black skirt climbing up her shining thighs…
she pulls it down and the excitement dies

from the men around her: “****, she’s fine!”
looking up from her phone- she’s next in line.

“may i see your id?” asks the giant,
she shows it to him- acting compliant.

female, black hair, brown eyes, twenty-one.
everything checks out- “stay safe, have fun.”

once she steps through those guarded doors,
she puts her pvc plastic back inside her michael kors.

no ‘x’ on her hand, but an ex on her mind-
she steps onto the dance floor and begins to grind.

many men manage to embrace her swaying hips,
bite her beautiful neck, and kiss her thirsty lips.

from their mouths flows a river of lies,
while hands below swim up sweating thighs.

she’s feeling ecstatic, but he wants more,
her “friends” watch as he carries her out the door.

to say “yes,” she’s in no position,
so he advances without a proposition.

the next morning when she wakes,
in funny places her body aches.

next to her he’s fast asleep,
her phone rings: bleep, bleep!

texts from her “friends” fill her screen-
things they typed, they did not mean.

“we’re worried…  where are you? text me the address!”
she gathers her things and pulls down her black dress.

tiptoeing through his apartment, she quietly closes the door.
she’s quiet in the car still, afraid of being called a “*****.”

when they asked her to come out that night, she said: “i don’t like partying anymore.”

hungry desire: food for the flames.
burning fires come from starving dames.

ask for her number- she won’t give you her name.
pay for her dinner, and she might play your game.

show her your heart and you’ll hear “lame!”
empty your wallet, pay dimes for this dame.

she sleeps in the mirror, dreaming of fortune and fame.
smiling on the bed, she clings to the frame.

exhausted she lies on her back… so feed her more lies!
put your sparkling diamonds between her shiny thighs.

her passion grows more as the starry night dies,
but stars sparkle less like diamonds in pink morning skies.

she’ll pull you close, but can’t look you in the eyes.
she’ll disappear when you doze, before the sunrise.

into that golden light she fades; she won’t hear your cries.
searching for her is futile- better luck catching butterflies.

to meet her again, you have to wait for the night.
she will emerge from the shadows, in the absence of light.

her fragrance flows far, and for her company fine gentlemen fight.
roll up your sleeves, empty your pockets, and show her your might!

behold her beautiful neck, a wonderful sight!
but season it with jewels before you take a bite.

cotton clouds lift her up while you travel down- she will take flight.
watch her soar from the forest, catch her strings, fly her like a kite!

she’ll stay up through the night and watch you snore,
but when the rooster crows, she’ll dash for the door.

to one man she belongs to: the one that pays more.
she’s mad for the money, but she’s not a *****.

vines, so virile and verdant, grow in the golden light.

like pythons, they grip concrete pillars with all their might.

cracks and wounds appear, and dust pours out from within.

they grip harder still and wrap around the pillars now so thin.

tree trunks to pencils, the pillars now appear to be.

there was a forest here once, of sparkling cement trees.

bikini eyelids flap to reveal big, beautiful lies,
soft mounds of sand washed by the rising tide.

the men touch and run their fingers through the warm gap;
like a river, their fingers flow along the charted map.

the places they'll go you won't believe until you see or smell,
all rivers reach the same sea eventually; they watch her ocean swell.
she sells seashells, but honestly her *** sells more well
because she's a tall glass of water when they're in burning hell.

she comes to their aid, but she requires to be paid...
oh well, they'll do anything just to get laid!

she stands with her feet wet on the seashore,
but wet sailors in the sea pass by and call her a ***** *****.

everything she did for them, they forget when they leave,
but who's got a ***** mouth with a cigarette under their sleeve?

in hell he heaves his final breath,
yet untouched by the hand of death.

flies feed fearlessly on his rotting flesh-
no hand to disturb their festive feast.

undecided, uninvited, unfulfilled… but full of contusions.
body bent, broken, and covered with burning confusion.

dreaming during day, at night he seldom rests.
in races he is last and also the least.

walking wonders welcome woe-
infallible and impeccable- past him they go.

his heart hops, skips, and flips,
but for some reason, still it beats.

when he looks in the mirror, what does he see?
he sees imperfection… he sees inadequacy.

livid, lonely, longing to kiss her lips,
solo, he sails in the salty sea of sheets.

books baffle brains, from him escapes brilliance.
fighting his fate, unarmed, outnumbered, but still resilient.

lonely fox, orange in the white snow.
lonely mister fox, no other fox does he know.
table set, rabbit on his dinner plate, but he eats alone.
fire dances in the fireplace, but no one rings his phone.
he sits in the corner, in his chair, and in his pipe he blows.
lonely mister fox, dead from the cold.
lonely fox, orange in the white snow.

