I Write Poetry

Architect, I bedded with your power,
now it is mine!
I have studied your ways,
Now it could be as though it were mine, to begin with.
I have inhaled, exhaled and lived through
your visions brought to life.
I have seen what you find acceptable, and, not
I have lived through and acknowledged how far you are willing to go;
Ima just says if distance was the universe then you are right there on the furthest point it’s grown to expanding with it.
Architect, I have bedded with your power,
From an innocent babe in a bassinet,
To the adult ready now
A body that stands twilight and shadow
with immense internal light on my command.


Architect, I tell you that I have bedded with your power
that now it could be as though it were mine, to begin with,
but you do not take me seriously.
I insist you are not listening and you simply with a gentle none mocking laugh lift me right off my feet
And let me fall with a soft bounce on the mattress.
Your sign that you were listening,
“Bedded goes with bed.”
(Your shrug and playfully smirk whatever that looks like on whatever you are)
So what will come now Architect
is that I will spend time in restoring
what you let die.
The wounds cannot be healed,
they are just going to have to be memories.
So what will come now, Architect
Is that I will invest some in conserving what I feel
you did not give enough protection.
Just in case you know, just in case.