tray, pause,
As I sit back and reclined Enjoying a cubano and glass of wine I cant help but think of the modern times; where ladies are hard to find, and all I see is dames and dymes
I'm either gonna rise above poverty or define my existence A poetic vision, encrypted with a hustler's ambition, listen dying for what a icon stands for ain't the mission
Isolation and depression Go hand-in-hand When you’re too far away from where you should stand.
I was concieved as nothing less than a miracleFrom 3-7 was too damn hysterical8-12 i was growing up, afriad to be minimalSo by 13 I became an infamous criminalFrom 14-16, i paid my does, so i thought; super imbecil 
A few years ago, I had to make a decision Remain in the hood and risk going to prison Continue to allow the evil to cloud my vision Or pick up a pen and become a musician Ever lyric, every bar, became my ammunition
It's not that I wanna screw it up, I just so happen to be good at itIt's not as if I don't wanna quit, but unfortunately for me I'm like my father another addict.
The media controls how beauty is defined, He may be a follower, or he may be left behind. I give you the test, the one that tells in time, How you may be judged, or aren't right in the mind.
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