Only the pen understands.

I was told... seek and you shall find.
Ask and you shall receive.
But see, I'm mentally blind and I do have hope, but it's hard to believe.
That this is only a temporary problem
And the pain that it causes, makes my soul bleed.
I know in the end, I'm going to have to make a stand, be a man.
I want security...financial and physical A love that's unbelievable...without any games,
but that...

Only the pen understands.

So as I bleed my soul from pen to page
Battle the onslaught of troubles and try to control my rage.
I just submit my will unto GOD and regardless of the outcome, give HIM all the praise.
Because, at least this much I know...
I'm only going through
And there will be brighter days
Not only that, long ago...
I placed my life in HIS hands
And that, like this...
Only the pen understands.

-Flowriter

Lost...Blown

Thoughts That taken Theory.
Thoroughly Thinking…
This Threshold of Thick & Thin...
Is Thrown into The wind.
Thankful Then… That Those Theories Tactfully end.
Being the Theist I am…
Therefore allow The Theocracy to begin.
For, it is difficult when…
Thin-skinned & Thickheaded… To Theorize This.
Which is my Theorem.

Just let your flow go....

Sing it like you mean it. Say it like you heard it. However you create it, just let your flow go.
I would see people do it on corners...when I was young.
I would see some stand on a stage and perform it to beats or snaps to claps,
But it was all good, because I liked the way that they got it done.
For me that was only the beginning. Round one.
Then I heard some brother, like no other, speaking words that seemed to roll off of his tongue.
Rhythmic words, rhyming words, not like that of a rap, but it was more like a heart pit'r-pat...to a soul tap. Man, his style of speaking had me sprung. His words were alive and of the stories he told, I could see...vivid pictures...my imagination took flight. Then I understood, it was his words coming to life inside of me. I had to learn it for myself and create my own style of which I could be true. Started with childish rhymes...that was round two. Moved to simple raps, that was round three, tried the freestyle, but it just wasn't for me. But, when I picked up the pen...found me a pad...we can just skip all the way to ten, because I fell in love with what I found and knew what I had. It was my flow. It was my style. It was my poetry. Now, I'm a flowriter gone wild.
Come and go wild with me and let your flow go.