they witnessed her pain
they witnessed the day her husband throw her out naked in the rain.
they witnessed her children's trauma
yet, when investigators came to ask questions
there happened to be no witnesses.

when you Love someone, you Love that person as they are and not as you would like them to be

they'll never label us as "the stolen generation" because we are too busy being the generators of depression.

we are all lost souls, looking for acceptance in allies marked with rejection

stop running away from your shadows just face them until the sun comes up.

he was like the night sky,
dark and mysterious.
sometimes he'd let me see
his starry night.
what scared me most was
his ability to only show certain aspects of himself.
like the darkness of night, he only ever allowed me to see what he wanted me to see
the rest faded into blackness.

emotion manifestation.
help me God,
i don't want to be my own grenade.

let them
admire the clouds that form shapes above us,      
acknowledge the stars that shine reasons why you and I belong together.                        
                                                        
let them
welcome the sun's warm approval of us.      they must
cherish our moon and respect our sky.

tell them
when miles separate us,
our home becomes that sky
and
we are connected by the moon,
the sun,
clouds
and stars.

darling,
look out your window
you'll find portraits of my face sketched within those clouds
you'll find
our love prints on that moon,      
find our chemistry burning the sun.

Baby.
so long as the sky is in existence,
know that you
will never be without me.

it's frightening how quickly
                   your best blessing
                       can become
                   your worst curse.

should my soul decide to
leave this body of mine
please,
stop all hospitals.
prevent paramedics from waltzing in.
kindly tell them
i do not wish to be revived.

don't allow any visitors
just,
call on my Mother.
yes. simply,
call on Her
tell Her not to cry but
hold my father's hand

tell Her to love him again
tell my Mother,
never has Her daughter,  
seen a man so strong,
so broken.
tell Her
what she sees now,
looking at this body,  
is what i saw,
in my father,  
the day she left him.
and every second
of EVERYDAY
after that.
tell Her
she ripped his heart out
of his strong chest.
left a dead man walking,

should she weep with sadness
or tremble with heartache
call on my brothers,
[Our Soldiers and entire army]

tell them to hold Her
          whisper how
i carried Her
      in my spirit,
kissed Her
          with every heartbeat given to me.

tell Her
my tongue would pray for her,
my hands would soak up her tears,
my nails attempted to claw away her pain
tell Her
my heart sang songs of thanks giving to her,
what beautiful songs they'd sing.

should my soul flee from this body,
please,
tell my Mother not to despair,
tell Her,
my spirit became the sky
to watch over Her
in every hour.
tell Her,  
the stars are part of me now

all She has to do
is
look up.

your hands once held me like,
father to new born son.
with such profound delicacy,  
afraid to harm.

now you treat me like your art work [¡]
not in thatsweet, cheesy kind of way
but in that
hate, despise at the same **** time
kinda way..

These blue and purple Marks, all over my body
all from you.
my skin is your paper
those fists became the brush

you, ink my body like you own it.
carve your way through as though trying to produce a statue out of me.
glowing with colours i have never seen before. stop using my skin to compete with the rainbow. i am not an experiment. do not create new colours on my skin.
...
fist is spray can.
punch- graffiti's
no place left untainted.
no area unpainted.  

[though]

with every swing,
i scream i love you.
every healing scar,
yells it forgives you.
my skin salutes you .
your masterpiece commends you.

one day,  remember me as GOD'S temple again?

[and]

i hope you never have scars from hands that once loved you,
hands that once glorified your body.  holding it high like the touch of liberty

may you, never feel a physical paintbrush
roughly
brushing against your skin.

i pray.
your fists get tired of hitting
and your body, tired of fighting.

to the boy who inspired my poetry, thank you.
between the confusion and the somewhere deep likes
your aura sent me poem.
not that singular word but my own type of plural,
you brought me to poem.
between the hidden emotion
and
words unspoken because of lack of maturity or
ages too small to carry out big words,

between the deep hugs and hidden kisses,  glances making out.
you handed me poem.
your Hands touched my body into poetry    
you're golden brown eyes stared my soul naked                                            
soul of naked poem.

as sounds of face lifting joy.
loosen your brim to smile back at me.
returning my gaze

Connection..

to the boy who breathes the air i do
the boy who is skin as I am
the boy who stole my heart, just to return it.
THANK YOU. I AM GRATEFUL for this gift.