influence
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I am meant to be a voice, not an echo. But to create echos, I first need to be a voice. Echo the passion, the message, the freedom, to anyone and everyone all around world.
MONEY
A new young money runs this town
In new flashy cars latest in town
Owns mansions at every nook and cranny
And all the floozies throw at his feet
People worship all my goldmines
A crayon
Teaches a hand to create
Colorful dreams onto white walls
Coloring outside the lines
No limits for each color
A pencil
Writes a love letter at 3 am
Everyone you have ever met,
has left an impact on your life.
Whether you’ll remember it or not.
Sometimes the ones who leave
the biggest imprint on your life
are the ones you’ll never meet.
Homestead arrival and
Another greeting by routine
The plan laid out
Simple and clean
They bark,
They roar,
They tweet,
They squeak.
These 2 legged, 4 legged, 8 legged friends
Will be my influences until the end.
They have taught me to be passionate.
Because you were friends with a couple of Britons,
Because you wanted to help girls help their country and others,
Because you founded Girl Scouts.
Those hazel eyes reflected her smile,
The tiny feet ran to me,
A jump into my arms was all it took,
And my little girl in blue was she.
A young girl from the Southside
Where cats shoot dice
In the sky Gwendolyn cools the air
Smog separates the city
These rich folks don’t come round ‘here
The city of the violet
Heart of the violence
My Influence is that of a bird
A bird whom leaves its nest to live
My Influence is that of whom could fly
Whom could soar high above the rest
My Influence is that of a Believer
The spider had crawled in from the depths of the unknown
The girl, seeing the creepy crawler, screamed to her bones
Oh, wait a minute! Amongst the shadows in the dark
Lies a man as strong as a shark
It only takes one person to influence another.
A teacher is a great example.
A teacher's words can guide and inspire.
A teacher can come into one's life at the right time.
A teacher uses experience to influence.
Match strikes box
Friction becomes flame
Slowly, steadily
The hand stretches to reach its goal.
1920s, New York
A young woman,
You see me in the smoke
Circling your chimney,
Ever-present yet peripheral.
If only you knew...
Even fire can't keep you warm.
You feel the embers of a flame
Always have open eyes to the world around you
And open ears to the sounds that surround you
But if it is negative thoughts or words being said
Dont let them in for they will surely drown you
I heard the reflection of an iceberg is you when you renew your vision
Tell me how to get clarity with my wrong decisions
I guess my heart is a toy, did i fail to mention
All I needed
throughout the nights
along the long and winding roads where mind meets soul
is the sweet symphony in my heart
pulsing through my veins
the timpani drums enclosed beneath muscle and tissue
Who am I?
Well to answer your question
I must first answer the question of what I am not
A eight-year does not sit in the summer grass and think up their future selves.
They think of the next glass of kool-aid and
where their "pet" frog went.
I will look upon a normal tree,
Robust trunk and swinging leaves,
Then realize I wanted a flower.
I’ll tell myself it could be one,
Then it is, the transformation done,
Less of a tree with each passing hour.
“Never let the pains of a torn soul tear you,”
The words of myself to myself.
A difficulty like no other,
I really like your style girl but I hate the fact that you wild, play this game always ends the same is this how it all goes down?
In 5,4,3,2,1
The words I will here when I sit in front of the camera at my dream job
It will be more than a job it will be a career
Getting the story, delievering the story, and the greatest part networking
I pledge allegianceto the mediaof the United States of Americaand to the partyfor which it speaksan entire nationunder the influenceuninformedwith propaganda and deception for all.
Today’s a new era, a very extreme era.
Society today, well, it could be better.
Influence today is disgustingly vulgar,
The sand, the water, all so Beautiful
Recovered from a past of Ashes
Earthquakes, hurricanes, Drought,
Mother Earth filled with Rage,
Avenging the world of the Abusive
Humans; the corrupt, the reckless
I make mistakes from time to time.
You tell me who the hell is perfect?
