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Competing in a grown and sexy poetry night so I wrote this let me know what you think 5 reasons on why to fuck a poet 1. Were good at it, from the refreshing for-play, to the poetic flick of my tongue I will have you cuming at the end of each stanza waiting on my deep flow as I flow deeply in to you and drink in the perfume of your feminine physics while my 9 line ballads strokes your deepest most inner thoughts and holy revelations pour fourth from your mouth 2. As poets it is our charge to stimulate the mind and awaking the soul through toe curling slams and head board knocking Alliteration, for example My name is Elijah and I will envelope every part of your body in an eternal erotic eclipse while you exalt in eclectic emaciated exhales echoing the erratic pace of our love erect esthetic emblems of our lust emulate exotic tango in every sense of the word 3.poets know the feeling of loss in extremes, we know empty we known abandoned we know cold, we stand on stage under preforming lights in the heat of your judgment just to say heart beat, to say warmth, say feel, say connection , so when you let us close, we inhale lust and fuck like this is our first and last, like we are search for our next breath in the moment of your climax, and trust me we breath and we breath often and on each exhaled breath it carries instructions on what we will do next in such a poetic way that your body then mind will cum In Cincapated time echoing one another's pleasure 4, we have we bad habit of making fucking sound like a love poem but yes, some nights the neighbors do need to know my name while you bumping and grinding on me while I love your mind gently, You will lay electric on your back panting out the few words you can remember, 5.when you fuck a poet listen not only to the harmonious chorus of your bodies or the weeknd that's most likely playing in the background but to him and you will hear the epiphanies that your heart coxes out of the deepest place of us, me and my ex had a strange habit of reciting obscure quotes of famous writers, but I still think my favorite is this; Having loved a truly beautiful woman, I can tell you When we make love you feel true and beautiful passion and for that moment you lose your fear of death, All cowardice comes from not loving or not loving well which is the same thing,

When this man wakes he prays to leave less scars on the world than that they have left him, He wishes to enter every room all brim smile shot gun cocky, carrying a heart that beats Edward holland Motown that quietly suduce the melancholy foot steps but can never quite catch the lingering bitter taste of loneliness and loss,but he is a man , he is a man because he has claimed his humanity yet he still walks with the whisper of a father that left him to learn all the things a woman never could really teach him , On Fridays when the parties ends and the night begins to wake and leave its mistresses bed i finds myself 9inchs deep in 8 reasons to take this girl I don't know so well home and paint brush red my tongue quiet and slow against her mocha kissed slops and then inscribe the most beautiful words of a forgotten language on the inside of her thigh and listen to the sagas and cries that i cokes from her lips, all while I sit sit under a poster of Hendricks with Mona Lisa like eyes that follow me where ever I go and I wander what's in a man, it wasn't always like that tho, Back Before the hormones ever became a party of chemistry back when every boy had a smile father the catch him and my innocence was not just a mask I now wear, back when I use to fall for girls filled to the brim with extremes, sunshine smiles symphonies and yet eyes always miles Davis blue, girls that hips get a taste of seasons breeze swaying to the rhythm of the trees and yet feet that step timidly on the ground as if trying to apologizing for the weight of her beauty, back then I Knew a man was the fame in which his queen leans no rest upon, attentive and loving who breaths in cincapated time as to never exhale a breaths worth of pain on her and who softens her path with the sweet words of his mouth so that with every step she moves further into there love, a man, but now we men all emotional glass skyscrapers spray painted the color of steel and nicknamed strength,we men are lost, Call me a contradiction a hopeless romantic with commitment issues, Call it rossery glass sight or nyeve of me but some nights I still wake up wondering why does the word love sound so wrong, what makes a man and where where have the true woman gone, Since When did the sound of my own breath become not enough music to keep the hater away at night, and why, can't we let go in the night that covers us without regretting the pillow talk in the morning, In the morning why must I bribe my shadow in order to convince him that I am a man worthy of following ,and somewhere between the after party and that last shot of tequila from yesterday I was reminded of you and the countless lovers sheets and the sinful secrets they now bear, and of how it was to rescue you from your own Cold War, being too little of a man and to warm of a lover to clean up the battle field i has made of you, So this is for you and all the others who believed me when I said I will be there when the rain starts to fall, this is for you and all who grew up with or without fathers all of which jumped the ship of your childhood, This is for you the quite in kid the bad, for the shy guys always overlooked, for the good guys who never win, for all of you who have bent and broken and now can only hope into a better shapes, This poem, this peice from a lost man,this small look into me, this broken apology, this feel, this heart beat, this moment of my life, is all for you

