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Oil & Water – 1/4/16X1/27/16


(1/4/16)

The best things in life are worth waiting for.

The best things in life are worth fighting for.

We’ve waited.

We’ve fought.

Living, loving.

Together, apart.

Growing together, like intertwined vines, we show no sign of stopping.

Freezing, melting.

Waning, waxing.

We are who we are, forever our core properties.

We may weather and alter, really, feed off each other.

The process is a full with you.

Feel the complete cycle.

Freezing, melting.

Waning, waxing.

Forever our properties.

(1/27/16)

Explosive properties at best.

Learned we don’t mix.

Oil and water.

We scorched, we got hotter

Hotter than we could’ve thought of.

Awful caustic reaction.

You couldn’t get past it.

Nights joined on the mattress didn’t help patch us.

Full of too much. Too much love. Too much passion.

Too much. It’s blinding.

Sent you crashing.

Still gave it all, like who the hell cares what happens?

Moments repeat.

Replay in drifts like an arctic breeze.

Chilled by the thoughts, and froze without your body heat.

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Oil & Water – 1/4/16X1/27/16


(1/4/16)

The best things in life are worth waiting for.

The best things in life are worth fighting for.

We’ve waited.

We’ve fought.

Living, loving.

Together, apart.

Growing together, like intertwined vines, we show no sign of stopping.

Freezing, melting.

Waning, waxing.

We are who we are, forever our core properties.

We may weather and alter, really, feed off each other.

The process is a full with you.

Feel the complete cycle.

Freezing, melting.

Waning, waxing.

Forever our properties.

Explosive properties at best.

Learned we don’t mix.

Oil and water.

We scorched, we got hotter

Hotter than we could’ve thought of.

Awful caustic reaction.

You couldn’t get past it.

Nights joined on the mattress didn’t help patch us.

Full of too much. Too much love. Too much passion.

Too much. It’s blinding.

Sent you crashing.

Still gave it all, like who the hell cares what happens?

Moments repeat.

Replay in drifts like an arctic breeze.

Chilled by the thoughts, and froze without your body heat.

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Bargaining – 2/24/16


If she don’t want it, that’s okay.

You’ll find someone worth the world, someday.

No need to dwell on a young lady only trying to act her age.

Shoes on. It’s time to move on.

Just as far as she’s gone.

Quit sacrificing your value like your life is built off coupons.

Go beyond your budget,

Cause you only got one shot at now and you should love it.

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Bargaining – 2/24/16


If she don’t want it, that’s okay.

You’ll find someone worth the world, someday.

No need to dwell on a young lady only trying to act her age.

Shoes on. It’s time to move on.

Just as far as she’s gone.

Quit sacrificing your value like your life is built off coupons.

Go beyond your budget,

Cause you only got one shot at now and you should love it.

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Motions – 3/2/16


You’ll be gone soon enough. Reaching out to any she that will reciprocate. Plan on replacing you with her. One of them. Someone. Anyone.

It doesn’t matter at this point, so long as she plants kisses as softly as your lips did and grabs my shoulders like they weren’t always built to fit perfectly in your clutches.

Prior to you, felt like I was lacking romantically. Unable to commit. Stamped a cheater forever. You made me realize that wasn’t true. Showed me my potential.

Always gonna love you for that.

Always gonna miss waking up in your bed to your face. Was one of the few times it wasn’t covered in cover up. You’d smile. We’d kiss. Your lack of morning breath at first had me thinking you had been up for hours, teeth already brushed and day started while I silently slept next to your son.

You were calling him our son at the time. We didn’t correct him when he called me Mom. Weird that a month ago, I was a full fledged parent-and then it vanished like an Amber Alert that I don’t have a right to file or even follow up on. He’s not mine by blood. Never was. Blood didn’t matter. Wanted to treat him like a kid of my own regardless. 

Before we got involved, 8AM meant it was time to swap lines for bumps and beers for bloodies. Sunrise with you had me running to the supermarket to pick up breakfast sausage and pampers. I preferred that so much more. Not sure where we went wrong, but I’m always willing to go get more diapers..

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Clockwork – 2/17/16


Here we are again.

The two of us single.

Falling back to old habits.

Stay the night. Let’s mingle.

Let me love her through you. 

You can love her through me. 

You’re lonely too, and girl, there’s no need to be. 

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Faulty – 2/11/16


How can I just pretend you don’t exist?

I don’t know, but you seem to do it just fine. 

It was effortless for you to disconnect.

Even if you’re not plugged in, your software was downloaded.

No matter how many uninstalls and reboots are done, your code is still here like some sort of virus. 

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Expressionism – 12-28-14


12-28-14

My 25th birthday. Scary.

