Rock African Art discovery

Up close the wall ancient in Greek mythology, legends lived here before Christ.

The hands of a photographer touches the cold rocks, seeking the humanity that shivers through his casual wear.

The River Island has seen all but the fashion travelling the Waterstones.

The Apollo hero shows his lyre music it lives with Egyptian Pharaohs, your long gone history reminds me of Cleopatra VII, this stone shape and form of the lands best plague.

Black love existed on hard shells of our love making vows.

We existed like lost blankets finding our homes through the cave ages.

When poverty hit us like a heat wave, we blended the interior designs of mosaic tribes.

Civil war struck the Sierra Loreane grounds.

Heritage to African gods holding spears up most high, they are warriors.

Closer to many edges of prime, The Lion King is roaring the rolling stones to Kingdom Come.

They pick up where they left off, they contemplate the puzzles that confuse elder souls.

No growth of wings spreads their freedom to Western civilization swings.

Carved patterns reminds the Shakespeare sonnet's rose in tattooed Greek.

Imagine Athens looking so heavenly, clean as the skyscrapers of Detroit.

Dreams followed the New York Times to your Times Square.

She walked to the intimate tome stones, written in bloodshot scriptures.

It struck her fragile spirit that wanted to wish on hope for the lost people.

The soft clays that hold up Zimbabwe tools of crafty men.

Their bones wanted palette scoops of Australian sands, that forecast forthcoming pioneers to the self centred.

The African art expels misguided straws that came up from bamboos.

Humans wish to ignore the treasons they seek in holy gods, myths that gave birth to realism through disguised thoughts and feelings.

Build up colonies want nothing but the enslaved folks.

Stories go stone to stone that captures sings of storyboards.

Strip the dignity that holds respect to colour decency.

Pebbles fade fatigues it's lost the remainder of gems.

Chaos emeralds hold power like flaming torches were handled by champions.

Running blind light on steps to greatness, it's getting dimmer he drops his light of greatness.

There are followers of Ghanaians running dirt through Hercules sandals.

They grow musketeers through their elephant tusks, walking this land development exists.

It needs your attention for a second.

It needs your leadership to guide your artistic greatness.

It wants your visitors to cling on this obsessed treasures lost underground.

It wants your life story in tome stones, your history in the makings will prevail the rocks into quicksand.

Make my living legend a rock star, I want nothing less for jogging jacks of red souls.

Sleeping like none of your business.

I am drenched through cloud waters that take my thoughts on the road to Hermes.

Run with the messenger, call the old rocks old timers they've lived that life.

Now it's ancient and no one remembers the marks of greatness, slogans written like hieroglyphics printed your wisdom.

They will guide you, open the narrow minds of those closed in the dark.

Crush

Your beauty struck me like lightning, blinded my eyesight see.
When I spotted your Greek Columns.
Walking in the distance away like my journey was on an M5 to Blackpool.
BOOF!!! Hit myself on a lamp post, dazed in stardom, wondering "where did those  damn Venus legs come from?"
I couldn't let it pass me by, so my drive on a Ford Focus can high speed my approach.
See you from a close up view of your hair.
Swaying back and forth like I met Kelly Rowland on X-Factor the very first time I set sights on destiny.
Blinking your sparkling eyes, dazzling champagne showers, like she was the Creme De La Creme at the Eiffel Tower, the darling iPod that I love teleporting my mind set into her world of Funky House, R'n'B, Bashment, Afro-Beats, Slow Jams.
Lips sparkling like raspberries picked from Mother Nature's fruits.
Body shaped like hourglass spilling the sands of time.
Telling me it's time to approach this fine young woman, talk this woman, feel this woman, make love to this woman.
It's a race for your love, a Daytona USA for your love, a Grand Prix for your love.
And I'll be the first guy to pass the finishing line, earn your heart of gold.
As long as I'm not the nice guy who finishes last out of time, out of luck, out of credits no coins can insert arcades, continuing my quest for your elixir of love.

Now coming across high standards by your calibre on high heels, pushing myself on a treadmill impressing you, it's a distance by winning your approval that I'm the one for you.
Yes there's more fish in the sea they tell me, so my fishing rod is patiently waiting for your reply.
But you whiz pass my hook playing hard to get.
Well...this is my crush of Tom and Jerry chasing after your love in holes you hide yourself in.
It's ambitious, determined, not giving up without a fight for love like this.
Traps like a box of Cabury's Roses should sweeten the deal, like my ambition for your body in bed is erotic poetry at its best.
The art of your looks I fall for are from a bungee jump in your pool of Chanel.
Oh how I enjoy this fragrance uplifting me towards your beauty of seduction.
There's a sunshine behind your moping blinds that sets you free like a dove, under a mistletoe on Christmas Day.
For you see, Santa Claus sent you a xmas kiss will open my heart like a love letter of undying words like, My love will die with you, be with you forever and for always.
Your tattoos shall be my body of art, my love for you in permanent ink, my heart shall sink in 14 lines for your Shakespearian sonnet.

My love written in symphony played on a violin, flutes calling your name under the balcony.
Your crush is so unpredictable, I can't even tell if your love is just a fluke or locked by layers of your portrait gallery blues.
It's sailing, it's sightseeing, it's wondering the Atlantic Ocean searched my name for Edward, Michael, Kwame, Justin, Edwin or Jordan, would you still be my date for the night, regardless of the name I am?
Cos you see my crush is hungry for curves that match the size of your Tommy Hilfiger Jeans, my crush  craves for your hand on a cruise to Paris, our getaway is the language of love, in Red Wine splashes like vine juices for your mind one time.
Away from the madness that isolates us from you and I.
Stuck in Central London, finding the right signs in a busy environment, leaving me corrupted.
Finding ways to restore order in my clarity and deliver you the crush in McFlurry.
For my dreams of having you in my arms when I sleep, then my dreams of fucking you at the back seat of the Range.

If this opportunity was meant to be, my crush will dance the night away, on Lyric Square where fountains spray tears of joy, spray excitement lingering my love, my sexual appeal under sheets left untouched.
Yes this crush poem is about you and only you...words of mine can describe your portrait in that masterpiece, like Mona Lisa was my inspiration for artistry.
My only goal is to try and make you happy, for whatever it takes, my infatuation will never feel no scars, no sores, no bruises, hurt or pain.
It's a million to one chance I'll find you, miss you or even lose you.
Forever it's searching, seeking, peaking the mate of my dreams, the mate that likes me for me and not the charming looks of an Usher, because you got it bad.
Ludacris because I'm crazy about you.
Lemar well... I'm 50/50.
Drake I want this shit forever man.

