Frightened by the thought of you
I try to forget you.
I try to recall imperfections
of you,
In order to make you weak
to me.
Weak in my heart
Weak in my soul
Weak in my love
All it does is strengthen
your hold.
I am the weak minded soul
blinded by the poetry
in my heart.

Time to strengthen my resolve,
but not to make it disappear
I need the song it brings.
I need the comfort of words
I need the longing of literature
not of you.
Enlightened by this revelation
I realise that I was the
romantique.
Living via the classique's
Modern life is too harsh
to bear a Heathcliff
on a marsh.

We dined in quietude
knowing that the meal
was our last repast.
Together, we'd had fun
now the game changed,
your wife was pregnant
with a son.
I ordered more wine
I didn't whine that
you chose her over me.
Bawling and weeping
Is not my style.
Should have known
from the beginning
you were a lying swine,
three months before I knew,
that you weren't mine,
married, you'd confessed.
In the process of divorce
you'd said.
Believed you, I did.
Affairs like prayers sometimes
go unanswered.
You and I this supper time
will not end the night
ascending the stair for our affair.

Confused, amused by this life
I stand on the bridge and
watch the turbid water below,
churning, flowing,moving,
the haziness of the liquid calls,
jump, free fall, quit.
Let go of the railing,
stretch out and join
the flowing liquid.
Light dapples the water
the light is blue
the water grey
Blue light is coming from
the police car,
it's lights make the water
more, not less appealing,
I lean forward, hear the shouts
I know there'll be silence below.
I release my grip.
Into the deep murky water I go

Pretty in pink, I'd like to think I can write
you a ballad but all that comes is a pallid
canvas of colourless words.
I fail to bring the vibrancy in my heart
to life, descriptions of you, of your love.
Damaged, though I am, I know that you
and you alone love me.
In a way that no sibling, parent or other knows.
Yet,
acid drips from my lips aimed like an arrow
to your heart.
Fastened together by something more than
Love, why do we fight with such spite?
What sorcery binds us?
I love you, but that makes you mine
to ****.
Men may **** the things they do not love
but we women **** what we love the most.

Her body was her success
but, her intellect was just a guest
that came along to the photo shoot.
Undressed, she was perfect,
alone she was fragile,
a child looking for love.

Her effects were legendary.
Many have tried to capture her
essence, they've failed
Marilyn Monroe
a fake name for a real
person.

Norma Jean Baker
Brunette to Blonde
As her two personas intersect
it's hard not to feel regret
for the child with a smile
so wide, it reflected the sun.

We , the adoring fans made her public property
forgetting her individuality, sensitivity and
vulnerability.
We used and abused the sunshine
she brought, she lived a lie
We that supposedly were in love with her
killed her beauty, without and within.

Nembutal, overdose, suicide,cover up
believe what you want.
What's true is she had a
luminous quality, wistfulness, radiance, and yearning
that set her apart.

And, in her own words
"Give a girl the right shoes,
and she can conquer the world"
That she did, and still does.