My words come back  
To me, speak
Of my house of cards,
My house of freaks.
How the danger
lingers near -
How she whispers
in my ear -
How the torture,
So divine -
Holy
Mother Valentine!

(hope you liked it)

I had been on my way to work as usual
I am the seven to three shift
A shift where you see the modern slaves masters
The visionary of the Donald J Trump’s disasters

I saw a title of a poem today,
"The Bullet Was a Girl".
Now my title might be
"The Bullets Are The Russian
that led to  Obamacare assassin
That led to the suspects Russian interferences of
Human rights abuses:
The Russian might build the wall
Now that would be a vision no one saw coming,

I wow not to leave this earth a lonely *****,
Taunted by past lovers who label me as a witch?
Here I am today, keeping my eyes on the price,
I wow never again to be fed by more optimistic lies

From the Caribbean to the Central American shore
Every woman need to be love and to be adored
And not be willfully be subjected
to the life of a married man's *****

I have found solace in my poetry,
Therefore, I cannot commit adultery?

Living with shame, guilt and
asking God to forgive a sinner
Here I am today keeping my eyes on the price,
I just became an instant lucky winner:

Because of that little girl from across the Caribbean Sea
Who travels led her to the Central American shore
Once she said no more, she meant no more

A woman like me is often misunderstood.
Because of the path I have taken through the woods
I have listened numerous times to the blabbing brook
Who comments were rude, about the rich folks

But instead I observe from my homeless tent, the high achievers
I took it all in stride, while the mosquitoes chew on my legs
Women like me aren’t afraid to dream,
Neither are we bashful to wear
the wide rim hat at Easter time
Because all eyes would be on the winners (us)

My pocket poems
Isn’t worth much dowry
However, it’s all mine
Like nickel and dimes
Silver, or gold.
Tell out, my soul, to the world