If God is a creator of beauty, an artist of pain,
does he paint so much darkness today?
Poetry is not peaceful, it does not derive from the gardens of my heart,
this is just me,
trying to harness the dark,
and I am so different,
I have felt like a Martian from the start.
I am lost in this galaxy, searching the stars.
This pain is a painting,
swirling, expanding, burning in my heart.
God has painted a masterpiece,
within me that may just be my own catastrophe.
And how can I be mad at the world,
if it seems to be even more mad at me?
but I guess that may be life,
a beautiful girl that has shredded your heart,
in other words, a gorgeous tragedy.
The sun slits the galaxy open, and as if it is a suicidal smile,
it beams through and shows beauty,
but within me the sun is burning,
and the pain is immense, truly.
I pray for a moment of peace,
are not just moments to me.
I want to be more,
not what my reality, has chosen to be.
This world we call home, is benevolent,
so I am homeless, at ease,
because being lost is where I find eloquence,
roses and bees.
Watch me grow from concrete,
flow like Mobb Deep,
Battle this battle, and fight this fight,
own it like I'm not beat.
show them like it's property,
God told me, to reach the peak I seek,
that I need him.
And I said fuck you,
I don't believe him.