Its a pain that I'm unable to explain.
Physical yet emotional all in the same way.
To the outside world its invisable and non-existent
But inside there is a stabbing, gut wrenching pain.
A blade being ****** through my abdomen over and over again.
Until nausea over comes and chokes me close to drowning
The very organs that make me a woman are poisoning my blood, my life force
Every emotion is magnified, intensified
made into a life ending dilema
Every nerve throbbing, transferring through every part
Making my legs weak and my heart race
The blood running through my veins has become acid
Alone in this prison of emotional and physical hell
No tender hand to caress my cheek
No soothing, comforting words to lul me to sleep
No strong arms to wrap me up tight
No soft lips to kiss me goodnight
The darkness of solitude is seeping in
To encompass and destroy any small bit of hope left
Fate has cursed my every move
Tarnished every hello, expecting and waiting for the goodbye
Destined to wallow for all eternity in my own tears

I know the pain you feel is deep,
your want from life is simple peace.
And though I cannot guarantee,
please listen closely, as I speak.

Presently you stroll alone,
searching for a hand to hold.
You feel your sorrow in your bones,
in harshest sun, you still feel cold.

Pre - dawn, however, is darkest night
that must be followed by morning light.
I pray you won't give up the fight,
the universe will set things right.

I know at times, it seems unclear
that happiness is always near.
But wholly I believe my dear,
someday soon, you'll find some cheer.

I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.

I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.

I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.

I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.

I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.

I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.

I don't mean to cramp your style...*
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.

I am a nervous poet; sleep with my pen under my pillow.
All my sheets are white. And that's despite the fact that

I sleep with all my verbs on.

I've had friends that were good who were poets that are dead,
And the poem always got them in their sleep.

I rhyme with one eye open. I give birth in my sleep like a bear
To cubs that have left their crap on the notepad in the morning.

All over it; like letters from one poet to another -a thankful thing
Since poets say nice things nicer than non-poets; and even insult with

Slightly more finesse.

But it always gets you in the end, the poem. It gets you with the
Caps Lock, and you can see the Head of the Title, and then...

I'm a nervous poet; sleep with my pen under my pillow.
I traded it for a *****.

I'll dig with it.

Down in the Hills of the
Mississippi River Valley
Between the Bluffs and
The river bank in Lansing
Is a Friend named Joe Price,

Born to Play the Blue's
Raised on Farming as a Boy,
Yet was a need he could not lose
He listened to Muddy Waters
And ran out to buy a Guitar

An old 1947 12 String National
Resonator with the Steel Core
He rapped his fingers around
Till his blues skills got honed

He was Destined to play with
Legends like John Lee ******
Willie Dixon and Clifton Chenier
Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee
Along with Muddy Waters and Me

I know I'm no legend but I can't Refuse
When Joe ask me to Sit in on a Knee Slappin'
Hand Clappin version of the Hobo Blues
His work boot stomped a beat
On an old flat piece of wood
As that steel Slide made that Guitar Cry

A Legend behind the Scenes he's
Played from the North down to
The Louisiana Back Bayous
And everything in Between

You'll Never Know that feeling
As the Hair stands on your Neck
This hardly known old Hobo
Was a Legend what the Heck

Till you get a chance to listen
To his Train whistle slide Moan
That 12 string Steel Guitar Tone
That sounds so very Nice
From an Unknown Legend
Name of Joe Price

*His Music can be found on http://www.joepriceblue.com/

Warm laundry gives me the
fuzzies, makes my hands grasp
   majestic purple soaps
to cleanse away the ***** wails
compacted under fingernails
A selection of smell good things
lotions accompanied by fuzzy things
to rub away and radiate the aura
of calm, balance, and tranquility
Lavender is condusive to many
different uses, inhaling the graces
of herbal essence, soothing said coolings
inducing mood peelings of layers of grime
a skin liberative—figuratively speaking
Flowers of passion brew thoughts into actions
silent buds permeating scents
   so invigoratingly innocent

Sleep, Timothy, Sleep.
Let wishes dance about
Your feet for now.
Let angels fill sleep sweet dreams,
While all is as it seems.

Sleep, Baby, Sleep.
Worry not of
Place or times.
As yet, be happy
With childhood rhymes.

Sleep, Dreamer, Sleep.
Let  fancies fill your age forever.
Heed your heart
As sage
In waking hours.

Sleep, Angel, Sleep.
From dreams with candent smile,
You brighten,
Then light again
Where Angels sleep.

/
I'm not  pied crested Cuckoo of alienation
Who is no more say" I love you"
The Season has not Struck me
You Say it is Spring
That not anymore troubled me

I'm to be indifferent, aloof
Drunk with your prayer
I'm the instrument of pain
Who don't have any principle of mounting

I go, but don't go
I Come, Comeback
Even don't comeback again
Like a Child who always straight
But Sometimes bend as like a bow

I want you
In Existence,
In Bone marrow,
In the Red blood cells of blood

I am defeated
Want you after defeat
/
@Musfiq us shaleheen