Would your heart still be open from broken strings left unfixed?
But a melody kiss can heel emotional wounds left not stitched.
So smile, keep on smiling until your happiness goes down to midnight silence.
If my crush didn't put it on you like it should, would you still let it pass you by, across the boarders to another country, in someone else's interest?

Edward Unique 100%, Making love and Crush

1000 verses

It didn't start like this.
So my fingers are the writers.
It didn't end like this.
So my heart's a fighter.
It didn't start without the pen, scribbling the ranting I had in my thoughts.
Anger management was loose on the page.
Writing down something premeditated, somewhere far to project the conversations louder to perfection.

The pen did all the talking with people I felt inspired.
With people I've seen performing.
With people I've socialised after performance.
All the rumours and gossip that spread like cancer.
People from Southend, Brighton, Birmingham, Liverpool, Reading, Bristol, Washington D.C.
RikTheMost, Jason Pilley, Simon Mole, Lorna Meehan, Gerry Potter, A.F.Harrold, Jack Dean, Nia Barge, Jah-Mir.
All came as a collective I can write this piece.

So as I birth these words, a thousand verses means a thousand poems for you.
Give'em a kiss, they'll grow up to be just like you.
A thousand copies means a thousand books to read.
One and over a number of verses I've written.
Valleys over a number of lyrical ballads I've read.
William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
But don't worry, you might not know who they are.

I've danced the miracle salsa to impress.
They say it's all confusing, it's all random, but fuck it it's originality, self expression.
I've done sets of my life story at the end of time.
The time has now come in the pages to mornings, afternoons and evenings.
Even though I haven't read a bedtime story to a child yet.
Read the signs pedestrians, Edinburgh festival I will meet with your mountains soon.
I've recited metaphors that are excited.
Dying with flames to get out of this bowl of cereal.
Eat your corn flakes.

So the energy comes with practice and patience.
I'm like Ice Cube pushing words like weight.
Cook up something that spells recipe, that calls your noodles on deck.
Jelloff Rice making the hot chili pepper to sweat.
I live in the essence of running hot rhymes together, that catch on fire in seconds.
All the times I had to improve myself from the underground up.
Now I'm overground reinvent myself like clockworks were ticking.
There's no time to waste no.

Witness a body of work that captures tattoos like butterflies.
Yes, my nature is open to all turn my whole body to art.
Collect myself together like a deck of cards.
Prove myself again and again to get out there on the spotlight.
You know that foot in the door to be accepted right?
Take no for an answer cos Ms Poetry hasn't finished with me yet.
Get on these required open mics so my voice is shared like drinks on a coaster.
Reserve the butter and jam for a toaster.
Enjoy.

I can write songs forever and ever as long as they are poetic.
Be beautiful as mugpies, ringing lonely visits to Wandsworth Common.
I sit on the bench.
I'll give them justice in one word, one rhyme or one sentence at a time.
Flowers like humming birds.
Daffodils like open strings of an angel's harp.
An open book of rhymes, riding Somerset motorways it passes by Bristol.
Exploring emotions like a growing kid in childhood, finding his voice.
But scared to be a star around unfamiliar faces watching.
They might judge me.
They might condemn me.
They might make me feel so stupid, I give up writing forever.

But how can I?
The choice is yours look out there, the world is yours.
Nas said it right there on Illmatic.
Poem is love Floetry.
But it's my love poetry a diary of unique love.
The timeless pen just chips of Yonkers, bricks from Jersey City.
I was on Tooting Broadway, look for some Putney poses to cremate.
My writings mate with lines from a journal named Lego Windsor and Eton Riverside.
These are a thousand verses sprayed like paint cans.
Stained like old saints ruled the world.

The master watches over us, as I watch my own mind create sentences fabricated to.
I've sowed the stitches to my signature as I invent Edward Unique Poetry.
Brain food is a thought for philosophy.
Surrealism to create egg and mayonnaise sandwich in one bite.
So which Halloween shall be the witchcraft of 31st October?
Which circumstance could I use to create earthquakes from underneath self conscious skirts?
Which pencil can I draw the obvious oblivion that is meant to fall down like an avalanche?
I tend to write longer and longer verses, a thousand verses means a thousand kisses.
A never ending tale to settle for less.

Finish the completed sentences.
I guess less means more, only shorter ones win on the long run.
So I am gonna renegade like Kate Tempest over the flames I regenerate the timeless microphone on a high speed jump.
Over the hurdles nearly tripping my words I stutter and stumble.
Back on my Timberlands, I stomp the roach like U-God.
Did the crushing sound of ilk make you croak?
Or make you cringe out of them socks, cos I'm not wearing any?

A thousand verses are naked, it strips from anchors down the abandoned ship.
I will sink with fountain pens as long as my words can breathe above water.
Rose my love will forever live in the future of survived petals afloat.

Happiness is the light in me

On the highway dreams, the summer is somewhere in the Margate streams.
It's the beauty in your skylines that twinkle my stars to tweak tweak tweak.
I painted your Venus pink hearted, I raided this cold with Mercury moons that hit home run.
The evening star became the watcher of your balcony.
I touch your solar system when we orbited the galaxy climax.
I climbed from the dark caves of the unknown blackness.
Went on a rampage breaking the tinted windows clouding Brighton's sea gauge.
I broke free and hugged your sunny days on the beaches of your Arcade pier.
It burned like lava and I thought my sentiments kissed your lyricism to be born.
Happiness is the light in me, not the dark resided in me.
My rib cage will be the last thing to breathe.
It's thunder vs lightning, candle vs lantern, come walk with to sandy Isle of Wight.
The dream milkyway spirits will protect us.
My happiness is confident in lighting your joys in acoustic sessions.
I wrote a song just for you on my guitar strings Yamaha.
I played your Alicia Keys keyboard in solo mode cos rainy days like this puts windows to tears, when we sleep on rainbows.
I don't know the definition of a sad song being so detrimental, my teeth begin to ache when I lose my baby teeth.
Sail your young'uns abroad I can enlighten their spirits of fire to ignite the midnight sorrows.

Happiness rinsed all traumas creating scars on my invisible skin.
Joy I seek like the lost creator of this spiritual palace.
Sugar the walls of candy Adam's apple.
I want some of that queen bee's honey.
Where are the heavens when I need them, where are the bright angels carrying the harps over the French clouds?
Where are the glorious flames shading the orange shadows blaring the firework show?
Confidence energy rises like the never lasting volcano about to erupt its Mars epic.
I sing sing sing the happy hours of Joe Get Crunk Tonight, Get Crunk Tonight.
My dancing bones can't help but to lift up drinks like a Happy New Year cheer, a Happy Easter like Christ was home in my heart.
But the bitter people don't want the positive light to spread about.
They don't want it to embrace the unfair city that is never pretty to blend in the green pastors.
Vegetables nutritious to the thighs I come prepared for the storm.
Mixing the rain, yes I am mixing the brown rain.
Let it shower on me.
Let my happiness shine through me, yes me.

