A poet is no more than a person
A mother
A daughter
A lover  
Someone needing release
Or someone needing to recover


It’s the art they create when that ball of ink or stick of led dances on the canvas they so perfectly prepared.
And when the end result and their purpose become perfectly paired.

I see you
I see me
Not being chosen
I see you having more fun
I see you walk by in your seducing scarlet jumpsuit casuallly dismissing me
I see your lips with a dark shade of  maroon moving and not a single moment of silence
I see your hazel brown eyes not even glancing  towards me
I see the red-brown of your hair but they face me
I see your long silver earings dangling and shaking as you laugh
I see the golden bracelets in your hand  slide back as you tie your hair
I see you
I see me
                             All alone

Shackled, and chained.
Yet,
I’ve never felt so free.
You’ve awakened this primal instinct in me.

Burned, and bruised.
Tormented, and used.
I'm yours to abuse.

I kneel,
At your feet,
Waiting for command.
Waiting for the slightest gesture granted from your hand.

I look down.
My hands in lap.
l am at your will,
Waiting for your finger’s snap.

With hair pulled back--
Gathered in your hands.

And cheeks warm--
Caressed by your voice.

Lips are wet--
Touched by yours.

Cleaning, and cooking.
Almost every day.
Folding, and preparing.
Doing whatever you say.

I'm yours;
I'm branded with your name.
I'm bonded to you,
No matter what,
And I stand unashamed.

I'm jealous of the rain
It gets close to you
Closer than I ever will
It touches your skin
It combs your hair
It comes when you're sad
It stays when you're happy
I love you but you don't love me
So I say
I'm jealous of the rain