“There is no greater agony
than bearing an untold
story inside you.” Maya Angelou

It is always better
to wait.
To let the *** brew
for things to settle a little
and get happy.

For patience is a
caged bird when
the time is not ripe.

However, the fledgling
never knows
when it is ready.
When it is time to take
that leap of faith.

When it is time
there will always
be something
to nudge you gently
off the precipice so that
you may do what you were
meant to...
and fly.

I long for some silence,
a moment of reflection,
a break from my current state
of constant vexation,

but all the news stations
are busy playing
up all of the discord
this nation is facing.

Banners displaying
hate and race bating,

anti-Semites
run rampant
in modern day life,
as ****** makes
a grand return.

Nero watches
Rome burn
while wearing
a spray tan
covering up
a mental sun burn.

So, its my turn
to add to the acid,
and I do not fail
with my poetic tactic.

Makes me wonder
do my words
help one bit
or am I
another *******
stirring up
more political
*******.

Let me tell you a story
something deep
and meaningful,
something
that links us
to the universal.

Let me tell you a story
something you can see,
something you can touch,
something you can believe.

Let me tell you a story,
something that helps you deal,
maybe fictional,
but let it be something
you feel could be real.

Let me tell you a story,
and when I am gone
even if you forget me
I hope my stories
travel on in your memories.

Robot boys,
metal jammed
god dammed
hot gears burning,
synthetic sounds
static blaring,
nobody caring.

Chrome gleaming
engine screaming
in lust
ready rust or bust
a robust nut.

Don’t startle them
or they will bolt.

Pre-programed
young to old man
machines made
to work
drink
and act like jerks
while they are
****** around.

Till they
finally shutdown,
no reboots or sequels
just scrap
for the junkyard.

I put a period
at the end
the sequence,
despite the lack
of them in
previous
stanzas,
just to indicate
that this is where
the end was made.

The punctuation
is intense
confusing
common sense
cause poetry rules
are not the same
as basic grammar school
English rules.

Not my biological daughter but
there is a well of
overflowing
pride and love.

Little teenage poet,
tiny bookworm
like me;

I remember when
you were barely
four or three
and I would read
stories to you
before you
went to sleep.

“Another one,
another one,
another one,
please.”

Then just as I
was about to leave
smiling and saying
go to sleep
you would offer
to read to me.

Little smiling devil
how could I resist,
“just one more story
then to bed after it.”

I spent years
with poor circulation
nerve ends strangled
in abject agony,
following your insanity
while blaming myself
for the way
you obeyed your rage,
but I might be getting
a little bit better.
I might be
a little less bitter.

I spent years on fire
like a burning house
seeing every optimistic
inch of me
defeated and incinerated
by your incessant nagging,
and jack slapping.
Till, I nearly choked
trying to breathe easy.
When it took
two swallows
to catch my
anxious breath,
one gulp
then halfway down
another gulp
so, I didn't drown
in my own saliva.

Now my freedom
is a bitter sweet
symphony
and though others insist,
I do not need
you to be
in my life,
do not need
the present
or even the slightest hint
of past strife
to be happy
and complete.

He is just a man,
one lonely figure
left to sit here
and waste away
in the nursing home.

A man
with a withered hand
aching with
a newly acquired
arthritic fire
he desired
to be rid of,

wrinkled flesh
worn thin
and browning
with age spots.

Severe stares
of certain despair
live here
and are set to the tune of
a decade of love
and almost a century
of compounding
losses.

Each day he loses
the outer edges
of consciousness,
all willful fire
slowly simmering to
a soft boil,
then to a less urgent heat.
Until, he finds his feet
numb with diabetes,
then gone as he becomes
an amputee.

Forgotten father figure
fallen to the ravages
of a time war
no one has ever won.

Life is short.
Love is sweet,
so, it doesn't
ever bother me
to see
two men
wearing
mustaches
with
thick eyelashes
making
suggestive
statements
or subtle
movements
about their
shared
*******
affection.