"Don't speak to her again.."
Echoed through my chest.
  It hurts like hell
It all hurts like hell
Losing her is like losing me
How could this be.
How?..
That question eats away at me.

Kissing you was like swallowing
the salty, salty sea:

I have corals for ribs,
and seaweed limbs;
my bones are ship-wreck saves
and wishful pennies.

My heart is a sea-shell:
if you put your ear to it,
you’ll hear me screaming, shouting,
pining
for you.

A belittled heaven, I never am yearning at

It was impassable, like love

A long wait, and you stay beside

eager to hold, even razor's edge.

You’re a hypnotic nightmare; you’re a broken dream
A superficial fracture of an unwanted scheme
You’re a psychogenic hallucination; a schizophrenic mutation
Of a mind that’s disturbed by its own abomination
When do you end and the other begins?
Or does the other begin when you end?
Questions that haunt an ever waking man
Are you the distant voice, or is your voice the one that’s heard
When was it that you wanted your roles to reverse?
Is it a disease that spreads to all of humanity?
Is being two faced nowadays a necessity?
Losing one’s self has become of the norm
But when was having DID considered a way to conform
Stop trying to blend into the background of clones
Take off your masks, your wigs, and your press on nails
You can depend on your own true self when all else fails
Take off your designer clothes, designer bags and shoes
Eradicate all the things that don’t define you
For once in your life show who you really are
For once in your life
Be you.

If you brush off what we say,
We will rip your ears off with our words-
Because our opinions matter.
We can be just as intelligent,
If not more so
Than you are.

But in your mind,
Because we have vaginas,
And you have a *****,
The people whom with you share
The same kind of genitals are oh so
Much more creative than us.

But we will nail it into your stubborn
Skull, the fact that women matter.
We can be intellectuals.
We can be in galleries.
We can do your ******* job-
If we even want to in the first place.
Our opinions are valid and relevant.
We do not deserve to be brushed off
As if we do not have minds of our own.

We refuse to go through torture
To ‘earn’ your respect.
Respect that we do not even need
To be able to succeed.

His muscles are tightened
and my intestines twist in my stomach juice.
His eyes are glued to the glowing screen,
but mine trace the curves of his back, shoulders, and neck.
I close my eyes and feel his touch,
his soft caress and tender ******.
My hands and fingers through his hair,
his chocolate skin and everywhere.

I open my eyes to the TV's glare.
Light shines back across him,
an arms length away from my burning.
I bite my tongue and hold my breath,
only breathing again at the fantasy
of someone loving me.
Saving me.

He's right there and doesn't know
how he makes me cry inside,
every time he moves an inch, laughs out loud, or-
god forbid he turns around.
He does just this, an looks at me,
smiles that smile and pats my knee.
As if he feels for me.
Won't you feel me please?

At home I lie in the dark,
trying to smell part of him on my clothes.
Nothing.
I stare at the ceiling,
my mind too full to let me close my eyes.
I'm only able to smile,
though I know I will later cry.
His image ingrained for another sleepless night.

“Will you please leave the light on?”
Said the young Boy to his Dad.
“I’m kinda scared at night time, but
I hope that you’re not mad ‘cuz when
I am grown up big like you, I won’t be afraid no more
Then you can turn the light off and even shut the door.”

“It’s not the dark that scares me.”
Said the Father to his Son.
“It’s the early hours of morning
When the light has just begun
To creep in through the window,
Push the darkness from the room and
Sweep away the shadows like an
Illuminating broom.”

“So why’s the morning scare you, Dad?”
“I really like the day.  I get dressed and Mom makes breakfast,
I get to watch TV and play.
Sometimes we go out shopping and buy groceries and stuff,
She might buy me an ice cream cone – if I’m good enough.”

The Father laughed, sat on the bed, and held his small Son’s hand.
“I wish I could explain it, Son, in a way you’d understand.
At night the dark can hide the truth, I dream and make big plans.
Then morning brings reality to my castles built in sand.
While you and Mom have breakfast, I have to go to work.
I have RE-SPON-SI-BIL’-ITY and duties I can’t shirk.
People there DEPEND-ON-ME.  I don’t want to LET-THEM-DOWN.”
Dad suddenly stopped talking when he saw his young Boy frown.

“It sounds like you don’t like your work.”
“You should stay home with Mom and me!
Then you can help make breakfast, and it’ll be us three.
We’ll have a really good time - you won’t be afraid of day.
We’ll help Mom do the dishes, then we’ll go out and play.
Maybe you can pitch some ***** and I can learn to bat?
‘Cuz please don’t tell her, but you know - Mom isn’t good at that.
But she can go out shopping, and we’ll stay home alone,
And, DAD, if you are REALLY good, I’ll make YOU an ice cream cone!”

Dad leaned over, kissed his Son, and said, “I think I might.”
“You said some things that I forgot, and I think you got it right.
I know you and Mom DEPEND-ON-ME, and
I have RE-SPON-SI-BIL’-ITY
To help her make the breakfast and to help you learn to bat,
And maybe I’m afraid of day ‘cuz I’ve been forgetting that.
So tonight I’ll leave my light on
And I’ll leave your light on, too.
And tomorrow morning, when it’s light, I’ll stay home with you!
PwL 1990 to 2015