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Poem: Am I allowed to miss it?

Poem: Am I allowed to miss it?

Let it be known, I hate performing. The buildup, the sensation, I hate the feeling. The way the crowd stares, the way it applauses as if it cares. The preparation of my piece, the disturbance of my inner peace. The constant rehearsing, repeating words written down, all for that hand clapping sound. The beating of my heart, the way I feel before I start.

The deal I made … a new piece per show, the amount of work I’m unable to let go. The constant search for new words, the constant allowing into my world. The praise received after it all. The way my ego and self brawl. I hate performing. I don’t like how it makes me look, I don’t like how I read or the time it took. I don’t like any of it.

The feedback, the negative critique on the way that I speak. The way I try to become better after every show. The effort and drive it takes to let simple words glow. People speak to me as if I did something great. Feels like a pat on the back of my hate. It feels weird, sometimes unable to cope. I act my ass off and people call it dope. I hate performing.

I give them my heart but they’re barely listening. I lay bare my soul but they aren’t looking. Seem to like me more than my words so I’m cool by default. Feel safe in the dark but the stage has the key to the vault. This is only half of what I feel, so much more I could mention. But with all this and more, I am left with one question.

Am I allowed to miss it?

Am I???

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Its really very simple, I do NOT like being on stage. I do it because I was/am trying to go somewhere with Vino Venitas and that component is neccesary to get there. But if you could only hear the stuff I say in my head before I go on stage … if you could feel my heart race, feel my body shake … I have a pretty severe case of stage fright I guess. But sometimes if you want something bad enough you have to set aside your own personal preferences and just do what needs to be done. So with all this being said, am I allowed to miss being on stage?

Or would that just be a BIT too much hypocricy coming from one person?

Because I do like it when people applaud when I am done talking. Its a pretty good feeling as if what you just said really meant something. So yeah can I miss it?

poem poetry poetic poet poems poets wordplay verse words prose verse stanza wordsmith story stories short stories micropoetry

Poem of the month: Seriously I’m good

Poem of the month: Seriously I’m good

Sunshine, rainbows and a glistening sea

Never showed themselves but I’m happy

I have danced with luck, I’ve smiled with fun

Often reminisce on the stuff I’ve done

I won’t deny that some of it is just plain crazy

Might not look it at times, but trust that I’m happy

I might act obsessive, or like a spoiled child

But when I get what I want, all I do is smile

Work my ass off to get where I need to be

“Never give up, regardless” I love my mentality

Drank with DJ’s, wasted at a frat party

Sipped water on a plain in New Zealand, I’m happy

Chilled at Niagara Falls, swam in the Mexican sea

Went from America’s country side to N.Y.C

Friends all over the globe, guess I’m easy to like

Spent about 10 years without having a fight

Got drunk with the locals at a Japanese café

My mind state is to make sure I enjoy every day

I find humor in everything, the world can’t get absurd enough

Becoming happy is easy, but staying it is pretty tough

I smile at the sun and Ill smile at the moon

New experiences always come, so I’ll make sure I have room

I’m good with what I’ve done, curious to see what I’ll do

The future started yesterday, the past is already through

I’m all over the world with a heart that’s at peace

My inspiration to stay dreaming will never cease

I love who I am, and the insanity I hold

The pieces I wrote, the stories I’ve told

Written a lot of depressive stuff to say the least

But I’m good, I’m happy my mind is at peace

Trust me

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As promised a happy poem, the last few poems I have shared with you guys were rather depressive, so I felt like I should lighten the heck up. And so I did, this poem is me telling you guys Im aight, dont worry about me. So another honest poem from your boy … I love poetry.

poem poetry poetic poet poems poets wordplay verse words prose verse stanza wordsmith story stories short stories micropoetry

