raisedinkpress

I normally don’t write poetry for strangers that inspiration that’s what it does and when you have colour in vibrancy and hope and wonderful turnings, well, then you can only find yourself burning in yearning rap for the best another good night. There aint nothing like the rest. No one can be the best it can be self and hope and pray that you will find someone who that way don’t even be so good to you. I mean, that’s hopeful and true, it’s strange when a stranger inspires you to do such things. Beautiful wings to can’t swing that butterfly out into something else. Something more something else anymore.

Mercy.

Sometimes it comes in sideways

Merci, is thanks in francs 

Thanks.

I am grateful. 

I gave an aunty a lift in the cold rain.

Coz I was vibing the mood.

You helped a stranger.

You’ll never know.

But you did.

Wow.

You strange strange beast.