by ISIAH

The envy of life.
The new experiences.
Shined light on the world.

The fall of black snow
Caused by the rage of the fire.
Heat in the winter.

He’s a hair trigger
Now stuck behind a stiff breeze
Who explodes with force.

Jumping off a cliff.
The wind attacks his body
Which rips on contact.

Staring at the sun
It makes his eyes rip and crust
Water into dust.

by ISIAH

The soles of my feet,
The foundation on which we lay.
Every time we stand up, we need that support so we don’t sway.
It’s the curve of the arc or the flatness of our heel.
We need it because without it we must stay still.
And if you don’t get it, try to stand up without your feet.
It’s impossible; it’s like tryna live without your heartbeat,
And it’s essential. Even the little toe matters.
Even though he’s the smallest, he’s the only one tryna get better.
And you better treat them right,
Or they’re gonna fall off when they hit the bone-chillin weather.
But it’s your decision whether or not you praise them.
But every curve of our existence
Is represented on our feet.
I think I found the eighth wonder of the world, cuz
That’s an amazing sight to see.

by ISIAH

The things that we have and aren’t willing to share,
Whether we’re obsessed with,
And without it, we couldn’t bear.
In the study of human nature,
You learn about OCD.
Like if you lost something dear to you,
You will crave for that affection constantly.
Or it could be something simple.
A bed, a toilet, a flat-screen TV. And,
The average materialistic man couldn’t live without it,
Once exposed to it.
Once placed in your presence
You can start to watch a soul lift.
It’s common sense,
Because everyone is emotionally distraught.
We were bound to it,
Whatever we got.
That’s the inner sanctum that keeps you alive,
And without those items,
It’s Russian Roulette; it’s do or die.
So go, surround yourself with those items
And pound yourself if you live without them.
Cuz in reality, we’re all OCD.
And if you were a radio,
Well you’ll just be stuck on a certain frequency.

by ISIAH

Unspecified details,
Just a small stick figure,
Draws in attention, and by the second
It seems to get thinner.
But what remains is the tiny little head.
Insert your emotions into the blank facial expressions
And create the unsaid.
The happy, mad, sad, glad.
Hands the size of breadcrumbs
And feet flat as a straight line drawn.
Where’s the heart and the stomach
And the soul given for purpose.
Invest time and attention into the little man.
He’ll become something he wasn’t noticing.
It probably wasn’t a bread crumb,
Rather a piece of sand.
So don’t judge what you can’t see
Because you can’t even tell if this is a woman or a man.