Poem: Never Ending Story

Poem: Never Ending Story

Like flames it licks every inch of my frame

My darkness has grown, it now chants my name

Alluring, its sweet nothingness is beckoning

The restraints within the abyss are less than nothing

The shackles of reality will kiss the floor

Wings of dark feathers will let me soar

Forced will be a term banned by greed

Be able to plug the holes from which I bleed

Let out every bit of pain I have bottled behind glass

Release a secret with each milestone I pass

Until an open floor with every dark thought is created

Until a voice is given to all the words I have never stated

Suicide will convince hope it’s useless

Rage will scream at love it’s hopeless

Pain will whisper to tears to let go

And in this stream my mind will simply go with the flow

Break down the walls that hold back the dark

Welcome the flood with open arms, my body will become a mark

For everything I have repressed, for the things in life that I regret

I will dive headfirst into the pool of despair

And simply hold my breath until someone comes who cares

I will let my skin be burned away until my nerves show

I will extinguish all my lights till not even the stars glow

Pound on the chambers of my heart

Dig my fingernails in and rip it apart

For the Band-Aids placed over the cracks never worked

Succumb to the darkness at least then it won’t hurt

Try as I might the darkness resides in me

It’s the source of my insanity as well as my creativity

A never ending story for this is all me … crazy

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So it seems I can write pieces  that can speak for themselves. I mean this one is rather detailed right. Sometimes my mind just doesnt want to work with my optimism. And everything just doesnt seem to go my way. I know some people relate to this. Well here you go, the poem of the month, taken from the new upcoming book.

Thanks for reading it.

Vino Venitas

poem poetry poetic poet poems poets wordplay verse words prose verse stanza wordsmith story stories short stories micropoetry

Poem: Behind my eyes

Poem: Behind my eyes

I can feel them waiting, anxiously tapping their fingers

I can feel them sitting, silently judging any emotion that lingers

They try to run every time I close

I feel them with every question I pose

Every why, every who, every when or what

They swirl and scream as they twist my gut

I hate them

Every emotion is like a potion urging them to come back

Every memory a footstep with which they can track

They hunt me, lurk in the bushes abiding their time

Patiently waiting for something to trigger that state of mind

Claws at the ready, knives already pulled, guns already drawn

Eager to jump some attack as I yawn

I don’t need them

Time eroded the bars, acid burned down the walls

They smirk as the prison around them falls

Battered and bruised, only so much I can take

The world attacks without fear, unknowing what’s at stake

Surrounded by nothing, they glisten in pale moonlight

An army of tears what a horrid yet sad sight

I see why I have them

Burn them with flames tempered throughout the years

Cut them with knives sharpened with my fears

Drill them with words written in the sky

Castrate than annihilate, please let them die

These tears have no use yet everyday they grow

These tears are drowning everything, I need you to know

That I hate them

Hiding behind my eyes like cowards … how I loathe them

Let them come out, I’ll see them all off … oh how I hate them

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I dont really have to explain this one do I?

poem poetry poetic poet poems poets wordplay verse words prose verse stanza wordsmith story stories short stories micropoetry

Poem: Double Standard

Poem: Double Standard

Could it be that honesty met integrity and officially stated that women hate it

That men look at their back, and judge from that if they should approach her

Does logic not occur, doesn’t it make sense that the first sentence of a conversation

Shouldn’t be about the booty, or is it just me

Could it be that men have gotten away with so much shit they could forget

Who runs the planet and everything in it, it isn’t us

Yet we cuss, and act a fool then pass it on to the next generation as if it’s cool

As if ignorance and stupidity is a rule or is it just me

Could it be, that women need to hold their head up, correct their partner if he pushed his luck

Put their middle fingers up, to any media that tries to push skinny as sexy

No disrespect to anybody, but you decide your own sexy

Don’t let anyone or the TV tell you the definition of beauty

A magazine should never decide what’s hot,

Should never undermine the confidence you got

Your self-esteem should never be based on the perception of others

I’m talking to sisters, daughters and mothers

I have seen chase a dream pushed on them by a fake reality

Thanks to the TV and those in charge of it

I’m not claiming innocence but I’m trying to climb above it. As should you

Could it be, that it’s too late to change the state in which we find ourselves

That we look at the screen and see what is in between a woman’s leg as nothing more than dirt

Does it not hurt, that you have to put yourself in a mini skirt to feel good

I don’t want my words to be misunderstood

But if you sell yourself short and don’t even try

You don’t love yourself so why should I

If you let a anyone decide who you are

You will always be a firefly wishing to be a star

You body might lure them in, but your mind is supposed to keep them

And if they cant do you right, then honey leave them

I’m not attacking you I’m attacking society

Cause even I have been caught in the midst of hypocrisy

Its these morals and values they pushed on me

For me there is unlimited pussy

But women have a 5 dick maximum

More than that, men are unable take

That’s more than he can shake off, able of breaking it off

All over past dick, yet she is supposed to accept all your old shit

Now that’s the definition of a hypocrite

Could it be, that the purity of virginity is looked down upon rather than admired,

Maybe I’m just tired, of watching 14 year old shaking their ass

12 year olds with make up in class, or video clips of skinny broads in thongs

These are also the subject of most of these songs

But these become the standards by which kids measure themselves

So who is to blame when they don’t have knowledge of self

Could it be, that this is what’s normal that this is plain, and I’m insane

Or could it be, that people accept what they see, and are unwilling to change their own reality

Is this what you want your child to be

So instead of saying it is what it is, maybe just maybe

You should ask yourself, what it could be

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This was my first time on a festival, and my second or third time performing. I liked it, heck I actually loved it. The poem was meant to show a different side, to the usual man and women relationship. So here are my 2 cents, I hope you people like it, and can relate.