1.While the mentel sparing with obscure words makes for a refreshing change of foreplay and though his lips and mouth can devour the best parts of you His poetic tongue only makes his lies that much sweeter 2.See we poets seek extremes in our lives, our every fight and most personal moments will become material in which to dress my soul with and Baer in front of who ever will listen, 3.Beware my love for poetry is a parasite thick on my lips so that I can no longer kiss you without stealing words from your mouth, 4.This form of exposure this display of our vulnerability is our alchemy fuck therapy and group sessions, Dr. Phil has nothing on my slam session, but this will also be the reason you will stop trusting us, why talk about how I feel in an argument when I can slam about it in front of 50 jury of our peers and let them decide the verdict, 5.When a poet tells you that he loves you in any more words than three do not believe him, we use flowery vernacular and delicately placed soliloquies in order to hide our own insecurities and short comings, so when he simply says I love you he bears his greatest flaws at your feet with no semblance of deception or doubt, he is certain, 6.When he tells you of his love do not respond in kind with words, act , for a poet is seeking more than what words can offer, act and be sure of your choice, 7.When you break a poets heart prepare to be immortalized 20x over, we poets shed sonnets and limericks like tears, this is our alchemy with these tears we are able to turn the cold coal of the heart that you left with us into the gold that someone we deserve will Cherish,

I think I would love you more and hate you less if you would have just stayed left, Because ever since I have read this letter i have found myself spend half the day trying to find ways not to hate you and twice as much time hating myself, Because who could ever love a kid like me, right Who's own father cared so much for him that he would use love as a drug, Wait till I'm hooked then pull away, Cuz everyone the first hit is always free, So I grew up with a junky smile and a warm disposition, Taking every fix he'd graciously give, Gordging on his every compliment, Growing up learning how to ration his love through the winters of my "fuck ups" And now you have the audacity to write me a letter saying you don't know me, Let this be heard, It's hard for me express my self because I can't protect my self if I'm exposed, I said it is hard for me to express myself because I can't protect myself if I am exposed, So here are just 5 facts about me so that we can get better "aqanted" 1. To me The gracious beautiy of the ocean has always been simonamis with the bitter feeling of goodbyes because like a ship leaving it home shore you decided there were greater wonders in the world than me, 2. I have a talent for drawing complex cityscape and breath taking visages but I never finish any of my works.... It's surprisingly easy to walk away from something you've created, 3. Fact: I have an odd fascination with broken things...they help me feel more like i am whole, 4. I have recently found the secret to lovinging my self 4. Now I am searching for a way to forgive you, 4.hating you is one of the only things I have ever truly been good at, 4. my last memory of you was you telling me that one day i would see through my mothers lies and I would resent her....I'm still waiting 4. .......you never did finish teaching me how to count, They say we are far too often what our fathers make of us, So i would just like to take this moment thank you "Dad" if it wasn't for you this poem wouldn't exist, My heart wouldn't be broken enough to be seen as artistic, So thank you for never failing to be my inspiration, Thank you for never teaching me the skills to survive, Thank you for never showing me how be a man, Thank you for teaching me love is something to be feared, 5...My mother tells me that I was born with my eyes open and hungry for acceptance , I imagine it was quiet in that room, You holding my infant body like a prayer in your hands crying like a child silent as a storm. I am 20 now and my little brother has now grown taller than me and has long since forgotten your face, ....I wonder will you feel it the moment I decide forget yours,