25.
Quarter-life?
Do most people live this much in 25 years?
Sure.
They may accomplish more in societies eyes; careers, marriages, babies, mortgages, 401ks, etc – all that bullshit needed to build a cookie-cutter blueprint around white picket fences.
Those people fit society like a glove.
What about the rest of us?
Never content with the idea that building and investing so far into one life could squander the dreams of another.
25.
Quarter-life?
This can’t only be a quarter.
Do you know what I have accomplished?
At some point you’ve got to stop learning lessons, right?
Assuming that the meaning of life is simply to learn all these lessons, makes me beg to differ.
We’ve still got plenty to learn, every day.
25…
Quarter-life..
Those people make me laugh.
25, in my eyes, seems like three-fucking-quarters. If not more.
Positive I won’t see the “mid-life” of 50.
Don’t really need to.
50.
Mid-life.
Can’t imagine how many of your peoples so-called “quarter-lives” bunched together 50 would be in my shoes.
Christ.
The thought alone is enough to cause a mild panic attack.
Whenever people speak on the future, they seem so excited.
They’re so ecstatic to encounter the unknown.
Holding onto the idea that the dark-unfamiliar-could-be-would-be-should-be is going to bring hope.
Something fantastic.
Something great.
Something that tops it all.
What if our best has already come though?
What if we’ve experienced the happiest moments we’re meant for?
What if that was it?
It could be all downhill from here.
Great things still may come.
They may still be written into your path.
Probably scattered.
You know, to force you to put the puzzle together.
To give life some sort of sick roller-coaster based balance.
Who knows.
If sayings are true (which, clearly, us romanticizing writer-types totally buy into), then when it rains, it indeed pours.
Shit piled on shit.
Issue after issue.
Tear by tear.
Fight to the next fight.
Anger turned to argument.
Argument turned to action.
Action turned to reaction.
When it rains, it pours.
How can it not be true?
I’ve watched some of the best people have the hardest of years, and for what reason?
Karmatically, they did not owe a penny.
They hadn’t wronged the innocent.
They hadn’t stolen a thing.
They had been honest.
They had been hard-working.
They needed a change.
Think we found the link.
One piece to bind all these seemingly normal, yet undeserved tragedies together back like glue.
Thinking about my worst years (’07,’09, ’12, ’13, and let’s be honest, some of ’14) it makes sense.
Of course, many of those years when tragedy struck, it was in result of my own behavior, or karma.
Those “bad years” full of unforeseen and soul-crushing tragedies are there for a reason.
They come around cause you need change.
You need to understand that there is a bigger picture to this whole life thing.
Sometimes it’s too easy to get caught up in the selfish ways of thinking.
It’s not always all about you.

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Expressionism – 11-11-14


11-11-14

Finding as I’m growing,
Want to invest.
Done with the days,
When I was obsessed
With seeing how quick,
She could undress.
Was so stuck, situated,
Fixated, staring at the naked chest.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Breast to breast.
Depressed really, gotta confess.
Too much wasted time,
On a simple conquest.
Got lonely sex at best.
What a mess.

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Expressionism – 5-31-15


Lucky for not one, but two.
Metropolitan playgrounds, feeding off each other.
Saint Paul.
My love.
My fair hearted, timeless, home on the East of the Mississippi.
Your skyline glows as I sit at one of my favorite look-out points.
Watching you.
Remembering.
This spot was haunted by her.
Still one of the best things she left me.
Not only this spot, but for the deep-rooted appreciation of this city.
Hell, her parents practically own this city so it felt rightful that she was the one to teach me it’s hidden secrets and passive ways.
It’s always been home, but she showed me how to properly love it.
On a richer and intricate level.
Funny that she taught me the same about women;
Our relationship wasn’t one-sided though.
We paralleled the Twin Cities.
She represented that tradition.
That culture.
Those whole-some, albiet, emotionally draining values.
I represented the other half.
The sister city.
Minneapolis.
My mistress.
My naughty, trendy, getaway on the West of the Mississippi.
The side of the river that spelled out debauchery, nightclubs, a laundry list of sexually explorative liberal feminists, addictions to club drugs and cocaine.
It was the side of the river that brought out the devious side of me.
The side that threatened to drown me.
I introduced her to my world, as a new-found hip-hop promoter, she was always my plus one.
We partied with local celebrities in Minneapolis, just like we did in Saint Paul.
Only Minneapolis parties were attended due to my schmoozing, not like the Saint Paul ones, where we had special treatment due to her last name.
Minneapolis turned us wild.
Often, we’d end up somewhere like the Fine Line, slugging beers and matching shots while our dancing to my buddies playing on stage got a little too provocative.
We’d get horny.
Fuck in a bathroom stall.
Continue drinking.
Go home.
Then she’d yell about me socializing with people throughout the night.
No wonder people from Minneapolis don’t go to Saint Paul.
It’s where love is made, but it’s also where hearts are broken.
Minneapolis is just so busy. There’s always something to do.
Here in Saint Paul, we’re in the house after 9.

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