O yes, you are very naive
I can see that:
Out there in your own little world
Darken by the sunray
Wearing those ridiculous glasses
Upside down:

Sleeping with the liar looking forgiveness
O yes, you’re your father son
But do not think you will be loved again
By the woman and her son
And what maybe, might not be
I know the pattern.

Your nerves will be shattered by torture
For all those good times,
More lonely night to come
She was just as common as the others
When bitterness poison your marriage
They is no turning back
JACK...




.

Even in her late forty it could happen
the joy of her life, the blessing she have been waiting for
She woke up with hope,
the world seem much different
the soft lullabies sweetened her soul:

Dreft is as gentle as a summer breeze,
circle the misty air
even this late her beauty shines,
yesterday tears dry on their own
Keisha breastfeed her baby…

There is so much I am going to tell my granddaughters
about their mother... but for now nothing

Should we have love in silence?
Or should we have love only from the heart?
Should we have let the past stay in the past?
Or should our stories should have never been told

The past is never where you think you left it.”
Quote ― Katherine Anne Porter

Somehow we just had to sin by silence
And mourn the death of a friendship

Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute,
day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways.”
― Stephen Vincent Benét

Should we have love in silence, or should we have love each other
from the heart: we had the courage to stand up , we had the strength to
walk away from our abusive relationships:
Somehow we never learned because of blinded love and love affairs

Silence is the night
so is counting sheep
Into the wean hours of the morning
my heart beats down the loneliness
When I am missing you?

The sparrows nestled under the branches
as the rain goes pita, pata, pita, pata
The cricket compose its last four-note tune to me
sorry my baby, that you can't sleep
The jackal, the wolf and the herdsman
Slept soundly

Nevertheless, here I am counting headless sheep
That’s life you always say,
My life my lonely life,

