Upon being told that I am a poet
Suggested I have my work added
To the local grade school curriculum
Meant well but
I think not...

Emily Dickinson
And
Robert Frost
I truly... am not...

This is NOT what I do

Though I do agree with Emily
who aspires to"Dwell in the possibilities"

And with Mr. Frost I concur that
"The only way out is through"

Like Dylan I
"Do not go gentle into that good night"

That is not what my poems are made of...

Racism
Newly found Love
Motherhood
And children he forgot

Addiction
*******
Loneliness
And working with what you've got

A working man's hands
A homeless man's lot
Betrayal
Destruction that genocide wrought

May not always sound nice...
But Beloved, it's life

Life is what my poems are made of

in the darkest hour, after the day is done, TV’s are off, and the melody of

our house has settled to the muted percussion of ticks and creaks... and

again sometimes when the night is fading but the clocks have yet to

chime the new day...

he whispers a song to me...

warm and fuzzy, eyes still closed, i surface to sweet and funky exhalation

just above the ear curve...

softly whisper-singing... almost to himself...

“And I feel fine anytime she's around me now
She's around me now
Just about all the time
And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now
She's been with me now quite a long, long time
And I feel fine…”

snuggle deeper... inhale the sweet funky aroma of his breathy song…

and I feel fine too…

Long ago day on a country porch… cuz
It was too dern hot in the kitchen…
Three generations of women
Surrounded by trees and fields of greens
Snappin a whole heap’a beans…
Swattin at flyin buzzin things…
Laughin big laughs… and
Tellin small lies…
Wavin one hand as the car goin by
Stirs red dirt into the sultry air
Comin from “down yonder”…and
Headin “up ‘ere”…
Touchin giggle tears
With apron hems
Forward thirty years… and
I still see them… although
I’m the only one left…  

All the bean snappin porch ladies
Have gone the way
Of the natural progression of things… but
I can still hear that old screen door slam
I can still hear the old ladies sing…and
I now sing alone,
The hymn they usta bring
“… it’s anotha day’s journey, and I'm so glad, so glad about it… feels so good to be here”

you're the oldest in the line
you're now the matriarch
exclaimed my beloveds...
**** how'd this happen?!
I thought with a start- cuz
this is not a part
that i tried for
expected or vied for
All i did was keep livin...
didn't even do it
to my own satisfaction
but all of my mothers are long gone... and
i had to learn to
be my own caution sign
listen to my own still small voice
hug myself when necessary... and
it's taken quite some time
to reconcile me with me
come to grips with my nature
find my
Individuals Peace
which is good... ultimately...
Cuz all of my mothers
are gone

Just alright are e-books  and
just okay are e-zines
I suppose they have their place in the
natural progression of things
but I
love Books...

Old books and new books
soft books and hard books
to sniff an stroke and even listen to  
when antiquated stiff bindings moan
after sitting unopened for far too long
I just love books...

to pile up beside my bed... and
trip over in the night
to scan and browse and finger  titles
and check dates of copyrights

to feel the vibrations
from cover to cover of
previous generations of
fellow book lovers

to peruse
for forbidden doodles and
marginal ramblings
personal rememberances
and briefly noted things

purposely yet
inadvertently left
for future word finders
like myself

Okay... so...  e-books  and even e-zines
now have their space  
in the way of things
but I still hold
a special place
for
Books...

I don’t pretend to understand

your reasoning or reasons for un-embracing

Leaving broken and unsure and having to learn

the hard way

how to do it…

I don’t pretend to comprehend your

outspoken pride

in my enlightenment

as to the true nature of aloneness- of alone defined;

abandoned; forsaken; deserted; solo…

but I learned dear mother…

A minnow… in an ocean of sharks…

I learned…

Without your guidance or assistance in any way…

To survive

To walk like a woman

To spot evil

To spot evil

To spot evil

I almost didn’t live through that one

But I lived dear mother…

Without your aid or comfort in any way…

I lived…

My heart kept beating… sometimes to my chagrin and dismay

I awoke every **** morning and began each day with

Anger and distrust comfortably in place...

Until after way too many years

I realized…

Just because you gave me life

Does not mean that you owe me anything more…

Maybe in some nice holiday story or on the hallmark channel

Do loved ones actually love each other

But not in our reality dear mother

Not in our reality…

So I load my clothes and my spirit

some fried chicken and my beloved

(yes dear mother… the universe has given me true love)

into our all-terrain vehicle

and prepare to make this thousand mile trek to your beside…

still pained… but even now

the dutiful daughter

even now…

as you die…

What lessons will I learn from this dear mother…?

