If I could wake up tomorrow
And be someone new
I’d hope to be someone
That didn’t care about you

A person who wakes up
And smiles at the sun
Not a recluse
That hides from fun

Someone who looks in the mirror
And values themself
Not insecure
Loathing herself

I wish to be someone
Free as a bird
Not someone who cares
What others have heard

But when I wake up
I will still be me
Hoping and wishing
One day I’ll be free

Dear Daddy,
Do you know what these men say to me?

With their
eyes and their mouths
when I walk on the street.

With a grin and a nod
and a look up and down.
A wink and a kiss
and a cat call heard from downtown.

With my skirt short
and my top
low,
It’s a cold world daddy
and no
doesn’t mean no.

Daddy do you know
how these men look at me?

Like I’m a piece of meat
strutting down the street?
With my head buds in
and my favorite song on.

I’m asking for it Daddy,
I’m in the wrong.

Do you know how it feels
not to wear what I like?

To walk a little faster
when I’m alone at night?

Daddy the world is my predator
and I am it's doe,
Daddy what happens
when I can’t say no?

I think about it,
A lot more than I'd like to,
What it felt like,
To be beside you,
I wanted everything to stop,
So that the moment could last forever,
And I know that,
It doesn't sound very clever,
It's a common analogy,
That's been overused,
And I'm sure if you're reading this,
You're unamused.

nobody is really sure
obvious things are gone
like missing paintings from the wall
stark relief of faded paper
what has gone missing
after the thief has been
it takes time to catalogue
the treasures that have been lost
crime perpetuates
you find the dust silhouette
where smaller things once stood

churning again the horror that flattened my life
the flash blindness still comes in waves
stealing little pieces thought safe
those sacred things
placed close to my heart
appear to have leaked away overnight
lured away
or repelled
cannot tell
but the thief has been back
there are fingerprints in the dust

@journeyofdays

Little brown eyed girl,
With brown short ***** curls
And dark skin that you
Have not learned how to love yet.

I speak to you.

Little brown eyed girl;
Already jaded
By a world that from birth,
Has declared you unlovable
Just because you look like you.

I tell you, that is a lie.

Little brown eyed girl
With strength in your bones
And love in your heart
So much so that the little boys
All run away.

I say that any man who cannot love you as you are does not deserve you.

Do not be ashamed;
Of your dark skin,
Of your brown eyes,
Of your short ***** mud-coloured hair,
Of your thick thighs,
Of your stretch marks and scars.
Little Brown Eyed Girl
You are perfect, just as you are.

The sound is uncontrollable,
it bangs, it knocks, the side of my head,
it rolls and rocks, my face turns red,
with anger, I burst, it burns.

The door was closed, I cursed,
isolated yet easily approached,
it searches me, I feel hunted,
I feel poached.

I yell, I scream, it's all the same,
from inside, it's different,
it's not getting anywhere, I hurt,
my cries were never heard.

I wash away the dirt, build up
after days of focus, my dreams, they mention
attending a funeral for my attention.

Sitting silently
by the
old willow tree,
I heard a knocking
through the thick,
rustic bark.

My thoughts drifted,
thawing the frigid
quiet in my mind.
For there was naught behind,
nor in front,
of the old willow tree.

"What could it be,"
my mind asked me.
"And from where is it coming from?"
And then, from above,
there was a deep, low hum.
A light flashed, and I was
blind.