Black Poetry : The Syndrome

[Nahshon]

I can't pass the test
when her body flips her spirit from one extreme
to the next
I am not setting her off with my words
It's the syndrome
makes her think the words said
were aimed at her head
like sniper scopes
I hope I can just get out of her presence alive
but if I die then I die.
But I'll live to die
to die to live
to live to die
to die to live
again and again just to be with her

Chemical imbalances seems to make her forget who I am

You see my shadows cast light
blinding those bound in ignorance
of who they think I am
my answers question the questions
many refuse to ask
My oceans rain skies
when my truth tell lies
My darkness exudes gravitational energies
my inner wars bring external peace
I can take a bird out of the sky
tap into it's powers and fly
I made earthbound gods question why
While I stroked minds beyond thought fathoms
I simply answered I needed to see d*ckheads
fall limp from their own egorgasms(ego-orgasms)
and after my flight I swing back down to earth
my home
the place of my birth
to put on genital body armor
to protect self and lover
She, I, we've aborted thoughts of abortions
because it's not what we believe in

I can't help composing poetic free-verse symphonies
on subway car trains
about loving a PMS suffering skinny woman that loves to complain
and she complains about everything
from the food that I eat
to me pulling out to soon
to spill ego on sheets
of her bed
not book
only to look
at her on top me again
as her hip lips suck
the seeds from my d*ck
to spit
into eggs of poetry
we, lovemaking poets
she and me love making poets
impregnating each other giving birth to little poetics

I tell you she gets pissed if I miss any opportunity that was put before me...
to be all I can be
recite my poetry
and teach
teach children to go beyond (poet-ential) potential
help them see the days of their lives
be their credentials of this university
we call universe

She says she loves me with a growl from her teeth
Shi+ the syndrome is
f*cking with she again
and I am the man
in the line of her fire
she gets loud and evil
calls me a liar
when i tell her it's she I'd die for
I confess the only way to minimize this mess
is for me to remove the stress beneath her dress

so our bodies once again dance on the moonbeams
that infiltrate bedroom dreams

and at the times she doesn't suffer from the imbalance
we take the chance to bite love marks
on the walls of each other's hearts