i’m afraid to say it:
the three words that could bring us together-
or they could drive us apart.

but i can’t deal with another broken heart,
so i let those words escape my lips
and like a wave they wash over your ears;
the air that surrounds us is full of my deepest fears.

then you walk away,
without another word to say,
and there I stand in the rain-
my heart bleeding, blood runs, full of pain.

i hope that you’ll turn back and say;
say the three words back to make these clouds fly away.

it still rains to this day.

there’s glass on the beach, but where are the ****** feet?
there’s pain in my heart, but still i show my teeth when we meet.
when i tell you i’m fine, listen, really i am… not.
i want you to try harder- give it all you got!
pull the pain from inside of me, and throw it like a rock.
watch it skip and dance across the lake and suddenly come to a stop.
as it sinks beneath the waves, look up! i am doing the same!
dancing through life, smiling and waving… you’ll never know from where it came.
oh, but it did, and frankly, i don’t think you could have done a thing,
i was going to do it even if things got better, but they never really did…
colors faded from people and things, and everything turned the same;
gray people cooked gray food while living under gray ceilings… lame.
i’d like to think i’m heading off to a better place now that i’m gone,
i bet there are others here like me who stay up all night till dawn.
their fingers grasp the warm sand as they lean back to look at the starry sky,
full of shining stars that light up everything in sight, but as the sun rises, they die.
on that golden beach with glass, shining in the morning light,
i will rest finally, i’ll sleep tight because in life, i was too tired to fight.

Hey y’all, in the wake of the recent tragedy we faced and the number of innocent lives lost in the process and also the countless number of children who take their lives everyday, I wrote a poem about how it would be if the children could come back to their parents for one day. Let me know what y’all think.

“The River”

Earth, broken and dry, looks up to the sky, and suddenly it starts to rain.
Rivers that dried up so long ago, now start to flow again.

From the currents rise those who were long gone; the waters give birth to the slain.
Families line up at the banks to see their kin once again.

The parents bring towels and hugs that never end,
The families open their baskets and have a picnic at the river’s bend.

“I made your favorite dish,” says the mother, “we eat it everyday.”
“We leave a plate for you” the father says, “just in case you come back someday.”

Brothers and sisters, fractions of their former selves, feel whole once again.
“I’ll let you have anything you want! I’ll share! Just don’t leave us ever again!”

Poor children think that they can bargain, but they just can’t make them stay.
Families watch as they leave: the children of yesterday.

The waters that once ran in the rivers, now flow elsewhere.

Like wet sponges, his eyes were, and everytime he shut them tears burst forth and ran down his rugged cheeks until they congregated on his trembling jaw before they leapt to their deaths. His lips quivered as if there was a great quake in his heart- there was; for his heart beat faster than any drum he had heard before and he collapsed onto the floor heaving and pounding.

Images of his past lovers formed in his humid eyes and every frame ushered in memories that washed over him like great waves, flooding his empty shell with more sorrow. Sunken relationships surfaced from the troubled waters like phantoms and continued to circle him until he finally disappeared into the murky depths of his emotions and he drowned in the sea of melancholy.

Gasping for air, he fought: clawing, kicking and screaming until he succumbed into a comatose state on the ocean floor, but that was not the end of it. Nightmares, the size of whales haunted him below the stormy seas, devouring him and spitting him out again. He was trapped in the belly of one great beast when he opened his eyes.

Darkness covered his eyes like black clouds and thunder filled his ears as the beast breathed and bellowed. Every time he tried to move he was assaulted by wicked gales that threw him deeper into the darkness, but he could not bear it anymore. He couldn’t bear it at all!

The stench of regret suffocated him and with every breath he took he grew less and less hopeful. He stopped trying all together and sat in a corner, waiting for his death to arrive and one day he heard men shouting from beyond the fleshy walls. Suddenly, he felt himself rising higher.

He washed out with the bile and the rotten food when the fishermen slashed the belly of the once mighty creature. They were surprised to see him of course, and they lifted his feeble body up by the arms as he could not bring himself to stand up. The sunlight blinded him and he instantly collapsed into their arms.

He woke up two days later in a warm cottage to the sight of a beautiful woman tending to his wounds. Her eyes, like shining pearls, met his and she said in the sweetest voice: “stop drinking, you ******* idiot!”

the necklace he wore turned to a noose,
his neck stretched until he looked like a goose.
i tried to hold him up, but he fell apart and when he fell, so did his heart.
it shattered to shards once it hit the floor, blood burst forth staining the windows, walls, and the door.
in crimson, four words were written: “i tried my best.”