Yeah, I may cause ah little trouble
But I like to believe I'm worth it.
You look at me and see pointless
Well baby I see potential.
Struggling from a poor village,
many dreams of freedom and peace.
Im off to make an effort to this privallege
The day has come im on my way to succeed.
Days and nights of struggles and fear,
This is the story of tragedy immemorial.A tale of endless woe.I hope you'll learn from the mistakes.Made by two really quite bitter foes.
i live to be ill, for the thrill, keep it trill
and if you walk into my house I'll be sending you a bill
i dont need no money, but i get it tho
i don't complain, it's insane, the way im stackin doe
I complete by marryin that girl dominique
until i realized she ain't got the best physique
The was the second strike
cause her heart wasn't right
she was intercoursing just out of spite
Click A sound is heard Tick Another chimes Knock A common noise Tock A secret song Creak Alone just chaos Squeak Together form music Ching Annoyance to some DingHarmony to otherBong Ignored by speed Dong Embraced by patience
It’s music note coming at you
Throwing these facts down so you’ll understand where I’m coming from
I mean the point of me stating these facts
You, girl. Wee girl.
Oblivious to the world that surrounds you.
The vultures, the animals.
Creatures we call people.
They'll wine you, they'll dine you,
They'll rip you to shreds.
I'm a faucet of emotions when my pen strikes the page
Clarity and bliss engage while my song plays
Melody and word possess the key to my cage,
I'm locked in the cell of routine of everyday life
Sex. Parties. Drugs.
It’s claimed that’s "life" by people who call themselves "thugs".
Tell me why are these artists called artists?
Convince me that my generation doesn’t react to this.
I will wait for your mark.
Blank stares as you manipulate me,
sway me with your words
abuse me to spread hate or enlighten the other masters
for I am your slave
waiting for your mark.
Hi new friend
Tell me how ya doin’
Very pleased to meet you
My name is Influence
Do you believe in me?
I’m sure you don’t
But I’ll show you some things
Your parents won’t!
Run Jack, run,
For they merely
Do not see
That unto thee
That they cast
Their stones and
Harsh crosses made
Of the wood of
Trees of ignorance
And doubt pronounced
Thing is,
The days she wakes up
With dread for the mirror
And nights crumble away
With never-ending tears.
Because she isn’t-
Because she can’t be-
Because she’ll never be-
Page with honest face
Mirror for the soul
To write down what cannot be said;
Mere feelings will not hold
Canvas with still grace
Reflection for the eyes
Somebody once handed me a flyer.
It read
“YOU EXIST”
The aftertaste of such an idea
lasted long beyond the introduction
Existence.
A vibrating silhouette of an idea
Influence is like a toxin coursing through my veins
Runs from the ear, traveling quickly through the brain
As the ooze moves, leaving behind a dirty trail
Of self doubt, self loathing, and loneliness
Another way I dissapoint my father.
Shocker.
But I can't help it,
no matter what anybody thinks.
It's not my fault my father
decided not to use a condom.
It's not my fault
This is a message to my generation; it seems we’re falling into condemnation, subtly but surely losing our concentration, losing our determination to seek God and witness His manifestation in our lives, too busy with our infatuation with TV, video
My eyes open to the dimly lit interior of my parents' Ford Windstar.
I see my parents in the front seats.
They rest before the Sun brings the dawn of the new day and awakens my weary protectors.
My parents.
A Child Alone
Thinking that they’re grown
But just another soul lost
Victim to the World’s Exhaust
My dad lifts my new electric blue Schwinn Mountain Bike onto his shoulders
and hauls it into the garage. He takes a wrench and adjusts the pipes
with the precision of a poet, pulling them to fit my height. I stretch
Slanted Like The Leaning Tower Of Pisa I. Am. Slanted. Though I Stand Enchanted By This Hungry Image Of Beauty, That Is About To Crumble, Tumble ,To The Ground, Only To Be Found In One Giant Mess.