Without your disdain or hindrance in any way

What lessons will I learn…?

Easing from the center of a
Six foot ever-green hedge
As if thru an invisible doorway
From Zombie-land
Head first
Eyes like headlights
With high-beams on
Swiveling on too thin neck
Checking the scene
For a victim...
Emaciated shoulders
Pointy knee
Stretches
Ragged pant legs and
Ashy ankles
Flopping shoes… with
Empty lace-holes
Until finally
An entire man
Or what used to be one
Spies me…
But not before I see…
Just trying to get to work
But it’s the two-legged animals
That one must
Beware of
At five a.m.
In the city

≈

Police car cruising
The complex parking lot
Spotlight shines
But I don’t mind
Check me out Mr. Officer…
If you need to …
Cuz I’m not the one you are looking for
So he passes… as
Dusty Perpetrator
Rises
From inside
The dumpster across the way…
Scabby,
Crafty face
Uncomfortably resting under
Debris filled hair
Turns on
Boney neck… and
Spies me…
But not before I see…
Casually shut the door… and
Engage the locks
Cuz it’s the two-legged animals
That one must
Beware of
When the door **** jiggles
In the city

Hypothetical question inevitably comes to mind-

When we are old and past our prime

Should “they” decide that it’s our time and take upon themselves to douse the flame?

While we cry for our beloved… cuz those that are supposed to know…

Say it’s time to let her go… and

Mourn... cuz four legged people, are people just the same…

She’s just old... as most people hope to one day be… So may

She not moan… Or

Be in pain... and

Let her ease away in loving arms with none to blame… cuz

Good four legged people,

Are good people just the same…*

.

Funny how it works out…
That the way to keep
Loving you
Is to
Love you less…
Withdraw…
Back up…
Reel in
My emotions… cuz
With unmet expectations
Comes pain…and

I don’t do pain…

Funny…
How I’ve found
That to stay
Requires
A spiritual
Lessening…

No more
Laying open of the core of

Me… for you to peruse
At your leisure…
No more
Early morning lips
Down your spine
From between those
Fabulous shoulders
To the patch of hair above
My favorite place…
These intimacies
Just too much
To bear…

Funny…
That the idea of
No more
Secret smiles… and
No more
Private jokes… and
No more
Sssexy
Oh so
Sssslow Drags
To
No external music… just
The dizzying smell of you…

Is really not
All that
Funny…

For the last few months
At least twice a week
It was…
I gotta go do this for him
I needta go and cook for him
I needta call him…
Then life got in the way

Now he’s gone… the way of
So many others before him… and
As the years go by there are more of them
We look at all the Slides… and
Pics and videos
And laugh or cry…
Long for days gone by
Enough to make me shake my head
And say…

If I had to do it all again
I would do things differently
I would live life… always…
On purpose… cuz
Not one second is promised
No time to waste
Give every thing
To every day…

If that still small voice says
Cook for them or hug them
I will fry up whatever the hell there is…
Wrap my arms around them
Say "I love you" if I love them…
No time…
To be too busy
Or too angry or too prideful
Or too sleepy… I can sleep when I’m dead
When they’ll be putting ME away…

But until then… and
While I’m vertical…
With
No chance to do it over…
No chance to do it all again…
I pound my fist on the table…
With the other over this bruised heart… and
Make this vow today…

Going forward I WILL do things differently
I will live life… always…
On Purpose… cuz
Not one second is promised
Can’t let these fleeting moments get away
Don’t wait until later…or tomorrow…
Yesterday’s tomorrow… is today…

What I cannot find… but am determined… to get back to…

Is not to be confused with

Flavor…

Like hot sauce or vanilla… which can be found at any market…

No…

What I seem to have misplaced is

My Flava

Spelled F-L-A-V-A

And is one of a kind… gifted to me only…

Not to be confused with any other FLAVA

Cuz it is mine…

And without it…

Can barely string a sentence together… and am lost…

As from this springs my issue… and

Without my issue… just don’t know…

Whether to rhyme or to flow…

Wax melodic or staccato…

Iambic pentameter to coax you to

Come with / me and / and be / my love…No- wait...

