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Bad Boi comes along
Bad Boi look for me
Bad Boi better understand
Bad Boi is a Pawn Boi
Bad Boi be a Good Boi
Bad Boi follow the rules boi
Or else Bad Boi gonna end a Dead Boi
Bad Boi hanging from a Tree Boi
Bad Boi could be a Fall Boi
So hold my hand Bad boi
Cause Bad Boi loves me
Till we dig our graves boi
Jump in before me Bad Boi
Or hold me tight Bad Boi
Together we float Bad Boi
Bad boi is always Mine Boi
Just something for the Bad Bois in the world
Tamara Walker Oct 2019
I am as free as I want
Like a daydreamer of today
Gently a breeze carry’s my wonders
Pass night cityscapers, and
      over desperate busybodies
Then settling in brain depressions
Imagine tomorrow being the same
Paused In a Haze cycle

Is there a difference
Between love long lost or
Hate newly recognized
Can they be balanced, maybe
On a crystallized degrading iceberg
Topped off with couples joining
      hands
Cheering on and crying out
But never heard by a mountain’s
      ear

Stalling the defining problems
Of what love is and who needs it
Akin to Swirls of Florida clouds
Not unlike heart guts spilling out
Let’s be free to choose
While ditching Fees for dreams
I want you to live in wonderland
With my body you can be freedom
Being Free is a luxury for some and just dream for others. But love rather if lost or newly found is choice we could all make.
Tamara Walker Dec 2018
The first creature to crawl
From the ocean sea
Was me

Longing for the earths crust
The law of gravity
The burst of flames
From the sun
To be tamed by wild woods
To run,
Through the grass like a fool
In my own reality

More came
Like me
They wanted life beyond
The shame
Of the cold-hearted waves

Beyond the edge
We gathered
Well fed and starry eyed
Under the pretense
A lie,
That our past
Made perfect sense

Mammals and hard stones
Gritty bits gathered
Between toes
Together we pushed

Creeping towards war
We fought
It was life and it was hard
Without intelligence thoughts
We died,
But what comes after
The end
Just a little poem about creations and endings.
Tamara Walker Sep 2018
Ridiculous thoughts
Of
Warm embraces

Futile hopes
Watching others
Find love

Enough with questions
I Refuse
To answer

I don’t give heart
The
Same way
I challenged myself to make a poem with only few words that would  be indirect but straight to the point. This is about how I never had a desire and never felt the need to love anybody.
Tamara Walker Sep 2018
A story about the here and now
Can’t be seen in lost and found
Almost like neat and delicate abandoned shreds of paper
Like the uneven ridges of the ghostly bleached white coral reefs
Or the brain juices between the cracks
I can’t compete with time
So turn tail and run
As time ages cheese
And as I grow older
And as my mother grow older
And as my grandparents grow older, under foot
I’m talking about the taboo of me
The taboo of you and me having ***,
without meeting the parents
Without foresight of the complicated future extinction of the
             human race
The lucid dreams,
I keep having only not to remember
The next day or the same night
This is a piece from a much longer poem called "Plenty Words." It's about fighting with time.
during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.
the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.
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