Happiness is the light in me, not the dark resided of me.
So be gone with you demons of the night.
Be gone to the depths of Hades.
Though I try suppressing bad dreams of failure.
Negative thoughts around bad environment under my pillow.
But it seems hopeless for it to all just vanish away into thin air.
Demons lurking the happy clouds, release the God of the Boogie Man to condense the yellow light of sunshine.
Ambers of bright ready steady.
No I want to go when green light says so.
Escape the Devil's tides trying to wash me up on his island.
But can never catch my life off guard.
I see all things behind your disguise, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Happiness is the light of me, not the dark of me showing you the red 666.
So close the doors in my inner circle, no strangers shall enter into the light.
Cause the dark smears of nightmare swallows from dirty shirts like stained ketchup marks.
The resided blood on lighter shirts no happy  hours can rescue.
But can pray its residue a bigger splash of my Tate Modern.
Happiness is the splash felt on diving boards to the morning shores of running footprints.
Walk with me, I'll take you to the melting ice creams in vicious circles.
I'll still be in search of my happy place in the moonlight, fiery volcanoes on Hawaii lands.
Problems are like leeches sucking blood of golden corn flakes makes me alive to breathe.
So why leave my heart on my sleeve?
Why crave for darkness when there's so much light on the centre?
If we're meant to be positive, what else is there to share without the concepts of love and hopefulness?

Creative Imagination

They always ask me.
They always tap me.
What is it you write about?
What inspires you to write this piece?
What makes you write this poem, story and why?
What is your treason?
What provoked you to create this vivid world of anger or righteousness you believe in?
I say it's a big world out there to explore, I'm not on a small island you know.
So what's not to write about, and pick out your time or place in the field.
What's not to talk about the beauty of life, the fantasy novels giving Gothic dragons the dark anthem, the fire inside the burning fuel for inspiration doesn't run a once in awhile schedule to be written.
I need to write, not just once a month, I need to write everyday of my life.
Read as much to enrich the language I speak.
Add note later for stories untold, the world is my journal, my weekends that give family depths to the writer's imagination.
Creative writing, where have you been hiding?
I told them they don't understand you, or respect you without commodity.
They think you're just a waste of time.
A waste of effort.
A waste of space.
And a waste of energy being put in a book.
The pen is not sold cheap for school homework, it's eternal like endless air.
Regenerate the lost turntables that call for intros, lyrics for the future in light years to your missing moon.
These writings take a hold of my musical words at hand.
The conductor orchestrating jumping syllables to my notepad.
Take a pick at the region, take a missing void and fill it for the continuous Out With The Girls story.
I know Battersea has my creative spirit around these parts, but I trust myself enough no borough has my back to be authentic, spiritual and universal.
Creative writing has no limits to the ocean.
So why limit it to narrow minded fools?
Why limit to just storytelling, the funniest, depressing agendas?
Or the typical subject matters that run on social change, race, politics, hate, sex, economy and religion we've known for years and years.
Something specific will sound the same.
The 21st Century isn't gonna help the writing move forward.
If our minds are stuck in the 19th Century on what creativity should be.
Leave your attention span stagnant as always.
Creative imagination has more to offer.
A movie like The Lord Of The Rings.
Let's look a the Inside Man.
Imprisonment to the box no room to breathe, no room to venture out.
I can't be your Lil'Wayne, your Rick Ross, your Waka Flocka or your Nick Cannon.
I can be a lyrical genius amongst the few Shakespeare, John Keats, Ted Hughes or the Metaphysical Poets.
You always say be yourself, find your voice, follow your heart.
But you still measure me and compare me to other poets to sound like them.
It's either you lied to me, or you're a hater who doesn't want me to shine on stage.
My creative imagination shouldn't happen overnight like everyone else.
I know where my writing lies, together the pen and I will find our voices.

Edward Unique Valentine's Day, Artistry and Afternoon page 2

Talib Kweli "Outstanding" Featuring Ryan Leslie

A 1000 horses galloping a 1000 cowboys riding

In the earthy existence galaxies intergalactic despair being mere persistent, swallow starships no aliens abroad this abandoned ship.
So the struggling horses get up and gallop for ten moons, gallop and gallop the motoways near highway codes.
Speeding with the radical Ferrari, we ride on horse power to the end.
We ride on the mother solar system power to the end.
It circulates our mysterious of time.
Questions riddled on human nature grounds...I am one of them now no better, no worse who is searching...for answers bottled.
Rattlesnakes don't cry no more mountain tears to its victim worth cherished.
A fargon leg horn colouring morning spirituality awakens hens, unsupervised sheeps losing their way in the emerald herds.
Where goddess sunrise sprinkles onto closed eyelids.
It sprinkles lost magic that hold onto white dust by eye lashes.
Where Internet rules inner cities have no care for the natural world.
It's natural resources, it's what's separates us from the animals.

There have been a billion of stars, billions telling memories of country western songs to flourish, cowboy adventures to their young.
There have  been a thousand cars speeding the fast and the furious, there have been a thousand cowboys riding the Nevada grounds, how horse riding that sounds, dirt tucked in their boots, 24-7 helicopters hovering, swinging like T-shirts, Jeeps stomping the muds, trucks running the yard, claiming life is hard it sucks to be behind schedule.
Note to VCR clocks, DVDs, BlueRay...this isn't  your twilight fairytales, no fast and furious rally, with crashing in an electric circuit.
It seems the go go go cowboys having the chase of their lives are always chasing us, catching us, hop over one fence over another, one partner hiding behind cactus, with rope in place, watching the gallop riot its way through gravels dusting like rushing winds of gust, buckle their shoes locking us in bar fences, riding us like camels, where travel seems far ahead of their time.
Isn't this the time to be free, go on a horse run spree with nature.
See the world in we run and run and run into the desert of Nevada, I'm no American rider, I'm a phoenix glider.

I've travelled there overseas, in the middle of nowhere but I run with them, ride with them all the way.
We have horses, strange mammals in Britain, they run, and run just like you but they're trapped, they can't swim neither but they can give one long of a niierrrrr.
Galloping legs, galloping horse power like Ferrari wheels I run faster than a speeding to be free in my own world thoughts, feelings spray, my own platforms on fresh grass cut and trimmed, no rough grounds making a horse stumble onto his knees, no traps can catch me, I'm unstoppable like a roadrunner.
Their ropes wanna pull giving them a rodes scenario.
Horns tussle through thick ropes, like a loose canon we're riding the hills all the way partner, the riders to the end.

