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  Aug 2017 LAICEY
A Thomas Hawkins
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
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  Aug 2017 LAICEY
Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my *******,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
LAICEY Aug 2017
Your ink stained mouth
knows how to spit out
lovesick poems and coherent lines
that would keep me on my toes,
have my body bent and arched
for you.

My skin is painted with
the colours you gave me;
and though you gave me colours,
I sometimes talk in black and white
with words that I know can
heal, break, curse and bless
any canvas.
Your canvas.
~ part 1 ~
this is the first half of an originally written two-piece poem,
the beginning of what was called “a colourless masterpiece”.
© 2015/17 August LAICEY Poems
LAICEY Aug 2017
Our every word that comes out
has the potential to **** when
your seemingly fragile but villainous
lips caresses my weaponed tongue
encouraging the venomous noise to be
reborn again and again.
Soft yet viscious touch.
I demand for more.
I urge for attention.

Patience is running thin!

I never even looked away from the
light in your eyes
but you were watching my entire flesh
burn and rot in the colours you gave me.
Dead.
When you left, all went dark
for the light in your eyes were
fires that burned too bright
and couldn't last.
It was then
when I was standing all alone
in the black hole you helped me create,
the one that ****** away everything I loved,
I realized that I was colourblind,
that your touch and your words
were bleach that sunk into my core,
leaving me only in black and white.
~ part 2 ~
this is the second half of a two-piece poem,
this is how the masterpiece ends.

"Masterpiece" and "Colourless" can be read as two entirely separate poems, however, they were originally written all in one poem but due to further alterations, they were suited to be split in two.
© 2015/17 August LAICEY Poems
LAICEY Aug 2017
the moon learned "love" off by heart
in hopes to impress the sun.


Every breath you gave me, left me
aching in your light which was just
a masquerade for your burning touch.
Though, over the horizon,
you were everybody's
favourite sunset;
while below the horizon,
I was the broken reflection
of the moon.


but it never learned that the pair had
never and will never meet.
and that love is not meant to be
written down and learned
like poetry.
inspired by the solar eclipse.
© 2017 August LAICEY Poems

— The End —