That’s not it at all-

Have no need of

You being my love… or loving my being…

Which is where FLAVA comes in…

Cuz FLAVA don’t give a ****…

Flava just is…

Unlike consciousness…

Or the awareness of one’s own

Existence…that just wants not to be a

Casualty… and die with the other dead ones…

Who were (by the way) dead long before they

Resigned themselves to undertake the responsibility

Of laying the hell down…

But FLAVA…

FLAVA cannot die… so

I know it’s there… it’s just…

Hiding subliminally…

Under some old debris…

Beneath the ruins of what used to be me…and

When I find it…will then add some FLAVOR

(not to be confused with FLAVA)

…sprinkle some Cayenne Pepper… make it even HOTTER

…fold in some Cinnamon… make it even SEXIER… and

Stir and season…

‘til it feels like ME again…

One of a kind FLAVA…

Gifted to me only…

Gotta get back to it… Cuz it is mine…

Gotta get back to it… Cuz it is me…

Gotta get back to me…

.

Today I’ve decided
To rush my weeks no more
I’ve chosen, from now on,
To be happy…
When-ever I am
No more depression on Sunday
Dreading Monday
No more “Can’t wait ‘til the weekend!”
While in Wednesday’s traffic jam

Because for each of us
The moment will come,
When we’ve consumed
Our respective allocated days,
That we will leave this life
With what may possibly amount to
No drama… Nothing exciting
A singular non-event…
Merely go out… quietly
No glorious blaze…

You see…
I’ve had an epiphany...

I don’t want to find
That when it’s my time
My last thoughts are of all the things I
Should have done

Like

Hugged each baby
Especially when life was crazy
Been a little less busy
Had a hellava lot more fun

Made more recitals
Missed more meetings
Told more jokes
Gave more enthused greetings

Asked “How are you doing?”
And actually waited for the reply
If you were doing well… Rejoice
And if you were doing poorly…Cry
With you…

I still have time…

To stare into the fire
Crackling in the fireplace
To kiss his neck while he’s sleeping
And take in his much loved face
To rest my hand upon his wrist
While we’re riding in the car
To laugh ‘til I cry at his made up songs
To accompany him
By guitar…

I’ve always wanted to learn to play guitar…

So today
I’ve decided
To rush my weeks no more

I’ve chosen, from now on,
To be happy… where I am

And live each day

Maybe not
As if it is my last...

But possibly
The day before

I avert my eye

To give a man his privacy and his pride

To not see you cry for her

Deep and heartbreaking

Chest rumbling sobs that

Vibrate the bones… and

Steal the breath…



And make a note to self…



You were the children of best friends together...

To become lovers when you noticed each other with lover’s eyes

You were the children of farmer’s together…

To become rich… only to forget to be camels… and

Get through the eye of a needle together… so

I avert my eye

To give a man his privacy and his pride



To not see you

Desperately in love... and

Frantically desperate

In her final agonizing days

To make up for lost time…

To find the breadcrumbs

That will lead you back home…

To find the path

That you strayed from…

To find it again… too late



I avert my eye

And make a note to self

With regard to this grieving process…
how is this supposed work…?
is it okay to be sad for me…
but happy for her…
cuz Cancer
(with a capital “C”  
outta respect)
is a low-down cruel *****…
But she gave that low-down cruel *****…
A run for her money…
A hellava fight…
And now her race is run…
And it’s a win/win …
Or maybe it’s a no brainer…
And I’m sure that there is at least one more cliché that I can use here
But **** it…
It’ll  hafta come to me later…
Cuz my skin itches…
and I keep looking over my shoulder…
feeling as if someone is there…

You
The enigma
Refuse
To leave
Determined to fight
This futile fight
Perhaps your heart can not conceive
That
There are
Other worlds
To dance in

A big *******
Relentless Pac Man
Cancer is…
Usurping your glory
From the inside
Out
Leaving blinders on your lovely eyes
A hollow shell
Of your former self
Unable, even, to realize
That
There are
Other worlds
To dance in

A NEW PARTY awaits…
Better than this...
New adventures
New Loves
New lips to kiss

Fight so hard
To stay
But It’s okay
To go…
Maybe you’re afraid
Or maybe
Just do not know
That
On that
“Great gettin’ up mornin’”
All will be well once again
And though this
Wonderful… horrible… bumpy… smooth… journey
Will have finally come to an end

Keep your dancing shoes on…

This
Groove
Ain’t over

Lay down your mournful woes
Cuz my hopeful spirit knows
That there are
Better worlds…
Sweeter worlds…
Other worlds… Mom