The cliffs are horizons where we gallop senseless on runaway trails, horse shoe prints marking roads like a railway, but there's no Eurostar on our tracks, speeding bullets try harder to hit us down.
Let's ride to the hilltops where sunny spells cry drizzles like raindrops, it's wet and soggy on green grasses of English country.
The English Channel is near, the sea near the shore is dear.
We' ll gallop on the galaxies to another planet Mars, or planet Texas that's out of this world.
Stars in no limits, floating around solar system dreams, no rainbow can reach.
It's a runaway world, and I'm chasing a billion stars in the vortex, it's a pony.
The pony of my dreams, I dreamed for, and we need a barn for the little fowls that come into this world of ours.
Cos I want those same horses running free without no ropes or stables holding them behind.
I want them born wild and free, scare away cowboys like fleas, buzz buzz buzz off annoying ropes of talking saddles.
Go ring yourself a herd of cattles, rope strange yourself till you hang as hangman, runaway runaway to the horizons no man can capture.
Runaway to the rainbows no pot of gold can fool you.
I am the war horse that calls off the strangler, we are cry our runnings for release.
Spell your way out of this spelling bee, no string in the ass will give you release of my kick off.
So run horses of despair run all you like to the mellows, where they don't have to milk you for what you are worth.
You are the symbol that thrives for Apollo's lyre.
You are a son of a bitch that kicks a fuss.
You are the unicorn that leaps.
You are the other half that creeps.

Afternoon page 2

Storyteller, narrator, it was another, but a sleepless, timeless morning, and my tummy didn't growl for some Weetos cereal and call to get that jam slammed on toast.
"Awwww poor belly lost its appetite."
Hungriness stirring belly lust, beating his empty stomach, twisting spoons, splurges forks, knives for mooore.
Lights blinking, still awake in the early 11am, finding my diary of planned agendas for today is...Monday.
Early Monday morning grey, the day seems a little dull without any colour mixing the Big Smoke time in my diary, the acrylics harden the realities of my cinematic world.
Old friend hyena laughter of mine calling, bitching about his Halford's Manager, and asking to join his lonesome company at Southside Wandsworth, where he is diving his hairy face, devouring buckets of KFC, later he's at HMV, shark attacking BluRays, Danebury Avenue, playing Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2.
Can't beat the game wizard, but tries, tries and he tries.
Still he fails in the end.
But the rest was in the cinema watching Rise of The Planet Of The Apes, loud and action packed like it was Leathal Weapon 4.
I only wish it was me and her my girlfriend, in the back row, where it's dark.
Some buttered popcorn perhaps, and a large coca-cola.
Take her to a couple of museums, to be intimate with artistry and history.
Inspire hands in eye to eye conversations, the world is a gallery, the afternoon is a work out session, a gym class session.
The day doesn't sleep without the evening taking the sun down to South America, and up to North America for some common light.
Light only gardens can endure its rich photosynthesis.
Every hour in Wandsworth, take out spots, rush hour commences at platform 11, platform 2 and platform 15.

Calling at Wandsworth Common, Balham, Stretham Common, Putney, Richmond, Twickenham, Kingston, Norbury, Selhurst, West Croydon, Waddan Mash and East Croydon.
Eight carriages taking briefcase administrators, business people, secretaries, conference meetings, foreigners, sales people on their way wealthy and tired as bloodshot bats.
Traffic build up like a spine in Clapham Junction, youths window shopping JD Sports, Foot Locker is the best, Greggs will only put you on weight 250 grams at a time.
156 is taking us Wimbledon Tennis, 37 will take us to Putney Heath, 39 to Putney Bridge.
I can see Underground Tube from up here, my general route on 337 to Richmond, but in this case it's Upper Richmond Road I travel to, I carry on to.
The Underground doesn't get any nearer than East Putney Station I sometimes use for other alternatives, through East London ways it's Walthamstow Central, Hackney, Stradford, Docklands and Bethnal Green.
It's a different world out there, community wise and Tower Hamlets look higher on Shoreditch High St Station.
I'll be in Bromely-n-Bow neighbourhoods, guitar strings my jams in estates where raw meets acoustics in the bedroom.
Trying to hold it, hold it longer before it's a rat race to the bathroom.
And I had to just let it out, let it go like my fists tighten with sticks and stones.
Drop till my bones riddle with laughter, I made it back on the 14, Piccadilly Circus gave me highlights of British souvenirs, performers give break dance on concrete consumptions, pedestrians pass through with Tesco shopping bags, Waterstone's books in arms, looking forward to midnight closed eyes while I recite the evening page at 12.

The crush story

Love, lust, who can you trust? beyond words can flatter a woman's outside beauty. But her inner personality still remains a mystery I find difficult to unsolve. This is nothing but a lover's crush story. A poet's love letter in his words of glory. Myself is getting to know you, yourself is getting to know me. I've never felt this way about your looks, your eyes, your smile and everything that represents your femininity. So hold onto my masculinity, as I take you on a journey to my world of wonders, spreading across the universe.

Hey there love, how are you doing? Still looking dark and lovely as ever, jealous ones still envy referring you as ugly towards your beauty is a never. I remember the first time I saw your pretty face, under the roofs of Rudy's Revenge where the sunset lays, behind the industrialised buildings. Looking so innocent in your Poka Dot dress, like a puppy eyed Dalmatian. Sipping bubbly alongside your Chinese friend, discussing spoken word in delight at Comfort's Rum Punch. So I approach towards your company and asked if this space was taken, you replied with exquisite generousity, "no go ahead." I sat down anticipating a relationship with you all the way like Will and Jada. A ride to the gates of destiny, upon the clouds where the big man lives. But you know how today's men are nowadays, obsessive lust for your body, eyeing at your buttocks every step of the way. Yo, don't mind them hounds, I'm more than just a wolf whistle howling for some sex appeal, like a thirsty young brother on a hot summer. Relax baby girl, I'm only here to soothe your mind with ease, so our common interests combines us together like a jigsaw puzzle. Please don't confuse this piece as a love poem. I have yet to experience the meaning of true love.

This is nothing but a lover's crush story. A poet's love letter in his words of glory. Myself is getting to know you, yourself is getting to know me. I've never felt this way about your looks, your eyes, your smile and everything that represents your femininity. So hold onto my masculinity, as I take you on a journey to my world of wonders, spreading across the universe.

