I like

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I like feeling  cold but cuddling in bed watching Youtube.

I like reading romance set in a historical phrase.

I like kitkat bars.

I like love coconut water.

I like my hair when it cooperates.

I like that fresh feeling after a shower.

I like when it rains heavy when I am indoors.

I like watching waterfalls.

I like dimple smile, I just do.

I like holding moving conversations.

I like many things. What do you like?
A poem for #PoetryMonth2017.

When #Blacklivesmatter Gets In Trouble (A Prose Poem)

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Why do so many black people love to point out all the flaws of their ethnicity like parents blaming teachers for their children failing grade. Yet when another ethnicity takes the same flaws  and appreciate and show love, the same black people erupt a volcano of “it is our culture, we are the only ones entitled to wear hair like that or use that hastag.” Do they hear themselves sounding like Judas before the Last Supper? This is why we cannot have anything nice because we are busy throwing dice about ownership over trivial matters. If a young Bangladeshi-American growing up in New Jersey used #blacklivesmatter in answer to one question on a Stanford application  flustered so many black people then shouldn’t black people  express more than lackluster dismay? Shouldn’t one be happy that another ethnicity is marching to the proud loud drums of equality for all. Instead many are lashing out that it was not his hastag to use, leaving my thought process dashing in an array of dismay. What is wrong with our sense of reasoning? Are we so mess up in the head with such strong yet low opinions of ourselves that we fail to realize that if we keep segregating that we are defeating the fight against laws of Jim Crow?

Islam is a religion and its fellowers are called Muslims like Christianity  is a religion and it’s followers called Christians.

Sign off with a sigh for #PoetryMonth2017

A Piece of You

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If I could taste a piece of you I would betray like the Last Supper. Yet I would not kiss anyone because my affection would be momentarily just for you.Will you satisfy my six lust groups or will I dominate? If I could taste a piece of you I would surrender that future hour to your justice. Dictate your verdict Sir: locked in wonder or free to wander?

Mind Fucked

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It seem so difficult to concentrate on any task of pleasure for too long. I am not sure why my mind goes on its own leisure away from the task at hand in flights of other objectives bourne out of a type of mind fuck. It is that fleeting mask green with jealous yet teasing my thoughts to unsettling nerves of fright. I cannot finish my novel in the timely manner of before because the sight of a familiar sends my paranoia running marathons. Why am I cunningly manoeuvring between settled and haste? It was moments of strategic thinking but now it feels like a waste of embarrassing analysis. Something is slipping away turning in times of torments and aimless mind mummbling. Dipping into cascades of shining nothingness,something is mind fucking.

A poem for Poetry Month. I may dip into the world of writing more than twice weekly for Poetry Month.Happy poetry month

Are we blinded by our love of history? | History Extra

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” Yet how can we hope to learn from the past without making the effort to preserve and conserve those valued products of it that have survived? All told, the idea of ‘Heritage’ remains a topic capable of arousing powerful passions.”

http://m.historyextra.com/article/premium/are-we-blinded-our-love-history?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=facebook