Twitter Case Files Case # 45

@WritinMyWrongz

So, I find myself receiving more than my share of DM’s on twitter. Most are spammed messages encouraging me to, “please check out the hottest new track,” *rolls eyes* do I look like a music producer? Truthfully homie what can I do for your music? Not a damn thang moving along!  In the midst of that I get a lot of random questions that I have decided to start randomly answering here in my new posts that I will call – The Twitter Case Files.

When time permits, I will add a screen shot but since I have already taken up enough time explaining the Twitter Case files, we will forgo that this time.

DM: XXXXXXXX

Hey you how have you been? Anyways i need to ask u a question..honestly would u be interested in talking to me on a different level?? Like I sn yo tweets n you sexci and the type of man I could really make happy sexually.

Ok look at this above fuckery. So much is wrong with this DM. You don’t even know me…seriously you just DM’d me the ass? Also please use correct grammar when dm’ing me your ass. Oh and one more thing – what do I say in 140 characters that indicated the two of us would be great fuck buddies; because essentially that is what you just proposed.

We have to do better… #icant case closed.

Christian G. Smith

I grab a pencil and draw my name on the atmosphere
So the Hollywood sign isn't the only thing that will appear
No plane can smear
My artistic ability because whatever I produce is permanent
So at the end of the day that is not even a fear
Dear Home,
They say the house is where the heart is
I will always love you but I finally broke the "barbed wire"
By the hands of the most high so I can go higher
I broke the prison bars
So I have no other option but to go far
They say the sky is the limit
So the next time you see me I'm going to be moon walking on Mars
Matter of fact...
I'm going to spark up this dream at a gas station running through landmines
Hoping that this vision of mines will blow up in time
Doubters say I'm insane
For me wanting to go on this Midnight Plane
Saying that I'm never gonna make it beyond the boarder
But if the days get colder
My passion will be the motor
For my drive, my automobile
So the one's after me can feel
The pride, the determination, the lust
the rush of a dream but the spotlight is not a must
But before
I get on this plane I'm just gonna keep this small little hope
SO to end this letter....
Home, I will always love you
But love can wait, I got a dollar and a dream
And I will go broke...

I am Christian G. Smith Jr.

A love poem to my distant lover...

staring into your stained glass
each picture tells your story.
curiosity,
beckoning my heart's wonder.
enlighten subtle kisses
to the back of wishful hands
so that you,
do away with meaningful sorrows of a once
distant lover... that is me...
personified molecular imbalances
of this four chambered soul
and yours,
become one in the same.
prescribe me the remedy,
for your love sickness is contagious.

One Liners...

Your hands,
they nurture the sunshine of my rainy yesterdays
and conceive clouds that overcast your worlds imperfection....

Dear Poet

poet...
your words slither through my blood stream
as if i'm addicted to your metaphoric infested stanzas
your, brilliantly put phrases glisten behind boastful eyes
reading through the cracks of my inner bosom
you reflect my past as if you knew me.
i linger on your every word because it all makes sense.
if your words could jump off the page and into my hands
i would embrace them with the tips of my tongue
only enough to taste your inner spirit
and if so, your words would truly become my story.

poet...
i've longed for someone to touch me this deep
longed for someone to strip me naked and reveal my flesh
because under my skin,
the scars never seemed to surface.
they never made it out to breathe for air
my scars never had the chance to heal
until your words anointed them.
your medicine has my heart beating a thousand miles an hour
tachycardia could be the death of me...
but let me die because i'm ready to be a chapter in your story.

poet...
your words reflect my prayers
answering them as if you were god himself...
you are my calling.
sometimes i tend to believe that you are unreal.
i tend to believe that the blood that pours out of your skin
are already created into words so that all you have to do is stamp your paper
and your heart felt emotions will permanently stay
i love reading you,
hearing you,
wanting you...
poet.