Poem: Can You Hear Him?

Poem: Can You Hear Him?

Can you hear him whispering behind his window

Can you hear the rain tick against the glass ever so slow

To remind him that the rain hasn’t stopped for years

But the pavement isn’t drenched with water but with blood and tears

The revolution has started, and the mob is cold hearted

Can’t distinguish friend from foe, nor those living or departed

All they see is rage and pain

So many different reasons to revolt, but their screams the same

Freedom … Freedom

This is the chant that reaches the sky

These are the words for which many will die

But the revolution doesn’t care

So he stands behind his window with an empty glare

And he looks down upon the fighting, the gunshots and the hate

He looks down upon all those who want control over their own fate

They no longer want to rob, just so they can eat

No longer want to be scared walking down their own street

This isn’t for oil, religious reasons or terrorists … No

This isn’t for wealth, fame or recognition … No

They are fighting for peace

And until success the revolution will not cease

Until they have what they are screaming for

Nothing less and nothing more

Freedom … Freedom

So he stands behind his window, patiently waiting

Until those in power decide to share

Until those in power decide they care

Until they do Africa is bleeding

And with it the economy is dying

This is not rain this is a country crying

And the people are tired of drowning in these tears

Tired of waiting until the smoke clears

So they stand up strong and keep their heads high

If Africa is to be reborn, let it first die

That is the revolution that’s why they fight

Trapped in darkness but there’s a small piece of light

Freedom … Freedom

This is for that child that had to watch his family get shot

This is for that child that keeps watching the sky hoping for blessings to drop

His stomach is round, filled with nothing but air

And I won’t waste your time asking if it’s fair

But this is for that child that had to drop out of school

No money to pay tuition but wants to go to school

The child that rather studies then plays and gets called a fool

Freedom of ignorance, knowledge its tool

So he stands behind the window, realizing he is dead

Shot in the head by the same revolution that said

This is for the people, and he was hoping it was a dream

But it isn’t so he makes two fists and he wants to scream

Freedom … Freedom

But he doesn’t, calmness comes over him

And he realizes one thing

The revolutions first step has finally been made

Sacrifices for freedom seems like a fair trade

So instead of screaming freedom he lifts his fist in the air and starts chanting a soft mantra

 Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa,

Can you hear him?

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This was the first time I tried a crowd participation poem. And I must say I loved it, I was hooked on the feeling. Of having everyone listening and cheering along as I instructed them. Makes me feel like a rock star. I want to thank the girls from Cinnamon Wednesdays for the chance to perform there. And the crowd of course, for joining in and making my poem work.

poem poetry poetic poet poems poets wordplay verse words prose verse stanza wordsmith story stories short stories micropoetry

