Let's talk about hatred Let's have a conversation without restraint Have you ever noticed your enemies are always nearby? Have you noticed you could get more support from a stranger passing by? I mean think about it, ponder your deepest conscience Is your friend really your friend? Think for a bit, be more conscious Is family really family? Blood might be thicker than water However, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb Don't be fooled by a smile I struggle to find a simile for loyalty Those nearer are the ones with intentions farther from what's best for you Those farther are the ones that might accommodate you, no strings attached Society is filled with strings, not elastic strings, brittle ones Help rendered is usually tethered to a short, conditional leash They want you to do well but not better than them Break the leash, break the strings of misery, unleash your best Is company really necessary? Ill rather simple solitude than complicated pairings Evil comes in twos, good comes in singles Who am I to advise you? Heed my words, watch your back, misery loves company

The personification of depression The realization of regression 
I digress I write not to impress 
I write from the heart From my cold beating heart 
I write with all my heart So as this ink spills with each pump 
Each spill spills with purpose Purposeful intentions 
Let me weave ideas you can visualize Let me give your heart eyes 
So you can see what you feel If you could eat empathy, would you eat your fill? 
The world is dark now That's why we stumble and try to feel our way through 
We can never get through  The top is miles away 
We strive for the pinnacle Blocking each strife is a different obstacle 
The only way to blast through these hurdles Is hands around each other, championship team huddle 
I mean we have to work together We have to step up 
I mean we have to walk together No sooner should our power be collective 
Shall our collection of disappointment cease No opportunity shall pass without being seized 
In a world full of Brutus's we're all Caesar So come off your high horse Step down the throne Trade-in your olive leaf crown for an olive branch 
The tree of life Infinite branches, but still we shade  Unveil your shadow, own your past Walk into your future head first Each step should not be your last Walk the sands of time and leave a mark that lasts

Blood on the leaves The story of our lives I put my pen to paper I shed a tear with my ink I'm about to tell a story A story about the future and history Place your hand in mine Take a walk with me in the sunshine The sun rays hit the grass blades The wind whispers to the grass in the everglades Wait a minute Listen to the birds chirping in synchrony to our heartbeat Talk about melody Talk about an out of body symphony These are my isolated thoughts whilst in isolation Take a walk with me underneath the clouds This is an age-old tale A tale of humanity Humanity is in dire need of a new world order What do you see? Brother fighting brother We are all equal in the eyes of our grand architect Man always chases the bigger picture Man is always in search of greener pasture In this erratic pursuit of perfection, we only attain the edge of our potential Man is his harbinger of doom Humanity is in dire need of a restructure of action As we walk, our foot scrapes the pavement Look around and hear nature lament Perhaps there is hope on the horizon The sun sets blood red, it's a new dawn Blood on the leaves The story of our lives

What a beautiful morning, the smell of the hibiscus flower drifts through the fresh, crisp air. Such an inviting fragrance. Birds and insects fly around in no particular direction, the cock crows as the gold rays of the sun filter through the pale blue sky. The sound of nature's orchestra conducted by the supreme being plays through the environment. I stare up, squinting as I try to count the wispy cotton clouds. “Ada steady your head!” She says to me in a very patient voice. “Sorry, granny,” I reply ashamed. I am ashamed because she is so patient and gentle with me. I steady my head as I position my little plump body firmly between her knees. I let my hands caress her old legs. My fingers graze her protruding veins around her ankles. I try to feel every scar until I reach her knee and give it a gentle tap. I feel safe and secure between mama Adeola's knees. It is the most warm and inviting place in the world. Her fingers move through my hair, slowly and steadily. She completes one braid, then parts with a dark brown comb and starts another. Her mother had used the same comb on her, and I will use it on my daughter one day. While she braids, she pauses to sip some warm ginger beer from a yellow glass beside her, I know she is about to tell me a story. She hands me a peppermint, first unwrapping the orange wrapper for me. I smile and joyously rattle the smooth candy around my mouth. Minty flavor explodes in my mouth as I listen to granny tell me a story of the dog and the cat, as she completes another braid. “One night a witch visits a man at night, the witch leaps over the fence, and flies through the night sky on her broom to his window. Standing at the entrance is a dog. It barks at the witch and attacks it ferociously, telling it to go away. The witch flies away angrily. On another night, the witch flies to another house. Guarding the entrance is a black cat. The cat stares with its yellow eyes at the witch, purrs softly, and lets in the witch. The witch smiles a wicked smile and performs her enchantments around a sleeping man. She leaves out the window, with the cat perched on her broom, and they fly over the treetops towards the moon. So this is why in our society, the dog is our best friend, and people think cats are evil dear Ada.” Granny says to me. “Are cats really evil?” I ask. Granny lets out a chuckle. She is done with my braids now, I bring my tiny hands to my head and pat my braids. I look up at granny, and we smile at each other. I never want these moments to end. The moments did end. My granny passed away ten years ago in her sleep. I sit by my window on Sunday mornings, reminiscing about her calm voice and ginger beer breath. I miss her stories, and I miss her. Not even the humming of bees can cheer me up. A teardrop escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek. My heart aches as I long for the Sunday mornings on her porch. I can hear a soft meow, I turn around and hug my cat Adeola.