the boys
my crew
my squad

the boys
in the bag
hanging

I got two

thems my
family jewels
and I cradle
them in silk
drawers

and get
real protective
of thems
at times

I pick up
things using
my legs
I scratch
ems

I keep
em cool
cause they
say too
warm can
be harmful

I shaved
ems once
what a
mistake
They got
itchy as
all get-out

Then I
got old
and they
hung to
my knees
and got
pretty unsightly

I look
on the
bright side
and thank
whomever
it was
that invented
the cup
and baggy
jeans!

Autumn days along Port wood-row
In search of the morning fiery glow of frosted moors
Recalling the doors of my very soul to the crackle -
of frozen lakeshore , the infusion of frigid visible breath
in resplendent newborn sunshine , the rhyme of windswept
Pine , the rapport of Woodpecker and calling Finch , reflections
of Carolina blue sky o'er Gods placid , mirrored waters
Home of steaming evergreen bottomland and rock bass
river dancers , November leaves sailing the script of the
Alabama western wind , the regal prance of Whitetail Deer
to the Mourning Dove euphonic call and answer* ..

I have told you of the delema I face with my mother and sister, in the perspective of my sister.
My mother is drawing near to the brink of suicidal thoughts,
All due to the conflictions with my sister, I continuesly blamed my mother, not knowing, not wanting to know my sisters role as the whipper to the whipped was.   But I am at a crossroads, I believe my sister, I believe my mother, but to fight for each other's approval is absurd.
The thing is that I am a person who strives to make things better, no matter the cost or the probability of success.
Right now the war at the peak,
My mother is praying to her god that she be hit by a semi.
While my sister revolts against society and destroys her future.
While I sit here uselessly in between the both of them pulling them away from the bridge of suicide.

Birds fly
In high formation
Above nations
Unknown to them