Today marks my 26th year on this earth. The winds blow and buffet me but I refuse to be defined by them. This is to the fullest life I have lived yet. Thank you for being with me every step of the way.

Bottom feeder.



Always the labels you try to put on me

Labels that never stick

I am

Flame dancing in the wind

Daring the rain to put me out


Refuse to be put in boxes and stashed away

I demand to be heard

Despite your attempts to mute me

I am blessed with faculties of wit

But I remain idiosyncratically anecdotal

I am the hoarfrost during a Russian winter

Kissing your windows and biting your limbs



Yet uprooting every warm blooded attempt to staple me down

I transcend the limits placed on me


I am

Jack of trades


Unmoved by circumstance

Grounded in concrete resolve and unyielding faith

Try as you can

But you can never make me inferior

I may be

A bottom feeder.



According to you that is

Always the labels you try to put me

But they will keep peeling off

I remain unaffected to your studies

Religiously aloof.

Until you stop burning the bridges to understand and cohabit

You will remain stymied by the many faced god in your attempts to corral me

And forever I remain


© Sena Frost ’17



I am

The cardinal of the air

Ruler of the Seventh House

Lover of the finer things

Lord of the element of freedom

I am

The lustful draught of breath sucked from a lover’s lungs

The filled spaces of an empty room

I am the sigil of balance

Scales tipping every now and then

Exotically sensual

Anecdotally factual

A sensorium of cleansing

I am

The blackest white

The clearest night

A knight not

Just a savvy parlay-man

I am

Nought but man

And yet in me

God gives.

Image courtesy google images

© Sena Frost ’17


I have gained fresh inspiration from two of the greatest hip-hop artists to ever live. They were but men but that’s all we are. Tupac and B.I.G. this one’s for you

Two Crown Jewels

At aphelion and perihelion

Revolutionaries in their own right

Too flawed to be martyrs

Good men trying to be bad

But a whole generation saw shackles loosed by words they spoke

Prophets speaking of a Canaan they’d never set foot in

They were

Cats with their own scratching posts

Spitting bars so juicy

What they did

They did for love

The big Poppa and Makaveli

Moguls of the East and West Coasts

Tossing the rhymes smooth like the sin of window panes

Hip-hop had a voice

They spoke about crack

And babies having babies

The stuff that hit the black and white

Men drowning in their blood

Boys turning their back on their brood

They said

Hard truths

Made immortal

Sadly a reality still today

And even though egos drowned the sound of peace

They left the world aided by Chiron

Riddled with holes they bled

But gods don’t die


Thug life lovers

Poets on the beat

Our own royalty

They were prime

Indivisible by anyone but themselves and God

I picture them rolling

Rabbit eared bandannas and top hatted shades

They say he whom the gods love die young

But they were above anything true to themselves in song.

Timeless legends

We will never see them grow old

They catch the sun

Shining beautiful


They were

Two Crown Jewels

At aphelion and perihelion

© Sena Frost ’17

Images courtesy google images