et arsenal af pligter
skyld som våben
kampføring på åben gade
pile af beskyldninger
gemte under lag af venlige 'kh'er i bunden af imessage-beskeden
mit ønske om bare at svare med et: stopppp :)))
det grålige skemalagte liv
det forventelige liv
nålen af dårlig samvittighed lige under navlen
prikkende, trækker blodet
min krop er ikke en nålepude
dine ord er ikke nåle
og skylden er ikke
rensende

My heart is like a
tumble down shack.
it's shingles are missing
several Windows are broken.
the lights flicker
due to bad wiring.
and the paint is peeling.
An artist would find it quaint
and paint its picture.
but it is so wrecked up
I could not ask
anyone inside
to live in it.

endless pain blunt knife
days of nights of  nights nothing's right
so yes we live but then we die
who's to say whether its wrong or right blunt blade sharp
knife its wrong with cut as they claim that its not right you try living my life
you may sit a cry have you ever ended your life to wake up the next night well you listen here n you listen good that's my cry lets see you try maybe you should now lets see who's thinking is right

By the curve in the river bed,
half way between the unknown
forest and the place you lay your head.
I will be waiting patiently for you.

The letters have all been stamped,
the signs have been given,
pleasant words have all been spoken.

The game is now afoot, and
our faintly beating hearts
have been put forth as wagers.

To lose would be to return to normality,
but to win is to gain the world,
or at the least a companion in it.

Though I warn this may hurt,
either to win or to lose,
there is no going back from here.

So come my dear, meet me
by the curve in the river bed,
throw down your dice,
and take a leap into the dark.

And you lied
And lied
And I believed
Your words to be true
I thought
I thought I knew you
Yes you
With the open face
The bare face
Then you lied
And lied
And I believed
Those beautiful words
How could you not
Want to live them
Breathe them
Give them to me
Unconditionally
Then you lied
And lied
And I believed
Didn't you think
Think as they left your head
Danced on your tongue
That they would cut
Cut like a knife
Did it feel like butter
That wouldn't melt
On your tongue
Then you lied
And lied
And I believed
Was that smile
An honest smile
Upon your lips
The sparkle in your eye
A sight to behold
Was it a game
Were you teasing me
Instead of pleasing me
And then you lied
And lied
And I believed
Did you taunt me
Your words haunt me
How could you stand there
Stand and make me understand
I listened
Put yourself in my position
And then you lied
And lied
And I don't believe
In your contrition

upstairs and downstairs, like a frazzled owl character in my third-grade reader
in the doorway of my 200-level on sub-Sahara where we talk only of Nigeria
holding the elevator for my superior in the lobby of a too-tall edifice to man

a college student.
an ABD.
intern.

backstage at your high school graduation ceremony, your mortarboard won't stay on your head
in a food court where your mother doesn't get it when you say you can't wear pants anymore, or get your bimonthly haircut
when you're skirting the poverty line after your family business was sued but your FAFSA says parent #1 earns six figures

initiate.
neophyte.
not-quite-other.

the female body as a threshold between worlds, channel betwixt boundaries
Schrodinger's cat simultaneously in separation and marginal phases according to van Gennep
divorce papers signed but not sent, enclosed in manila at the bottom of a cherrywood desk

continuum.
spectrum.
a line without points.