To dance in…

Don’t want to reach up

To that dusty shelf

In the locked closet of my mind

And pull it all out

Blow it off

look at it and analyze

figure out the hows and whys

Hell no

I won’t go

Don’t shrink my head…



Don’t want my head shrunk

Leave it big like it is

Let the mess stay

repressed

Or if one prefers…

suppressed

Better left un-

expressed

Maybe I’ll be

depressed

but oh well…

Time will tell…

Don’t shrink my head

The man always met the enemy at the threshold
Lays down a carpet… grabs his crooked hand… and
Escorts him in
Clears a space for him to sit… and
Like an apostle
Cleans his busy feet of road dust
Garnered while traveling  to and fro
Seeking whom he may devour…

Then… giving him a high place…
Strained to Listen
As he whispered…
Yet is somehow still surprised
When his world is aflame… and he curses the enemy
Gives him all the blame
And the enemy laughs…
As yet another foolish man
Gives him the Credit, the Glory, the Joy and the Power

See…
This is private reverence
Basic and primitive
Surging through my soul
Not open to debate or explanation… and
I don’t even care
Who might think it’s silly
To dance like I do
Don’t nobody have to understand
My praise…
Don’t have to agree
With my spirit’s celebration…  
Or feel at all
like dancin with me this mornin.. cuz
I think... this time...
I'll dance
All by myself … it’s
My praise
Hallelujah
And I’ll
Dance all by myself

No my dear… I don’t want to go
not fishin or shoppin or sight seein… NO
I want to stay home ****…
Looking crazy… in a doo rag… and plaids and strips…
And look at the caller id… and still not answer the phone…
and talk to myself… and/or
Scratch in inappropriate places…
I want to eat leftover spaghetti... for breakfast…
I want to pretend like I’m cleanin my room…
and 4 hours later realize it’s still messy… and not mind at all…
I want to walk into that other room… and turn around and walk back out…
I want to lay down… and get up… and lay back down again…
Then listen to some music… really loudly…and sing… really badly… and
Talk to my plants… so that they don’t feel neglected
cuz I spent all morning talkin to myself… and
stand in the front doorway… and look out of the glass screen…
and open it up… just to feel the temperature outside…. And
then shut it back…
and lock it
It’s just one’a them days… So No…
I don’t want to go…
And go… and go...
You feel me...?
Today...

I just want to stay home…

I don’t smell him
But he looks malodorous
As he…
Oblivious…
To the rest of us…
Sits here on the city bus
While I unsuccessfully
Try not to see
Him oh so enthusiastically
Pick at and between
His gnarly toes… and
As if this is apropos
He never says a mumbling word…

while it is understood...
and probably
goes without saying
that everyone
as the saying goes
is a critic
most self appointed reviewers
fail to realize that

Poetry exists in the mind
belonging to the thinking subject... rather than
to the object of thought

Poetry is personal... placing emphasis on one's own moods
and attitudes... funky or otherwise...

you love it...
or you hate it...
you read it...
or you do not read it...
it does nothing to you.. or
hits a sweet spot
ignites or dampens a fire
permeates the soul
takes root... and
stays with you
for such a time as it is needed
to brighten your day...
luxuriate in solitude...
commemorate a love... or
accentuate a hate

Poetry
is abstract... illusory... instinctive... relative
to where one is at the time...
and therefore
not open to
editorial examination...
or critique

...I'm just sayin

I lost myself a while back...
not quite sure where… and
the strange thing is
I didn’t even realize I was losin myself…
didn’t just look up one day… and
find myself gone…
lost myself a little bit at a time...
little bits of me...
miniscule soul-full particles...
slow leak...
‘til not only was I supremely empty
but the whole ****** world was
flat...
leavin me head scratchin and puzzled
cuz last time I looked I was there...
right there… where I left me...
so I had to find myself…
a tedious and sometimes dangerous task...
looked high… really really high
and found…  no self
looked low… way too low… and
thankfully… again no self...
looked places that I was sure that I had never been
where I sometimes, surprisedly, found pieces of myself
picked myself up… dusted myself off… held myself close as
gathering slowly myself… growin… into regeneration…
comin together realization…  that I
love
my
self… and
hope
to never again be.. as I once was… so full of myself…
only to just be full…
only to just be…

They said
Tell her we said “hello”
Not knowing
That she had lost her mind
Many moons ago… so
I pass the message anyway
She sneers her lip
Turns her face away
Stares out of the window
Into a day
That she refuses to feel
And never says a mumbling word…