Well spoken in a sophisticated manner, I had to make you mine from the rest that rejected me from the past. I even asked for your 11 digits so we can be intimate with each other, but you cringed slightly like "ummmmm, but I don't know you very well." It seems she sounded thorough in her personality. Her eyes gripped to reality, not giving up her love tonight as if I'm not right for her man's status. She may feel I'm in a rush within the cityscapes, since she's aware I've got a crush on her or something. I'm not a poet to keep his feelings aside, like an empty bottle with no air to let loose his emotions. So I choose to express these words in a form of flattery, for the world to listen and understand where my heart is coming from. Look at her hair ladies and gentleman, her hair... Black as the roots I can trace her essence back to Africa, motherland of all beautiful things has not made something unique as this female standing in front of my presence. Nubian queen if you can hear me, grant me her fragrance so I can, inhale the occasion levitating my conscious into higher places I can picture myself being with her... in bed perhaps. Make no mistake, her hips have got me hypnotised by surprise like Gabrielle Union posing herself in a photo shoot. Here I come along at last in a tuxedo suit, the man has come around with boastful integrity is a bonus will give you a blast, shall turn your doubts into ice cubes for a drink or two, cheers. This is the moment I've been waiting for to fulfil her needs, preserve the time and attention she deserves, away from the hustle and bustle that may distract her from the things I'm gonna offer for what she's worth. Would I be the one she's been seeking for in a diverse crowd, only by the sound of ticking hands from my watch will tell, it is time my friend... it is time.

Me and her

It was me and her, you and me in the middle traveller's day of summer July, hot like lava it's cooler shadows of ice Antarctic.
She feels the breeze knocks her off the heels that raise her higher than the Empire State Building.
Life couldn't get any greater.
It was me and her, she and I on balcony 6th Floor Hilton Hotel glancing nightlife living, Paris seeing dark trimmers the street lights, French walkers pass by on scooters, lunch under the sweet smell of spaghetti bolognese.
But we're not Lady And The Tramp, just lovers entwining Starry Night, I was the Van Gogh when I painted her.
I envisioned her skin Milky Skies, river bed in the lost tears of the moon.
And suddenly they are criminals around crooks are about hiding in shadows through bin cans and alleys.
See dangers are a sign of attraction, being kidnapped in another country is a sign of love to the rescue under the influence of Die Hard, but my True Lies won't back down.
Never done this before my heart is racing 70 miles per hour, putting my life on the line for her, be a man stand strong and rescue your Rapunzel from the tower, I'll be right there in an hour.

It was me and her, the words and the sonnets couldn't get any deeper than romantic evenings indoors.
Just the R'n'B jives making love to music, when it's wet...it's her knickers crying, crying to a man lover's physique.

It's 3am at midnight and you can't sleep under the French stars, so I whisper movie ballads that entertain your clubbing streak, end your 24-7 boredom haunting your fun time, press your play button that capture scenes of pornography.
Come on over, and let the hands caress those hands onto my chest of abstinence.
Lick my lips dry till there's no more Vaseline shining dried lips.
Let's do the mess around with pillows that plays soft lullaby to feather currents, let's go space bound to Venus and Uranus alike in cold shivering system.
Let these arms be your blanket that covers frostbites who may bite you with a cold fester.
So look up young dearest, look up and tell me what these brown eyes mean to you?
What is it that makes you moan my name in great pleasure when we touch, when we kiss this love that sends us quicker than Virgin Trains, faster than a Lamborghini, electrifying like a Third Rail tapped into our vibes.

Again it was me and her, you and me.
The words and sonnets couldn't get any deeper than romantic evenings indoors.
Just the R'n'B jives making love to music, when it's wet...it's her knickers crying, crying to a man lover's physique.

I don't know if it's this love, this sex, this ecstasy, this rock n roll or lust.
Does the kiss of a woman levitate my feet into a different world of hers, or do these humming vocals and verses call me a poet laureate of your time.
Your heart warm as the radiator home sweet home I've fond you, but you look at me confused if you feel right for me?
Let's not discuss nice guy vs bad boy syndrome, save you vs like you syndrome, petty jealousy vs the world revolves around you.
I chose you to spend my life with, I chose you cos I thought the woman I love needs no saviour to a woman's heart.
But a protector, a provider for our legacy to come into this world we are against in the arts that express wedding vows of my love poetry in tender kisses, the world that suffers heartaches not painful as earthquakes crack open bleeding hearts that have broken, old wounds have resurrected demons, the devils, the nightmares, the sorry lies, the traumas almost felt suicidal but she still hangs onto a message of hope.
The hope that erases mistakes like it was a test of wits, a test for knowledge on life, the test of attraction coming from qualities that fulfil your needs, your needs to relinquish reserved doors that have your heart open, needing my touch so desperately, filling your voids left unfulfilled.
It was me and her lost in paradise, lost in France scuba diving red wines that squirm vines, I found your voice intriguing, I found your face unforgettable, so I'll draw the one with colourful pastels, never sale your portrait to a sleazy stranger, and remember your looks through artistry and sonnets.

Everyday I'm writing

Every note I'm taking reckons London as everyday struggle, never ending this regurgitated cycle of time and money.
Conspiracy of the world ending, news recites propaganda to foolish viewers on potato couches.
Lost in themselves they have given up.
Everyday I'm writing the messy poems to myself, the self centred of my passage to self made, so no one can see where it's coming from.
Recapturing these past events, I write to feed the voids that left my holes empty to fill, empty to dig a grave for misery sonnets to the general public to reign.
Everyday I read and read these classics Homer brought The Odyssey to my chapters of time.
We shall feel at home within the Deptford palace.
My life breathes lungs to its capacity, I learn the literatures of Shakespeare in Old English, write monologues that breathe theatre stage to Putney Arts Theatre.
I need to write also to help breathe these pages like brown paper bags.
Nothing but the ghosts and shadows entering the invisible air of humans.
In a deserted ghost town, still finding my voice.
The uniqueness I kept covered from family and friends.
Not understanding the visions I've created the isolated friend, I had to be different from the rest, a destiny beyond the mechanics of a 9 to 5.
But can you make money of the writings on a wall piece, where bullshit sells and I'm out of options to forget it.
Never, my life is in these writings wherever I go these scriptures shall be remembered by the writer, the lyrics of a lyricist.
The poet laureate of your high school.
I need to write, I express these unfolded words.
No matter the messy poems the better, it doesn't matter if it didn't catch your ears, I'm being original not sounding like the others on the otherside of the fence.
Everyday in the open parks, I watch the birds wallow theme songs of a brighter present, a mellow morning rises the next season.
Some choose not to write themselves everyday, or envision a better tomorrow.
So they choose what they know, stay boxed in like hamsters, use the same formula over and over again.
Never wanting to leave their comfort zone, being institutionalized condenses chances to go outside the box.
It's a big world out there, countries of each continent wants to hear you loud and proud, my wings take a hold of abstract chemistry, reality will always be there so why stress it to a degree of the same old story.
Everyday my pen unfolds the missing letters to running emotions, signalling the rushing waves of the missing ink.
Everyday I'm asking questions, I'm finding the right answers I know nothing about.
What I don't know is more frightening.
So I have to explore the reason, the library shall guide me, pencils will follow I'm not a conformist.
I hold onto the endless pen, not letting go off its thinking cap.
And we are the chosen few to needle these marks on the edge of the Earth.
I'm seeing into the void, there it is, a complete story of the prince charming.

