I used to be spun around on a dime
it took decades and decades still
to not lose my head
every time a woman passed by

Arriving in a lonely dark room
In which my misery loom
Unpacking a suitcase of doubt
No windows nor any way out
I take off the coat that protects me
It was made of your laughter and glee
Now I settle atop of this bed
Supported by things that I dread
I took the path that lead me here
For love and joy was all that I fear
I will forever live in a room full of sad
When I ran away from the good that I had

once had a boyfriend

well was he technically that?

me thinks not

me thinks he just wanted to *** into
ma pants

and a few other assorted boys used this
same line

how they would complain
entangled in the car
hot breath heaving
long deep kisses
bodies writhing
on summer nights
and cold winter ones too

always squirming away
from curiously demanding
hands

after the zipper
between the thighs

warm delicious sensations...

But WAIT....

what will they say tomorrow?

so.... squirming away
never giving in
to the passion arising
high as the sky

frustrated...
these boys
would complain
like a little boy
not getting their new toy

YOU are giving me
BLUE *****

really?  is that really
a condition?
or are you just pulling my
proverbial leg?

and REALLY
it is MY fault?

me thinks not...

in any event
one day it came
to say

well... if you aren't
acquainted with your
right hand
perhaps now is the
time

and if you want a little
variety
use your left

and if you are feeling particularly
frisky
try them both
for the *******!

it worked perfectly for ME
for them
well
i didn't wait
around too
long to
SEE....

There lives a woman who
Seems mystical, even mythical
--It is true--
Because she is biblical;
Rarer than a precious jewel.

She is virtuous
She is loyal
She is courteous...

She is royal.

She shines brilliantly, like a star cluster trapped inside a room.
She glistens like jubilant sun rays dancing atop the ocean.
The wind of her voice sets inspiration in motion,
Like a sonic boom.

She is powerful.

She is virtuous,
Who is worthy? Just
Wonder & coil
In a corner & toil
As you ponder this.
And honor this
Acknowledgment,

Because she is royal.

Don't dare compare her to the likes of
Nefertiti or Isis.
They are not so estimable,
You couldn't buy her even with a million zeros before the decimal,
Because...

She is priceless.

So the King adorned her,
Because the King adores her.

She is beautiful, so they say,
But such a meager word could not suffice,
Because her true charm emanates like waves
In the ardent expression of her practice of life.
And from her mind and her soul.
Her precious heart--more precious than gold--
Looks like a kaleidoscope of rare gems,
Darting dazzling colors; the spectrum in whole.

Diamonds die in comparison,
Hand her a diadem...

She is special
She is jovial
She is gentle

She is royal.

She is not haughty,
Nor does she flaunt like worldly wenches do.
She tells girls who've been told they're peasants they can be a princess too.
She is not naughty,
Nor does she taunt like wanton vixens do...

Because she is godly.

Yes, indeed there lives a woman who
Seems mystical, even mythical
--But it is true--

She is virtuous,

She is royal...

She is you.

I waited for you, again.
I told myself that you’re not coming, that you didn’t mean anything you said.
I was right, yet, here I am waiting for you.
I tell myself you're like a cat, that I can love you ferociously with all my heart.
But, I keep forgetting to listen when I say I can only love you from a far…

You crept upon me so slowly,
like a parasitic wasp you paralyze me.
Your growing maggots of nothingness made my stomach a home.
My soul a nutritious feast; my body a mindless drone.

I hear an hourglass shatter and time falls over my head.
Grains of sand sting like lead-weight reminders.
My time is fleeting.
Apathy comes to bed with me, protects me when loneliness bites.
Because life is out of the question when existence leaves you with 'mights'.

Mother, I know that you’re close to me.

Summer floods my heart and bathes my skin. Glistening, gleaming, glowing. You made me with stardust, elements of a universe I could never comprehend. From beauty so mesmerizing that to sit in silence is impossible. A sea which flows deep within my stomach, swells and with force washes every life-giving cell within my body. So much beauty I can’t sit nor stand as the water  rushes to head my head and trickles out my eyes to produce a single tear.
         Halted.
As if the cold harshness of the world pulled the plug with such force that the water simply fell from me. Hollow, empty, sinking.

Mother, I know that you hear me.
United by a language, only 4 letters long. Hidden, universal, the alphabet connects us all. Like a golden silken rope, a hope, binds us together. From pigs in pens, fruits on the tree, entangles humanity and it connects to me! From the genepool you made us, gave us chance to grow, evolution pulling strings like a puppeteers show. But we spat that back at you, exploited, your body lay cold as your ***** once again for your oil and coal.

Mother, I know you see me.
Dawn brings with it the purest of hours. Time allows us to talk, to stop, like old friends in a coffee shop, letting themselves droop into the dancefloor of the steam, encircling there heads like the ghosts of lost dreams. It’s the calm before the storm, your bitter cold nestles into me to seek the warmth that you had made. If I could Id take you in my arms and protect you from all that I can not fix. I’d aim my words like weapons into the hearts of your tormentors, your children. With my pen id scrape the plaque residing within there souls and we’d stop this, look after you as our own. But as hairs stand on end, my frail frame shivers, our fleeting moment slips away. It is silently understood that I too am broken. Your tears fall, cascading down the tarmac scars etched across your body. With you I cry, my clothes wet through as if to bear your pain is the only hand I can offer you to hold.

Mother, I am sorry.
Sorry for the eyes that stare back at you from behind that bars of their intensive homes. Their bodies a prison, destined to be the marinated centerpiece, a symbol of status for another desperate housewife, barely breathing through the contraption that fits her in loaned clothes.

I’m sorry I can’t finish what I’ve started. The last words should offer you comfort if not solution, but how can the answers slip from the chaotic mind of the broken-hearted. The truth is we all have nails in our hands, and what it means to be human has been lost to the cross that we all bare. Lonely, despair. We fight the tides of society, its judgments, expectations, racial discrimination, oppression, victim blaming. We try to keep sailing. But what we fail to see is that we’re failing and the only hope of this changing lies within the broken fragments of our humanity.