I want you to know Edward
That I took a hit for you…
Jumped under and between
To stay the song of that
Accursed four inch strap
Took it in my fist
Wrapped it around my arm… and
Tried to pull hers out of socket.. cuz
She was addicted… and
You were only four

I want you to know Edward
That I wrestled you into the bathtub…
Disregarded your panicked cries
Scrubbed your little body
‘til you were four shades lighter… cuz
There was four inches
Of stagnant water
In the bathtub  at your house…
And you ran four times faster
Without the dirt
Weighing you down…

I wish you could know Edward
Wherever you are…
That I cooked for you…
Poured milk to go with your dinner… and you
Were afraid to ask for more
At first… then…
You went back four times
And you were happy…
Cuz she left you with me
While she just went to get cigarettes… and
Was gone for four days

Cuz I know that a mind is a terrible thing sometimes… the way it can turn on ya…. I sit here tryin not to judge…  but  can’t help but see in the corner of my eye… and oh no… tell myself that I don’t … see her face… all screnched up… lookin like a car done parked on her foot… all screnched up… lookin like she got a helluva Charlie- Horse in her left *** cheek… as she tilts her head and digs in her scalp… diggin like she tryin to get through… to herself… in some newly discovered way… and keep on diggin… and keep on diggin…  til she finally come up with somethin… and right there… in our too crowded office… she… with relish… and with gusto… in slow motion seem like…  deposits her newly found treasure… Into. Her. Mouth… and with a loud and wet POP… then with a satisfied sigh… finishes her memo like this is nothing... no thing at all... a regular occurance… leavin me right now starin straight ahead… writin a poem... and "blessin-the-goddess"glad... that it ain’t me... partakin of… untraditional snacks… cuz life can be rough and cold like sidewalk concrete in winter… and if you hit the wrong way... sidewalk concrete in winter... somethin just might break... and obviously there is a... not so readily obvious problem here… so I decide that… I ain’t one to judge…  just act like I don’t see… and  finish my own **** memo…

and we grow yet older...
love of my life...
    knees snappin
         joints poppin
              just percussion
                        dear one
                             accompaniment to a life much lived
background music  to match
             my heartbeat matchin your heartbeat

as we grow yet older...
           and gently kiss each others pains away
here
       here
              and there
                         and here
                                   and again right there...
this could be fun...

lay hands on me baby...
                           let me love you...

Hate the mornings
That I awake with regrets
Open my eyes
With weight on my chest
from
If onlys… and
I wishes…
til
eyes  squeeze shut
to not start my day
by futilely wishing
life was some other way
So face down in my bed
Sigh deeply and pray
But never say a mumbling word…

When
doors open with no breeze
chimes sing with no wind
ya blunts keep goin out… and
Candle flames sputter
You’ll know it’s me
Passin through
to color your aura blue
raise your vibration and leave
my scent in your shirt
palo santo or eucalyptus
In the air…
just
breathe deeply Baby…
exhale slowly Darlin…
and feel betta
cuz it’s just me
Carla-Marie
to get on your nerves
or make you smile
or both
as per usual

ya cook a mean oatmeal
with vanilla & cinnamon
& nutmeg (come to me)
make us laugh while ya
slice onions.. which could be a
catagory in some desperate contest
but more importantly tho
ya let me have Peace...
baby i can
whip up my own
all alone
tasty sumthins
but to not be alone
& still have
Peace
makes me stand
in the hallway
where ya can't see me
&
stare at the side of ya face
&
set my clock
to watch ya
sleep

he says he loves me
and im not sayin that he doesn't...
im just sayin
that I have no evidence
to suggest that he does... and
have more evidence that sustains that he does not
in fact
give one **** for the amazin yet complicated being that is me...
i am far too jaded
for blind allegiances... and
******* sticks like hot grits
...that bears repeating
******* sticks like hot grits

In the rising sun
and the waxing moon
quietly worshipping my
Loving creator…my
Source… Sending good vibes
into the universe
Composing ill prose
While breezes
Catch dreams and coax
kitty cat wind chimes
into song…

I want to
grow old
Outside the lines…

There will be
No conformation-
I'm just sayin

No tidy blue hair or
Big church hat and
No ****** Christ on a Cross
Ram-Rod spine or
Fire and brimstone of my youth…