30 mins of pleasure

What is a horny cream pie like you, doing in a thug's mansion like this, horny as fuck and all alone?
In Victorian secret stockings underwear, dying for a monster dick to satisfy your lonely needs.
Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the sexiest of them all?
Your hair swayed to appreciate the goddess in your figure.
So I hear you came out the bedroom, with a dildo playing with yourself, touching yourself aroused by the fantasy of Lex Steele throbbing your pussy back and forth, turning you on from the waist up.
This was an invitation of, Please Fuck Me Now.
The ooohhh sounds and the uhhhh just visualising the manhood giving you that feeling of warmth inside you.
You called me over, wanting me so badly, you left the door open for me to creep upon your nasty mind, nasty it sends a rushing pulse from your masturbation to my dick.
On my way and it's unlocked, I could hear your moans growing louder and louder.
I tip toed through the corridor, and I saw you on the couch, enjoying the moment of excitement legs twitching body rocking in motion with the dildo, taking you to another place she climaxes, sucking the juices like her cum was ecstasy consumed by her fingers.
She licks them, eyes closed like mmmmm she was picturing the scene of a man walking by doing her like I was R-Kelly sexing her.

I tapped her knee out of the fantasy frame into reality.
She saw like oh my god, got carried away with the dream between her legs, and I was like hello, with a smile looking so curious I was thinking she was Mellanie Monroe.
She responds with her hand reaching for my zipper, aching for my dick to respond to her eager fingers rubbing my groin.
She was like hey, teeth shining at my naughty boy face, still feeling her warmth between her legs, the side of her head was tilting the wet dream caressing her left breast, she was making the arouses too irresistible to refuse, while her other still inching at my groin, it grew 11 inches.
I was like baby stand up for me, and you grabbed my belt while we French kiss the ice cream tone in your arousal.
The belt falls down, hands reach quickly to unbotton the trousers like a 7.34 fast train.
Look at you with your mischief smile, the trousers falls down, going to my boxers.
I was hard as a gun pistol, your hand takes control of the erection and you suck on it like a lollipop.
Enjoying the taste of my hot chocolate it felt my mind was lifted into light cloud of ecstasy, I was home.
You kept sucking, not stopping the mouth moving in and out, I let my moans reach your eardrum like it was uuuhhh...oooohhh yeahhhh suck on it.
Your eyes rolled at me, giggling slightly to know she is enjoying this.
Enjoying every inch, while other hand still rubs her wet pussy.
Juicy as the tongue licking, she couldn't wait to get on this hard on manhood.

I was like come on top of me, I guided her to the couch and was naked like Cupid, ready for her to ride on this long John.
Take on me and ride like a Rodeo.
You feel it baby, that hard on throbbing dick inside you.
She rode on it like it was a dildo vibrating the energy into her pussy muscles caressing my boner, hands on her hips, eyes of mine focus on her face.
She was right, her pussy was tight.
Aroused by the handsome presence of my face, I pull you closer feeling the heat by your pulsating breasts, you getting wetter and wetter, the throbbing the pounding she was like ohh baby ohhhh baby I'm gonna cum on your dick, I almost felt it and I screamed like aaaaahhhhh, ahhhh yesss oh baby you feel good.
The tempo of her speed settled like a spinning washing machine, taking it in slowly and I was like ooooohhhh you're so warm.
Hands on my face, while her head bumps into mine the breath of you arouses me more and more, wanting your body so badly, I poke you so thoroughly my dick is in love with your pussy.
It wants to rock that thing, bang that thing, fuck that thing.
While my mouth sucks on those ripe nipples, hard as pebbles, extracting milk from DDs, I'm hungry.
Going for a second round on your sexual desires, I'm open for suggestions to satisfy that clit of yours.

I was ready and sprung for round 2, told her to turn around while I do her doggystyle.
It was nice and round, I was hitting if from the back.
My hands were on her hips, ass poking out as I entered pussy, her back snapped up ready to take her on a roller coaster ride, this is the Saw of her life.
We move back and forth, pounding that ass.
Hard throbbing, hands holding tight on the couch like a rushing tide was hitting her mind senseless.
She was like yes yes yes yes yes yes yes, feeling the excitement filling her up to an oblivion, a drop of organism like uuuuhhhh! She felt it in her pussy vowels, hands rubbing behind while I push it real good up inside you.
Hands handling your ass, and your eyes closed absorbing the images like I was another Wesley Snipes actor doing you in the bedroom, another singer like Trey Songz cos we were meant to be together.
The pushing, the pelvis I hold onto and give it to ya nice and slow.
My hips dance as the rhythms caress the dick that holds control of your breath, you let out a sign of uuuuhhhh and uuuuuuhhhh and uuuuhhhh and ohhhhh baby right there.
Notice I hit the G Spot just right, eyes wide open like WOW.

I was ready for round 3, spread those legs while I take you deep under the Kama Sutra, legs open like I won your heart widely.
As I get in there, your moans ringing my ears wanting more of this daddy dick.
Yes, your pussy is so tight I grind in there giving that ooohhh uuuhhhh oooohhhh uuuuhhhh, head of yours twitching like the excitement got to your brains.
Filled with explosive rapture, taking your mind higher on a plane, dreams on rolling on Hawaii sands, you imagine them white as soaring clouds, heaven bliss if you will.
Eyes waking up to me, I come tumbling on your breasts, kissing you while I'm boning you deeply.
Taking it slow in you, your pussy caresses the hardness of my dick and I just lose my mind of pleasurable sex.
The sex immense like Lisa Boyle was On The Edge of blowing me over, by the book case it was goddess and I fucking up the education of literature.
I grabbed you, clinging on my neck, and I was fucking you from above.
Legs on my biceps, I was rocking your pussy to Timbuck Two.
You groaned and moaned like you wanted it "oooooohhhh shit....oooohhh fuuuucccck" she was severely turned on as TP2.com, like a freak I sucked on her nipples, hard felt like I was feeding milk off a cow.
She tasted good like vanilla ice cream, is what I wanted for dessert.
Feel the pounding the rest of your fantasy.
Kissing you, while your moaning noise rings inside my mouth, lips touching while the throbbing of my dick bones you.
I can't resist the blonde hair that gets me excited in the morning.
Excited I want this sex paradise to last forever, you are my heaven delight.

