Take my heart,
        hold my hands,
unspoken words,
  revealed by sweat.

Take the risk,
run with me,
   let us build a white picket fence,
to be watched from a big porch.

So try,
   touch every inch,
feel my heat,
   forget the fear
put our song on ,
  dance with me,
      like two uncoordinated fools.
let my heart guide you home,
        let my voice be your guide,
-Dreamers

I learned to hate. . .
  When he came in during the night,
      his hands caressed untainted skin,

I learned to hate myself. . .
   When I ponder and recall that I never screamed,
      not even a sound,
          was it love?
              was it fear?

I learned to shut the world out. . .
    When I looked at men and knew I was different,
           when I was told I was wrong,
                to my very existence.
                    
I learned to love. . .
   When I saw your smile,
            longed for your touch,
                when our two eyes met. . .

I learned to live. . .
  when two heartbeats turned to one,
      when my world crashed down,
            when my pillar fell,
                  when I screamed at the top of my lungs
                        only to find myself alone.

- Learned

Firm calloused hands,
  tell the tale of many struggles,
     beatings, ****, child marriage. . .

Firm calloused hands,
  unflattering,
               tattered,
                  beaten by age,
Tell the tale of a women's struggle,
    feeding 12 kids, drunk husband, alone. . .


Machismo. . .
    does it make you man?
       Please take a page from those firm calloused hands. . .

Poetic ineptitude,
Stolen words, are not just words.
    Each word is a moment,
         Each minute a moment of longing, touch and smell.
            Each sense is the tale of a past lover, friend and family. . .

words without substance,
      are just words. . .

- 𝓹𝓸𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓬 𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓮

What
         if
            you
                   knew
                         the
                            silence
                    of
                       a
                       dial
                            tone

What
   if
    you
      starred
                 at
                     the  
                      phone
                        waiting
                                  for
                       the
                            ping
                                 that
                                     never
                                           came

Leaving you to wonder and wander
  dread, anger, anguish overtake you
     for the thrill of it all
in the solitude of the moment. . .
      

I hope "you" was not "me"