Poem: I love Poetry

Poem: I love Poetry

If hip hop was weed then poetry would be crack

An addiction from which you cannot come back

RnB would be alcohol, and Rock would be ecstasy

And pop would be the over the counter drugs cause it’s just so easy

And music in general would be simple cigarettes

Now picture yourself at a party filled with pharmaceutical snacks

We will dine on crack

An addiction from which there is no coming back

I myself started with simple weed

I loved it when my dealer laced my blunt with speed

He got me high to the point that I felt like I could die

Music dear music made me fly

I was on cloud nine making sky cakes

I picked down stars and put them on pancakes

Hiphop got me where I wanted to be

But then hiphop changed on me

It went from weed to grass to cronic

I kinda felt like hiphop lost it

And I used to write verses, used to grow the weed

But now it’s ruined, all ruined yes indeed

So I became sober no longer a junkie

Me and hiphop broke up, and we used to be funky

In the past I used to let me rap burn slow

But no I take quick puff … huff huff … and let it go

And I have been trying to replace weed with cigarettes and alcohol

But RnB and regular music don’t really cut it at all

But then I found something that made my spine tingle

A sensation better than hearing a dope hiphop single

I found my crack

I found appreciation for my soul ever black

I love poetry

Honestly seriously and really

Some heard about it, some even tried it

But the general public usually denies it

That is because the old version of this drug ruined the now

Poetry has grown, but most don’t even know how

Spoken Word took what hiphop dropped and ran with it

We are now the ones that give you the truth with no gimmicks

We are the ones that speak for the poor and those unable

We are the voice for the secrets swept under the table

We are the voice for the emotions that society has created

We are the few that question what the media stated

We are rebels

We tell you how we feel

No need for guntalk or hood talk to show you that we are real

We think with our minds not what the media defines

We read between the lines so many times

That we are not even reading the same book anymore

We are at the alphabets core

We are poetry

And I love poetry

It has brought me to so many places

Made me see so many faces

So many different cases

That I probably would never have seen

I hope you know what I mean

When I say I know I can write

And I will always do poetry right

If there is nothing else you will take away from what I said today

Just know that Im addicted to crack

And Im probably never coming back

I love poetry

Vino

A Poem Dedicated to yours Truly

A Poem Dedicated to yours Truly

Sometimes someone, just wants to show me that they can silence me. And this girl gave me words that literally shut me up. This poem was dedicated to me, so I felt the need to share it with all of you. Make sure you check her wordpress: Amira Day

For My Light

I start a job hopeless,
for I can never compare

to the words already spoken
to the thoughts already shared

you seem to think you are this darkness
do you even know how bright you shine?

are you aware of the light you’ve brought
to this crazy universe of mine?

the way you practice your craft
open up locked doors

can you hear the crowd?
Oh, he shoots, he scores!

yet another success story
from the palm of your hand

so in case you haven’t noticed
you represent light in my land

for the countless times you have inspired me
for your friendship

because you have saved me see?
just when I was about to jump ship

you walk on, guide me back to shore
tell me kid, there is so much more

may I return the favor?
can I for once, be your savior?

because I will do anything
to get this clear

to show you that I mean it
you are my Hemingway, my Shakespeare

everything you say is poetry
whether you rhyme or not

You are my light

when I get lost, it’s you I turn to
when at a loss for inspiration,
I need only to watch you, for

You are my light

and when future generations see my name written up in the stars
in the moment I shine brighter than ever, know that

You are my light

and the angels must have stopped whispering,
for it is silent when you speak

I am sure the devil envies all that leaves your lips
simply because it is so deep

reaches further than heaven or hell
pushes the envelope past Ok, and Well

You are my light

and when in doubt, if you can save another day
when in doubt, if you can fight off darkness a little while longer

do not worry, for you have already saved a Day
and the darkness has already been conquered

it is in your heart, in my own
but we simply use it as another tool, a stepping stone, a handle

in our world we fight alone
but always the same wars, side by side we battle

the demons of betrayal and the angels of heartbreak
with love, friendship and inspiration on our side

the dark shrinks from light,
like evil shrinks from good

I understand why you think you’re dark
because you are so bright, the darkness swarms around you

I start a job hopeless, did not think it possible
until I met you, until you joined the fight

you made me believe I can conquer the world,
paint the sky, join the stars

You are my light

It was Her

Ok now you know that I am not able to let someone give me something so beautifull, and not reply to it. So I decided to answer her with my very own poem.

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She moved my pen and made it dance the tango

She spoke to my restrictions and whispered let go

Unknowingly she gracefully inspired me

Igniting a passion gently yet forcefully

No wall could withstand her might

No corner could escape her sight

She motivated me

Reflections of history shimmer through her glance

Our drive intertwined until it was declared to be a romance

This is our world

We speak through words unknown

We have dialogues with sentences unspoken

We leave common sense twisted and normal broken

My dark wants her in, my light wants her to win

My ego wants to overcome, my compassion whispers my time is done

She motivated me

Her words painted a picture on a canvas stolen from angels

Her style made books close themselves

And she … has the audacity to tell me that I am on equal footing

But mere numbers clarify for me that she is lying

But who cares … SHE motivated me

An occurrence, a miracle, a wonder an event only reserved for a few

But this is what geniuses do

They inspire to create, they leave you in a state of awe

And while certain lines will punch your jaw

A real genius leaves you seated in a chair of dumbfounded

And this is what she does to me …

She motivated me

So when my work exceeds the boundaries of reality

When my words bring gods to their knees to plea

When my pieces make the sky crumble

When my sentences dim the stars

When my titles are written with clouds

Tell the next generation it was not my fault

It was her

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This is what happends when creativity meets genius. I loved writing that piece almost as much as I enjoyed reading the one that was dedicated to me. You just have to love poetry.

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