Ready for the grand finale, ready for you to take on this hard on dick.
Come and sit on top baby.
Come and sit on top baby.
Your ass poked out in front of me like a porcupine, easy does it and I felt your craving pussy grab hold of my dick, I was taken like ooohhhhh yeahhh.
The bouncing up and down  made me even harder, I felt you enjoy the riding of my brown meat.
So inside you uplifts your grinding hips to rotate, looking at me from behind with that kinky smile I was rock hard for you baby.
Rock hard as the starship going to shoot up in ya, hands of hers grabbing the couch, back laying on my chest while I bone the shit out of you.
Your groans going louder, cum warming your pussy's anticipation to cum together.
She was like ooohhhh oooohhhh shit, oooohhhh yeeeaahhh.
She couldn't get enough of me, my sex game was tight like shoe laces, she was like give me that dick, give me that dick.
Wanting more of that daddy dick up in ya, taking it all the way.
All that punting, sweat tears meaning I was feeling that.
She looked to the mirror on the left, watching a reflection of us fucking hard.
I let her know I was cumming and cumming and cumming.
Then I blasted like oooooohhhhhhhhhh oooooooooohhhhhhhh Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh haaaaaaaaahaaaaa splattered like a water sprinkler.
I couldn't help it, I wasn't done.
My throbbing boner wanted to poke her pink pussy inside, keeping me hard a little while longer.
Holding onto her hips, boning her hard still grabbing on those milky breasts, making me think of wet dreams.
I was like god damn shit you feel good.
She was like you got that shit good.
30 mins of pleasure had me aroused for her White Blonde sexy back like Mellanie Monroe, kissing those nipples of yours I was sprung, touching every inch of your body.
Giggling and smiling, like a stress reliever I was, then she replied it's just what I needed.

Body beautiful pt2

Are you illegally in blue?
Because I just missed you in the sky.
Are you on the edge of breaking down from broken Powder puffs, make up tears?
I can patch them up for you, your miserable mascaras with laughter and Kiss 100.
So let the pure garage groove take over your body and your soul.
Clench like there's no letting go of this pear shaped butty.
Let's play Animal Instincts on the outskirts of your arms, turning to branches.
Feel me reach your leaves, laid back as the guilt of silent night dreams.
The idea of perfection is alone, and needs not errors of flaw making, but errors of love making sandals.
Is your curves the size of a Coke bottle?
Cos if it is, I want to sip the continents under your tattooed belly, make those painted nipples feel hard behind your soft T-shirt white.
Are you afraid of experiencing the inserting of a man's erection when he's in love or feeling excited?
Feeling the violated steps cling onto your trembling thighs because you're not ready for his cum.
Don't be scared, don't be shy of another's taste for sex.
See lust is everywhere, still you will not open your door to unwanted guests.
But we're all strangers, perverts, lustful demons in this outgrowing universe.
The touching stars melt in your pot of honey.
I'm golden from the pyramids up your spine, I release you.
I embrace your portrait of Ms Pandora's Box on my bedroom wall.
I envisioned your open lid being tampered, crazed Halloween fantasies float in despair, finding the calmness of your soul through your painted H&M condolences on shopping plagues.
Body beautiful, never experienced the luxury of your Stacey's breasts portrait.
The body turned to art, the big blob turned to melting your love like a shower of milky stars.
This is what your body gets, this is your body was yearning for.
Somebody close as who, somebody close as her, somebody close like Hollicks.
Hot in your cup, it keeps you warm like radiators were your trustworthy blankets.
Yes dream girl, I was thinking about you, in that night dress, wishing you were here.
And yes you do have an incredible body, incredible bosoms that poke out predominately.
I was on the Internet, searching your site.com, or hit me on twitter I'll stalk your sexiness wherever it goes.
Behind closed curtains I am there, with the orchestrated jazz.
By your balcony, I am the Stevie Wonder giving you My Cherie Amour.
If your body misses love kisses, or touches that gives you what you need.
Just remember no one but no one can do you like I can.

Artistry pt2

The skateboard tale is epic, the ride is skeptic like lighting bolts and sticks feeling hopeless.
I am the artist with empty canvases, visualising the natural imagery, brush strokes to talk open hearted my concept.
Thoughts parallel to create his exhibited blob the walk.
Elaborate his colourful wheel to spin spin spin my plans of palette jazz.
Let The Victoria & Albert Museum rise from the page.
Let it create manifest its tides to watercolour orchestration.

Don't try to hide your skateboard flows.
I was there scouting your crew's tricks.
I've drawn the freelancer that energises wavy thrusts, the Bansky burials of Graffiti language, settling in college buildings.
The urban art for future generations.
I was the Art and the Design department of your course.
Settling on residential walls that causes controversial migration, authorities cleaning your controversy.
Warning young offenders a £500 fine will hang on your name, and yet you know the ground so well.
That's why they run, creating spray can destructions.
See language is trivial, you know the chalks are watching those pavements the travellers just keep on walking not caring, not staring at your fate.
It's in your space so own it.
Go on it's in your space so own it.
Grab it before it's too late, it's in your space so OWN IT!!!
Your skateboard shows ramps on Nimbus, fly into space, land on Jupiter if you must.
Take trips to space cadets, take the Trafalgar Square Bus tour on the rise through Sky sanctuary, go and see...everything.
Everything in Tony Hawkes inspires me, encourages me to mold your made up fantasy life to the extreme.
Live the way you want it without restrictions or limits.

I told you the tale is epic, I told you the tale is epic.
Don't deny your youthful light on those swings, open space said "express my child, go ahead and express your arts, use prix stick from children's trays, paper mache dreams, Captain America made of Marvel straws. Use the tools of brown sugar. Use the 2B lead, compass your globe, invent your own country."
Clapham Common hasn't forgotten your basketball dreams.
I play the one on one of the court.
The BMX don't mind, where your chalk dreams your nursery scribbles.
The kids don't mind the creations dabbed on your sketchbook lookouts.
I've drawn the Mutsang GT on sunset fun set, I've burned the background into 60 degrees.
Don't try and hide the wind brush that tells magical places and masterpieces.
Treasure lands are your astronomy, so shove thirty telescopes in Mallorca, she'll let you in her world.
Invite thousands of alcoholics to her whore poetry Magaluf.
Don't let unwanted peers ruin your ambition, scribble your dreams to fly with the impressionism.
I don't care for lost times in clubs, the ladies will find the next player in army shorts and NBA vest.
I don't care for your trendy Pumas giving the heads up to be hip like Justin Biber.
The artistry shares expressionism on another canvas in Tate Modern shores, photography looks at the shadows that inspire life on Emmanuelle, life as Taylor Wessing.
Let the life drawings glow on my palms, let them feel your perspective catch the tunnel from the distance.
Let the naked wall paint your Rubix Cube that paints cubism to another world distant than Pluto.
Exhibition has birds fluttering god's angels that speak lighting, Zeus powers generating mythology to life.
The crust is descending your moon biscuit.
I went to National Portrait Gallery and rooted for Turner paintings is watercolour beautiful, Van Gogh impressionism captures my imagination on those New York nights in the stars, spotlight cars will flair their headlights in your alleyway.

