How funny life is
Ain't it
Come to the cafe
Where I met you all this months ago
But yet not a word is spoken
I pertend as if I don't known you
For the horror of betrayal
Of being cast aside
Rejected
Hurts too much
I notice
How people
Act when they want to be polite
But I won't be anymore
Instead I'll just stare
And write
I don't own you a smile.
I don't owe anyone
My self respect.

My dad once built a shed out of old doors

Each odd colours he'd collect along his travels, when one grew tired and porous another would take its place

Even the floor was doors

I dreamt of opening them to secret places and posted letters through the slots hoping it would reach them

But they never opened, and all that remained was my father grey and aged in his shed made of doors.

It’s a firework holiday,
so let’s light up the night,
wave the stars and stripes,
eat barbecue and drink bud light.

We’ll celebrate the liberties
that SCOTUS says we’ve got
it appears they’ve all been bought
and before their terms are over
they’ll resurrect Dred Scott.

Watermelon, hot wings
we’ve even added new things,
like smash & grab lootings
and frequent, random shootings.

Some Republicans want to break away
to form a less perfect union
can you form a successful nation
based on the politics of illusion?

There used to be parades
I’m told, that featured local
things, like firefighting brigades
I guess we’re just to fractured now,
to sashay in such displays.

I bet those were the days.

Suddenly its here
I sent the letters
that I always wanted to send
to the schools that
bullied me
to the place
that didn't care
about my ****** assault
I sent them letters today
finally after all these years
but not from a place of terror
or victim hood
but from a place of transmutation
of taking pain
and transforming it
to make these places
safer healthier more loving places
for other women.
Healing is possible
never allow anyone
to tell you that it isn't .
Be the you
that your inner child has always needed.

All night long
I peel off layers of me
thinking up poetry
with my fingers and lips

the little moon melts
and melts
purer than fire

in the morning, I am wax again