Instead…
An elemental and quintessential rejection of
A lifetime of The Establishment
has settled in these ol' bones...
And with it
Expanded consciousness… and
No cut-in-stone rules
for growing old…
Ya see, I
Need to grow old
Outside the lines…

Looking like the bohemian
that I am
Beaded and Barefooted
Cared For and Comfortable
With unruly mane a reflection of me…
Sometimes messy
Difficult to control and
NOT easily managed... Cuz
I'ma
Good Lovin
Candle lighting
Sage burning
Truth writing
Constantly learning
Dancing naked in the moonlight
Hippie of a poet mama
Happily…
Aging gracefully...
On my own terms...
Outside the lines…

I once loved a man whose smell was like pheromones to my psyche
his scent lingered on my skin after each embrace and
after a hard days work
he still smelled like
new leather and sandlewood... and to be
buried in his chest and breathe him in
lubricated me
after sweaty freaky ***  
the only time his ***** had an aroma and even that was still not unpleasant...
Tho the romance did not last
the remembrance of my face
in that space
between his
jaw line and shoulder
lingers in the solar plexus and occasionally
makes me sigh deeply

I once TRIED to love a different man... and
I never liked the way his natural skin smelled
from the very beginning...
something about his odor
lurking under any cologne
grated my spirit...
Not one time did I ever put his shirt to my nose and
inhale deeply... because the
musk
screamed
this man is not for you...
a malodorus warning of what would
manifest... and
the *** smelled like
...ph imbalance...
had i heeded... I would have wasted
a lot less time... and
had a lot less pain
The nose tried to tell me

I am the deepening mystery
I am the weighted blanket that enfolds in midnights
I am a force of Nature
I am the morning coo-ing at daybreak
I am a dew covered field of
swaying wheatgrass
I am bluebonnets by the side of a
little used road
I am fall leaves underfoot
I am a sudden rain shower
I am hightide in a full moon
I am ocean waves crashing the rocks
I am a gently flowing stream
I am the slow breeze that softly
kisses the neck
I am the hard and high wind that leaves one grasping for purchase
I am the lightning storm that ends a scorching day
I am the scorching day
I am an electromagnetic field
I am a solar flare
I am the hazy stillness before the earthquake... and
Every now and again
I am the mothaphuckin earthquake

All of my mothers have gone...
I'm sure their spirits live on
somewhere
but it feels like not here sometimes,  ya see...
ALL
of my mothers
FEEL gone...even
the ones
that I didn't particularly care for and
right now...
right now...
I really would like
to... maybe...
have at least one'a dem bodies
with fleshy arms and
warm soft bosoms
to pull me in as only
full women with fleshy arms and
warm soft bosoms can-
kiss my forehead and
tell me
no matter HOW it feels in THIS moment Baby
it's gon BE alright...
cuz you come from ME... and
MY strong mama and
HER strong mama and
HER strong mama and
HER strong mama...
so
before it gets too late
before somethin in me breaks...
I'ma wrap my own fleshy arms
around my own full *****
embracin my own self... and
know that I know that I know that
the spirits of all my mothers
even the ones that I didn't particularly care for
are ridin wit me
and I'ma hafta make up my mind
to be
comforted
with that

I've concluded that
I dont believe in dyin
sho dont believe
in cryin
at funerals
and lyin
to  faces
that cover the truths
of do not care...
cuz she's just here for
repast and gossip
and he's just here for the widows
chicken and green beans and sweet tea or beer
matronly curves and comfort needin tears
I don't beleeeeeeeve
in dyin or cryin or
lyin faces
that don't see that
Grace is
why we're all still here

i dont like myself of late
i don't like my purple hair or
the texture of my light brown skin
i dont like the way i walk
i dont like the constant pain
or being ****** tired all the time
i dont like this dead *** liver
and ****** up spirit and low vibration
I dont like the ***** that killed me
i dont like that i don't like me

i see his strength as a compliment to my weaknesses/the both of us together a solar flare/an electromagnetic field/a brush fire

he sees my strength as a dimming of his own light/with me blocking the spotlight/the both of us together/a partial eclipse with me the moon/a shade pulled halfway the window/with me the shade

i only cry a little/as i give up/unable to stopper the well spring that is my vibration/and unwilling to even try

i missed my calling
but not my window
ive lived to tolerate
innuendo
about my age
and my grays
and better days
but its okay
cuz my best days are
right now...

window still wide open
letting in and out
my flow...
champagne
and peaceful chaos
and sultry ****
alchemy
from all the years of
**** i know