He told me to be the conductor of your science museum let my works connect, let the drums commence your Mars to rock.
Stick magic in your trumpet dome, your golden silence shall awaken Barbican poets and beyond your human brush can colour.
Your human brush will open the vortex to beauty canvas all over the make ups you wear, all the earrings glistening lost diamonds crust of hope.

I told you the tale is epic.

Forever treason, your art smothers me from mosaic scriptures, painted Pre-Raphaelites to artistically connect me with me.
I felt episodes of your William Morris tattooed on my brown skin nature's world to be evergreen, I was like word.
Your Bristol Museum doesn't know me well, doesn't believe my art exists, I've only met you once on the motoway.
Shall we glide on the hard shoulder, steal the 57 miles of Blackpool.
The real life is a canvas, life inherits colour cos without colour there is no canvas.

I told you the tale is epic.
I told you the tale is epic.
I told you the tale is epic.

A dreamer

If the sun rays were the loop of golden hoops, I'll skip them.
I be the dreamer on the fairy cake clouds on dessert island.
The moon waffle dreamer of the bay, while birds collage the blonde woman in Washington wide screen.
I dream for world's domination, internationally known as a whole world tour being.
The human beings I write them in my sleep shall remain nameless.
The journal stays awake 24/7 by my pillow case, visually darting my thoughts as I snore them into my sleep.
Now wait a second, did I say world domination at hand?
I mean the world's domination for the lost ancient talents with forgotten ambitions to uphold themselves.
Dreaming we can be those things, those things on posters, "It was spectacular, best performer, absolutely amazing."
Those things on Sky TV.
We can be that radio personality for BBC Radio on Capital FM.
This is domination for true identity of not forgetting, not forgetting where you came from.
Not forgetting milky dreams that fill bowls of cereal like Cheereos.
I claim myself as the uniqueness of the universe.
For I am Unique I am Edward I am Edward Unique, I am Edward Unique I run with my artistry, like minions of set in its prime time.
Slam my competition on TV to blow up in your face.
Dominate the spoken word scene like a Ben Affelik, completed The Poetry That I Am poetry short film.
Domination on helping communities.
Battersea Arts Centre I work with, we are one.
Libraries are countries I seek like a National Geographic explorer, countries I discover cultural identities like it was astronomy.
I dream for success in the Creative Arts, director like John Singleton.
Writer like Stephen King, even though he's a horror novelist, not every life is a horror flick.
Cubist like Picasso, a poet like Saul Williams.

Tate Modern is mine, National Portrait Gallery is mine, the culture my mum's inheritance of Mother Africa.
Gold Coast Ghana I wanna speak like thee, live like thee, understand like thee in the sun burning eternally.
Take me away from the Western country, where there's no cultural integrity to explore.
But my eyes are open, riding the clouds like a Ghost Rider the road is the path to longevity as I do it for the love over illuminati.
No money strains can match passion in pennies, cos love like this don't cost a thing.
I dream of American discovery, overseas opportunities not restricted by surveillance, spoken word spots all over the States I encounter notebooks like a journal on the Tube, but in this case it's a subway.
But like Tyrese, I dream with my eyes open to possibilities unknown.
Never overlook a challenge, try my hardest to fly on nemesis through weather conditions of a British weather.

I continue to dream, dream dream and dream.
Wake up from the coma, smell the aroma and make it happen like it's reality.
I dream for brothers, our brothers to step their game up, the world's an XBOX360, a Nintendo DS, learn the game like you play Call of Duty, the world is in the great depression, don't catch me off guard, I'm Splinter Cell in the shadows I am a dreamer for ambition and creativity, a centre for The Talented and Gifted people, where there is equal opportunities on such thing as the black sheep of the family, where there's life, energy and excitement in spaces closed behind doors number 1 2 and 3.
Gifts not to be thrown in death sentences, dramas that sidetrack misguided steps into street life, gang bangs your life away in the danger zone, drunken friends throwing their lives into Smirnoff's, LSD and Crack.

Forever I am a dreamer, I am a dreamer, not a dreamer in my sleep, a dreamer for miracles to come true, surprises to enhance your eyes, dreams of thug's mansion, just us and the guitarist playing dear mama while the heavens blow open the purely gates.
So what do these dreams mean to me?
If there's no spark in the fire, if there's no highlights to start a match without a stadium.
If there's no Italian serving us spaghetti bolonaise, my taste buds can't dance with the flavours.
For my dreams, I will prosper becoming the things I wanna be.
The television in a wide screen option is too much, Sky doesn't define the star that I am.
Pictures no cameras can capture in Snappy Shots, the picture is me rolling in a Volkswagon Golf, no automatic gears will change my drive on the go.
On the motoways to freedom, on the dual carriageways to a journey I've never traveled before...divide my ways for what I want to be, what do I desire in my empty pockets?
What do I require for my family to receive for tomorrow or what the future holds for them?
We can't always dream for the things we want or the things we crave in HMVs latest CDs, latest DVDs will keep us entertained, Foot Lockers or JD Sports, wearing the trainers that don't fit.
It's about world discovery, world impact, it's about allowing the world to experience your artistry, experience your thoughts, the brush of mine will never settle for anything less, it has all the tools, all the colours to inspire young minds alike, we are the future for the 21st century's elites.

We are lovers of the vibes, all that jazz, music and all those words I conjure up into...therapeutic poetry, contemporary artistry, I add acrylics to my wordplays, wordsmiths I educate children with low self esteem, if only I could get to school, be involved in their lives, I'm their semi-skinned milk that fills the void.
No time for parenting  behind closed curtains, 9 to 5, careers missing can't see the growth in ideas planted in skull minded.
I'm not supposed to see through the invisible, and conquer the impossible.
But I'm suppose to be the pioneer of my destiny, be the established artist of my time.
Theatre plays I write, the organiser of events, the one with the visionary, the master with the plan.
Forever I am a dreamer, not a dreamer of things I see on television, the things I wanna be in life if I want it I go get it.
It's impossible but possible to dream big as the size of Jupiter.
I live a single life but must do a double life for finance, must maintain artistic vision at all times to the big screen.
Yes, when I was young I dreamed of having a Mercedes Benz, four pretty women in bikinis and a mansion in Beverly Hills.
But what's it all worth at the end of the day?
Is art worthless without a J M T Turner?
The blob illusion only existing in stupid minds impossible to conquer.
You can do anything, be anything you want.
Just imagine it will happen to you, nobody should claim your dream but you.
What do these dreams mean to me?
What are the possibilities in doing what you love best?
So tell me, what is the use of dreaming, if we're not ready to fulfil them.