I watch it die
Strangle itself before jumping off Mount Everest.
I don't weep but smile bitterly
Cry silently
Try effortlessly
to save it,
Revive it,
extinguish the fire
But The ashes simply fall into my skeleton hand.
Rest in peace my poetic beast.
May your soul rest in the immortal deep.

She wakes up at 1am everyday
sits for at least an hour
wondering if her life is going somewhere
hoping it does
coping in bars
that she has built for herself over the years,
with very little care tie,
very much traded time
she feels like a good
which is bad
for her anorexic self esteem and obese body.
This cycle repeats itself,
again,
and again,
and again.



CAUTION: Do not step into the stagnant waters that are her life,
you might catch schistosomiasis

"A lil birdy told me age is just a number                                                           ­                                              
     But how come I catch myself growing sadder?                                                          ­                                            
   They told me to grow up fast                                                             ­                                                 
Because all my childhood fantasies would not last                    
  But fantasies are the only thing that loved me                                                               ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                    
 In this present  life I have  nobody.                                                    ­                                         
                                                                ­                                                 
           I’m young, I’m woman now                                                              ­                                               Somebody get ready to pay a cow                                                              ­                                                  Because my ******* are swollen and silk                                                             ­                                                     But can never produce milk                                                             ­                                                    Why?

A violent father doesn’t leave much room for love                             An icy mother turns you into an eagle from a dove                                                             ­                                                  So how could I appreciate the gift of my legal day of birth,                                                           ­                                         
When thoughts of this inhabitancy bring all joy to a firth?                                                           ­                                                                I’m young                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                
I’m woman now.                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                              
But save me, because I don’t wanna grow up.”

She fell asleep with the journal in her hand and hoped to wake up in another family, but then again, childhood fantasies would never last now that she was adult.

They tell me to believe in it,
Says it feels like magic
But all I’ve seen is tragic
Because momma always blames her addiction
On what was supposed  to be the love of her life
My father.
A man who took her youth, along with dignity, confidence
And a heart she never had much use for after he took off.
Because of love she never notice me,
Because of love our family is a tragedy.
Maya Angelou went in and out of time
While old folks laughed at the stupidity,
The old adage or illusion we dragged our behinds into.
Something that is there but never existed.
Saint Valentine, sorry to disappoint
But your blood,
Your blood was spilled in vain.
Love is red like the February  14th,
And also like gunshot  wounds of soldiers
And cardiac ones of their wives back home.
So what is love?
Ladies and gentlemen love is nothing
But pain with no gain
A sunflower fruitlessly blossoming in the rain.