When this man wakes he prays to leave less scars on the world than that they have left him, He wishes to enter every room all brim smile shot gun cocky, carrying a heart that beats Edward holland Motown that quietly suduce the melancholy foot steps but can never quite catch the lingering bitter taste of loneliness and loss,but he is a man , he is a man because he has claimed his humanity yet he still walks with the whisper of a father that left him to learn all the things a woman never could really teach him , On Fridays when the parties ends and the night begins to wake and leave its mistresses bed i finds myself 9inchs deep in 8 reasons to take this girl I don't know so well home and inscribe the most beautiful words of a forgotten language on the inside of her thigh and listen to the sagas and cries that i cokes from her lips, all while I sit sit under a poster of Hendricks with Mona Lisa like eyes that follow me where ever I go and I wander what's in a man, it wasn't always like that tho, Back Before the hormones ever became a party of chemistry back when every boy had a smile father the catch him and my innocence was not just a mask I now wear, back when I use to fall for girls filled to the brim with extremes, sunshine smiles symphonies and yet eyes always miles Davis blue, girls that hips get a taste of seasons breeze swaying to the rhythm of the trees and yet feet that step timidly on the ground as if trying to apologizing for the weight of her beauty, back then I Knew a man was the fame in which his queen leans no rest upon, attentive and loving who breaths in cincapated time as to never exhale a breaths worth of pain on her and who softens her path with the sweet words of his mouth so that with every step she moves further into there love, a man, but now we men all emotional glass skyscrapers spray painted the color of steel and nicknamed strength,we men are lost, Call me a contradiction a hopeless romantic with commitment issues, Call it rossery glass sight or nyeve of me but some nights I still wake up wondering since when has faith been trusted only when you can lay hands on it, what makes a man and where, where have the true woman gone, When did the sound of my own breath become not enough music to keep the hater away at night, and why, why can't we let go in the night that covers us without regretting the pillow talk in the morning, In the morning why must I bribe my shadow in order to convince him that I am a man worthy of following ,and somewhere between the after party and that last shot of tequila from yesterday I was reminded of you and the countless lovers sheets and the sinful secrets they now bear, and of how it was to rescue you from your own Cold War, being too little of a man and to warm of a lover to clean up the battle field i has made of you, So this is for you and all the others who believed me when I said I will be there when the rain starts to fall, this is for you and all who grew up with or without fathers all of which jumped the ship of your childhood, This is for you the quite in kid the bad, for the shy guys always overlooked, for the good guys who never win, for all of you who have bent and broken and now can only hope into a better shapes, This poem, this peice from a lost man,this small look into me, this broken apology, this feel, this heart beat, this moment of my life, is all for you

Letter addresses to the shy girl in my class lift your two hazel colored atom bombs that other people mistake for eyes Set free your tongue held prison by the bars of your lips and speak a voice that drips heavily of math and physics so that you can explain to me how the exact 3.4 seconds that our eyes connected subtracted from the weight that laid on my tongue the first time you asked my name divided by the amount of space between us equals the exact speed at which I fell for you, And I will smile at you and laugh because you are the only person who can make math sexy. You see for the past 3 classes I have strained to to hear you quietly utter melodious tones thick of soul, and southern twang and so much heart break when you think no one is listening and so far I have only been able to pick out these few words My heart can't tell the life of the bell but some how I know change is going to come and I hear this phrase over and over each one more melancholy minor than the next. Dear shy girl in my class lift up your two hazel color atom bombs that most people mistake for eyes and see me all heart on sleeve rossery glasses trusting. Eager to show you how in the span of three days I have learned to wait till you exhale befor I breath because I would rather harbor all of you burden than to lay a breaths worth of worry on you so kiss me and feel as our lips exchange their bitter sweet tales to one another all the while humming change will come.

Late night sketch

I think I would love you more and hate you less if you would have just stayed left, Because ever since I have read this letter i have found myself spend half the day trying to find ways not to hate you and 2x as much time hating myself, Because who could ever love a kid like me, right Who's own father cared so much for that he would use love as a drug, Wait till I'm hooked then pull away, Cuz the first hit is always free, So I grew up with a junky smile and a warm disposition, Taking every fix he'd graciously give, Gordging on his every compliment, Growing up learning how to ration his love through the winters up my "fuck ups" And now you have the audacity to write me a letter saying you don't know my, Let this be heard, It's hard for me express my self because I can't protect my self if I'm exposed, I said it is hard for me to express myself because I can't protect myself if I am exposed, So here are just 5 facts about me so that we can get better "aqanted" 1. To me The gracious beautiy of the ocean has always been simonamis with the bitter feeling of goodbyes because like a ship leaving it home shore you decided there were greater wonders in the world than me, 2. I have a talent for drawing complex cityscape and breath taking visages but I never finish any of my works.... It's surprisingly easy to walk away from something you've created, 3. Fact: I have an odd fascination with broken things...they help me feel whole, 4. I have recently found the secret to lovinging my self 4. Now I am searching for a way to forgive you, 4.hating you is one of the only things I have ever truly been good at, 4. my last memory of you was you telling me that one day i would see through my mothers lies and I would resent her....I'm still waiting 4. .......you never did finish teaching me how to count, 5...My mother tells me that I was born with my eyes open and search , I imagine it was quiet in that room, my father holding my infant body like a prayer in his hands crying like a child, silent as a storm.

Just finished this pic and put it on ig follow me if you like my work and want to see more