Basquiat

Like how Basquiat feels I hope you feel me.

Know that I wrote to express myself.

Created to free myself.

As a means to release thoughts before they are actions.

To document actions after thoughts.

Like I had to get it out right there.

Canvas in the middle of Brooklyn streets or superficially in my back pocket.

The energy transformed me.

Like it did him.

Waisting nothing for correct or different.

Just expelling the way an artist will.

Wild and chaotic

Colorful and plain.

Words to describe images because you need to sense what I’m saying.

What I’ve seen.

Frozen in time.

I live forever.

Open to different forms of interpretation.

I captured meaning for everyone.

And no matter where I go.

And no matter what happens to me.

Think of me as you felt me.

As you transitioned prophetically through my life.

Remain with me in freedom.

Trust what brought you here.

Connected to me and linked intergalactically.

My voyage is not done with me.

The same as I met me when it was time.

There we shall meet again.

Only different.

Only better.

Only growth from lessons that felt easy like I learned all of this before.

May or may not.

That’s the least of my concerns.

Because what ever I choose.

I know that God chose also and therefore I rest in the light of good company.

My voice cascading amongst time.

Fading with every realization that I had infinite space all along.

It’s like I never left.

And suddenly here I am.

Like everything was everything all at once.

Pain and pleasure the same.

Love the only answer or reason.

I smile both now, then and in the future.

A warm glow bubbling and never spilling out.

I know you feel me.