Is it sinful to be a man of colour
To have colour is beautiful
To be plain is unique
But,
I can't breathe
Just like Floyd
We're choking
              Black or white
we are human
Black is beauty

I wouldn’t recognize you now
With that frown about your mouth
You never wore that wretched thing whenever I was around,
I never smiled as big as I do now, though
When you were before me,
casting shadows
Do you think I’m a fool?
I won’t lay down and crawl back to you

I thought I could escape a raptor when
I moved five hours to a new valley
I switched out my life and my set of friends
Those dark thoughts had finally gone from me
One work week in, and somehow they were back
Those feelings I had thought both gone and dead
Three weeks in, and I've cut them quite far back
But no matter what, they're still in my head
So I guess that they'll just never be gone
So with that in mind, I'll keep moving on

forgive me
you're why i am
and too beat
to be
me
so wrong to compete
i'm so lost
incomplete
and completely unclear
as to why i sit
upright
uptight
in this filthy seat
like i have
this past year
                    daddy
please
tell me
why won’t
my feet lead
to where they say
the heart beats

and help me see
how it is
that i can
count infinitely
the steps between
home and me
and simultaneously hear
in the depths
of my chest
this pounding  
when i am
as heartless
as i have been
made out to be
what then
could it
possibly be

- end

if, while on the other side of the world,
you buy me a book
and post it to me
along with the words
'i read this and i thought of you
and i knew you had to read it too'
then what else is left for me to do
except
         to
           fall
               in
                 love
                       with
                              you.

I'm told the sky is blue.
God is dead.
Lead is heavier than cotton.
I'm not convinced I know where the sky starts.
You need proof, like a birth certificate, to be declared dead.
Cotton and lead can both weigh a gram or a tonne.
So, my conundrum... how do I write about what I know.
My name is Francie. I have a birth certificate, and it's yellowing...fast.
Whatever comes after this is pure speculation.
However, our opinions are weighed
With equations and laws. Laws.
There's a thumb on the scales.
Reason is subjective. Water is wet... warm... hard... vaporous... dry...
I can write about death, while I'm alive, believing in it.
My forehead is bleeding from pounding my lack of truths into verse
For readers to think of the possible, for certain.

I made a promise that I've kept,
An oath I carry with every step;
A naked vow when undressed,
A pledge I'd no desire to test.

You made a promise that you broke,
An oath you mouthed when you spoke;
A vow that withered, dried and choked
The pledge that now sticks in your throat.

Was it your intention then
To take the words and make them bend;
To throw your voice like a ventriloquist.
Were your fingers crossed behind my back?

We clearly heard your words of honour,
Your assurances you'd never wander;
A bond to tie us til we'd die,
A covenant sworn between you and I.
Words... words... words.

you have to be able
to look at life
as it presents itself to you
and learn
to rearrange the pieces
until they align
with your idea
of yourself.