I will tell my daughters

always come home to yourself

your worth is not only in your body

it is in your spirit, the stardust

flecked across your skin

I will tell my sons

never become a wolf

never devour flesh

and forget a woman’s name

say her name like a prayer

cry oceans and taste saltwater on your lips

for when you break and fall

you can rebuild and stand

for that is how you both will learn to love

love of my heart
rip me apart
leave me here in the drive way.
She left again, she left again.
Is it always going to be this way.

My mother
I love her
she hates me she hates me.
My mother
my suffer
Berates me and hates me.

I never wanted your face
Your smile  your eyes.
I never wanted to disgrace
Your assumptions you surmised.

I never wanted to be
what you wanted from me
I never wanted your hate.

My mother
my first lover
my suffer
my first pain.
My mother
I love her.
My mother
my insane.

The king in the courtroom boasted like a bird,
"I can sing like a Nightingale, if I stay a bit alert,
I mean alert about the notes and pitches and scales,
Heigh **! You pianist play some music that sells."

The piano made music as soft as a feather too bright,
G sharp major said the singer at sight.
"Yes Monsieur, surely and at once,"
And the king went on singing like a donkey in a trance.

Etched and wavy, and linings of link less placed tones,
The pianist went on smiling, as if the king was like a dog with all his bones,
And the courtroom listened and everyone was but happy, "there, go gentle gales."
And The king nodded to the music, as a dog wags his tail.

Everyone clapped like a good old cheers to the king,
The pianist went over to say, "Monsieur! O! Monsieur you are the only one who can sing."
The queen kissed his hand and greeted him all the way,
But it was music and the piano who had nothing else to say.

Next morning, the town knew that the king sang out loud and good,
And they told their families that all music might be dead, but not the king as it never should.

Never love a poet so much,
for she will build her world around you.
She’ll contrast you to the sun and stars;
she will love you so.

She will give you lovely notes
to brighten up your day.
You’ll find it a little weird
but you look forward to it, anyway.

Never love a poet so much,
for she will invest a lot in you.
She will become the person you’ll only ever need
without taking a lot from you.

She will take you to places,
and make you experience things
within a room's four corners
and her words as your wings.

Never love a poet so much,
for even after all those things
she will take away her love,
and leave you without a trace
with her heartache as her fuel
for another masterpiece.