dear heart of
many faces
you remind me
to breathe
the small things
and so
i do
through you i
dream of worlds
sublime
new and old
combined
flying high or
passing low
a life is lived
in your eyes
- amber
like the forest
in shade
where gold
flecks with green
and the curve
of your ready smile
melts my bones

please be impatient with me for I am Female, Age 19   Please be impatient with me.  Three quarters woman in a body, a quartered quartet.  The crying viola, off tempo, present but unavailable.  The boys want me. The men, more, more.  The women most of all.  The American Girl dolls on the shelf dusty, witnesses to all my demander’s impatience to take, to own, possess & desire my poses all to pleasure them, wanting  many morsos (small bites).  
Then, when discarded, my body reeks of
con-f u s i o n.  A perfect conjugation,  an imperfect conjunction;  Conning my mind into letting my body be-fused.  

The dolls weep real tears in the city of my mind;  flipping out, they too, are impatient with me, and flip me off for they have no good words to express their utter chagrin.

you, my love
taught me how to cut my hair
and shed my clothes

you, my love
asked me to go for a swim
and left me drowning because
i didn't know friends could take your breath away too

somehow, you’d drawn pretty lines
between every good thing in my life
and your pretty hands
all you are is a pretty girl
but your skin was so different from mine
i couldn’t help but try and mimic you
become you

i was never as good as you were
at batting my eyelashes at the right guy
i always chose the ones who broke hearts for sport
i never quite got the hang of the distant act
that even i would fall for
and i would never be good at mind-numbing small talk
that we seemed to beg for, just to fill the empty space between our hearts

your life was never real
because pretty girls like you
aren’t just pretty
but mean
and hurtful
and they will leave you
broken and bleeding on the side of the road
because you were a failed experiment

i don’t want to be mesmerised by your eyes anymore
because when i walk past you,
all i see is the despair under your eyes
you can’t fool me
like you did every other pretty girl
you’re just as broken as i am
but i swear to you,
i sleep much easier
knowing i don’t always have to be pretty.

i know you are somewhere out there
somewhere far away
and as i look through the stars that orbit the sky
not a single one can be compared to you
not even the sun  
my oh my
a thousand miles away from me
seems so far
but i know you are right here in my arms
As nightfall caves in
a heavy weight of darkness covers my skin
but only one star remains
and that is you,
a light that shines when darkness gives us the blues
lightening up the dark
giving me a sense of comfort when i don't have you

Granted men
Have every right under
The God given sun
To be as they wish,
Ignorant and bold,
Sarcastic and cocky,
Beautiful and ugly,
To be assailants to the kind at heart,
Those needing acceptance,
The lonely few with good souls,
And it is granted.

Where is justice
But in a verse,
Behind closed doors in your
Most private collection,
The guilded fist to air
In a drunken rage to what
You had seen earlier
And how we wish we had spoken
Up.

Granted we know it was wrong,
And as we have done nothing,
It was granted....
Oh to have punched his mouth,
Instead I bit my lips,
And they bled too.

I'll speak in my mother tongue
And embrace
the slang of my Brooklyn roots

I won't try to change
My colloquial way of speech
I don't have anything to prove
With the words I choose to use

Because I'll speak my message plain as day,
I'll spit my rhymes
Like straightforward
Old school rappers
I don't need to sugarcoat my words
I don't need to overcomplicate things
With my messages

I'll take pride in my mother tongue
I won't pretend to be something I'm not
I'm just a girl from Brooklyn
Who has a lot to express.