Peculiar Poetry

“Red eyed,
rare form,
simply swindled,
memories swarmed,
released recently from souls lingering on my skin like smoke,
I recall chasing Love letters in chalk clouds,
wondering if there was wisdom in my wanderlust,
there was no fear I couldn’t trust,
destructive debris set deep in my dastardly scars of destiny,
futile feelings testing me,
grey matter arresting me my medulla is detesting me,
I just want to feel good,
knock on wood,
whats special wrestles with morality,
dapper drastically distant and dramatically,
realize rebels from family,
Love? I have none to give but this little I use to live,
I often have mistaken it, and traded it for lust,
woman has windled my ass back to dust from dawn till dusk,
I refuse to rush,
so brazen as to never blush,
no shame its all game,
keep that in perspective and you may remain sane,
it’s a hell of a distraction from pain,
don’t mistake the peculiar for strange,
it for damn sure ain’t plain,
so just keep playing,
dig the deepest hole and slay the vilest of demons,
it’s never not slaying season for us heathens,
rebel for the simplest of reasons,
instinct involuntary like sneezing,
whatevers releiving and somewhat pleasing,
play the game for a prize worth keeping”

the Peculiar Poet “Untitled” (via peculiarpoet)
(via peculiarpoet)

2 months ago/7 notes/REBLOG

“I AM TRAYVON MARTIN… RIP to my pleasant memory,
victim of a common cruel injustice,
anti-civil circumstance at excused bloody hands have brought an end to me,
I died without an enemy,
without sin worthy of killing me,
without the chance to repent I AM 17,
my future was filled with both promise and uncertainty,
but surely my existance was worth more than the bullet that caused the world to realize our present state of emergency,
who knew the price we’d pay from Emmett Till to equality,
a check written in blood and underlined in fallacy cashed into reality,
don’t be sad for me,
I’m glad for the hearts that again beat and bleed passionately,
don’t let it fade to grey,
history’s repetitive message has made it clear this is not the first nor the last time we will see this day,
so determine the difference between now and then,
it’s time for humanity to step up and claim the true birthright of our fallen brothers,
the birth right of self right of Life for all Men,
Amen”

Peculiar Poet “I AM TRAYVON MARTIN…” (via peculiarpoet)
(via peculiarpoet)

2 months ago/15 notes/REBLOG

peculiarpoet:

How can I be a christian when my heart beats are synonymous to bed creaks?My problem is when I’m sober the abundance of my heart speaks, being the vulgar son of a minister, I administer addictive concauctions because my dick game is larger and my lip game goes farther, a two edged sword speaking…

2 months ago/9 notes/REBLOG

“Her thickness brought me soul sickness,
sin so bad I felt obligated to make her a Ms.,
head hit me like pow! battered brow and sweet kisses,
she made me fell new shit like my dick was made of Reeces,
baby was my buttercup and I’d look red, passion struck,
taste just like Love but I only want to fuck, not that I could give one,
fucks were never a factor,
enamored by delusions of grandeur I never dealt in emotions only actions were all that ever mattered,
but baby got me staggered, that ass couldn’t be phatter,
I cashed her in my soul and silver platted it on a platter, I am the mad hatter and I changed it everyday until nothing even mattered,
by Sunday we ended up on Saturn then I came down to Earth alone a little sadder,
fuck it…at least I had her”

The Peculiar Poet on a Narcotic Numb (via peculiarpoet)
(via peculiarpoet)

2 months ago/3 notes/REBLOG

The Peculiar Poet on a Narcotic Numb

2 months ago/8 notes/REBLOG

The Peculiar Poet (via peculiarpoet)
(via peculiarpoet)

2 months ago/4 notes/REBLOG

3 months ago/3 notes/REBLOG

We wrote love in lower case letters as to unintentionally slap the very face of God, smothered our souls in the back of the Bentley,

smokin’ weed and sippin’ on Henney,

sin came simply so then smiles were plenty,

we must have sewn signs on our foreheads of sorrow,

predictions purely predicated on yesterday’s shadows constantly casting on tomorrow,

she wanted my dick hard and my heart hollow,

my taste for her was to die for,

my only problem being I had but one life and I always would want more,

see Man ain’t changed since Adam and Woman no less deceiving than mama Eve,

they possess what we want of which we’ve made what we need,

they’ve realized pussy will never allow a nigga to leave

precious power turned sour waxing worse by the hour,

breathtakingly bittersweet,

but somehow I loved to eat of our strange fruit,

chances are it’s been rotten from the root,

So who’s to blame?

two souls drowning in their own generation,

comedic sobriety in an insane society,

tamed only by temptation laughing in our faces and fear of further self disgraces,

Who could save us?

it was I who befriended this peculiar flower and named her Misery,

a ride-or-die who has forever been a friend to me,

my mistake in the end,

apparently just because you lower case love her does not mean you can make a Lover of a friend

3 months ago/12 notes/REBLOG

peculiarpoet:

“What if I said it didn’t have to be real? Lets just play house like we did when we were kids and you can Love me till tomorrow or however long that translates into grown-up years…
It would be selfish of me to ask for your heart for life so instead I’m asking for a loan for tonight because my black hole has ceased to safice”

“Don’t we all always have courage behind closed doors?, pussys in public purely subject to soft spoken words, nervous stomach paines like a stab from a samurai’s two edged sword, pathetic paralysis since you have a severed spinal cord, only ever empathetic to God’s presence when he’s no longer near, you feel as though he see’s you but he’ll no longer hear, whats a God to a non-believer type fear, athiest asshole stubborn simple ass example of the infamous hypocritical roar, screaming silently in his conscience Lawd,Lawd,Lawd! sensless son-of-a-bitch driven to settle a one ended score, thus is the insecure genious deviant down to devour death for no more than damnation in bitchass retaliation searching recklessly for justification for self inflicted scorn, lies on his lips and love at fingertips, he torn, curse the day the “average nigga” was born”

The Peculiar Poet on The Ignorant “Average Joe”, Which Way Will This one Go?

4 months ago/12 notes/REBLOG

Bijon J. Barnes aka The PeculiarPoet

4 months ago/17 notes/REBLOG