Without my poetry to keep me sane
My jukebox music to keep me cheerful and lively:
a glass of red wine  blended with the silence
So why am I missing you:
Because this is my way of tricking my heart into loving you more
~~~~~~~~~
“Missing you is flashes of our past and fantasies of our future
with the hard irony of the absence of our present as present occur.”
Quote:― Zhi

Silly Rabbits

What the bad news was
He found me too late:

For us to start all over again,
Meant diving into dark waters
I offered no guarantee
Didn’t need sweeping off my feet

Everything was going according to God’s plan
Not man’s evil deed:

In the mist of everything, I knew trouble
Was up head: Rings would be taken off
Snap photo would be taken out of wallets
And nights of cold showers before going to bed
The refrigerator would be empty once again

Because he found us:
The man who flew to high
nights would be like a silencer

Facebook on liners would be his friends
And the house of Jericho would tumble down again

I choose freedom; he took a leap of faith
Don’t cry for me: cry for him, from love to disgrace,

It took thirty odd years for him to look good in the mirror
but it took a few second to look bad in her eyes

It took me one year and I  fix it.
Lost time pencil in:
True love of a good friend

Don’t cry for me; cry for him:
I offered no guarantee:
I offer no sideline referee

Didn’t need to be sweep off my feet
Man’s evil deed wasn’t meant for me
neither being a relationship referee.

In the footsteps of the day
Is not like the footstep of the night
My eyes knows the dark

My souls know the rooms
The corridors, the smell,
The peek a boo light under the
entrance door and they you are the shadow
of what was lost: once again:

  who knows what lurks in the heart of man:

In every home there is a dark passage,
Loneliness, grief, depression and marriage
They breathes soundly by your side: then the wreckage

Another year, another chapter, another longing
For skin hunger, waiting and awaiting:
Where does these emotion lead?
To deception, or tears,

So I am asking, what happen to my soulmate
The one with the locks that fits my keys,
and ,the keys  that fit his locks?

Now, I move alone in the dark unseeing,
as I move toward the door, I remember,
there is only one direction
And that is back to the warmth of my bed

She already knew what she wanted
he kept insisting that’s work, work
She was so hot, hot; he was so cold,

Her hot flashes, verses his cold feet
Bring on the friction, or the vapor rub
Some way or another, she was getting some

Forget about the work, work, and work
Not fishing for compliments: she hints,
Just some good old fashioned comfort and enjoyment

During the fidgety February morning,
While money was on his mind
his baby’s hands was under the sheet,
with that timely rhythmic breathing of a
Metronomic beat, leading up to their ****** healing
Without the thought of work, work, work


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oiGHY6q-snI#t=12

Time will tell, time will tell,
Who will meet at the well?
And who will be forgiven,
And who will be smite

It ***** to keep a secret,
Jealousy is a disease, fear is mind killer
They all knew his demeanors
Impeachment but  two times, once a sinner always a sin
Sometimes I use to love him
Sometimes I didn’t understand his tactics:
My grandparents always told us
Children, children, behave yourself
Never is the follower always being the leader:
Is the best way to go..

A few article I came across this morning
He is dynamo driven restless unable to keep
(Reminds of my grandfather donkey Wilbert).
He gets by with very little sleep.
The mind of Donald Trump
Narcissism, disagreeableness, grandiosity psychologist
investigate how trump extraordinary  personality
might shape his presidency (story by Dan P McAdams)
Was the president really a leader?

I don’t know if I should be happy or if I should cry,
I don’t laugh at ones misery or one rejoice at
Proverbs 24:17 Do not gloat when your enemy falls, and

Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles, lest the Lord see it and be displeased, and turn away his anger from him. Romans 12:19
I must indeed say that I have a love and hate relationship with the man
However, what took place in Washington DC two weeks ago,
Makes me more afraid of the politicians and politics’ more than ever

Time will tell, time will tell,
Who will meet at the well?
And who will be forgiven,
And who will be smite

Let’s not forget our childhoods
Like playing in the rain, getting drench, and loving it
The scene I remembered most, was i watching Peggy the small dog,
in the window across the street.
While, the neighbors keep up their lawns, and areas neatly pruned
With the dull chopping sound of the cutlasses, early in the morning:

I generally held a book close to my face, while reading
But somehow, on that day, I kept  staring at the house across the street
I don’t remember if I had done my chores or not,
before the lady in this photo came home that day for lunch.
For her, it was all about keeping up appearances,
Dinner at six, all school shoes must be polished before seven
and our Immaculate uniforms, must be hanging on the ironing board.

And no matter what,
all lights must be out before ten o’clock.
“Don’t forget to say your goodnight Prayers, she would have said”
Lately I've been thinking about childhood a lot

Suddenly, my thoughts turned to my first soap opera, Peyton Place,
Woody Allen, Mia farrow, and all my childhood memories came to a haul with…images of my friend Dolly Benskin and her daughter Paige:
Paige die at an early age: which haunted me for years..
why so young?

I use to love smoking candy cigarettes, but not between my toes
This morning of all mornings,
bonds with the carpet fibers is a piece of candy

No heat, no sunshine.
please bring out the moonshine,

While the cowboys ride their horses
you must ride out this intensity of the winds
Mother Nature sings as the frozen lake slowly cracks
Casting her jeering spell of laughter,

Nine deaths so far, because of the storm
Ice is ice, not solid ground,
just take a look around
Stay indoors and write a poem
this storm is showing no sign of backing down

Snow, rain and grey sky ... sets again
Upon the coldest part of this city
where hundreds of grounded flights
Once again took to the unfriendly skies
So, here I am thinking of the land of the flying fish
With one wicked indulgent on my mind
The fire ***, palm trees and casino nights.

  St. Lawrence Gap is where the exchange rate
gets bigger and the euro goes from hand to hand,
meaningless ***, ***** talk and a bit of ...fun
a dream within a dream, little favors
just to entice them, those locals folks
to encounter one night stand

All I need is one week to glow with the sun
One week, one weekend and my tassel bikini

Every house has a story:
Every piece of land has a past and also a story to tell
When l was a little girl:
I would dig deep into the earth looking
For proof to these stories: a perfumed bottle, a piece of rag,
You name it: I know there was a story.

I remember our first home,
After, moving out of my grandparents’ home
An old run down board house, with the open ceiling
Two bedrooms, no build in bathroom,
Somehow, my parents made it our home
For my siblings and I:

Something about the Iron bedhead caught my attention
The color of black, a little rusty, on the rims
But, l likes that old head board.
My parent got rid of the old head board
Just to keep up with modern times
I wish I could have kept that thing
I know where it is buried: in the gully
Those childhood memories of me
Digging into the earth for artifacts

Every piece of land is unique;
As well as every person is different..
Even the poet within me, seeks,
Not for treasures, but for answers,
I recently made some enquires about
Old man town man piece of land
Everybody wants it, but nobody can get it

Lots of stories can be told about this land
But not enough about the man character
They is lot of things I wish I done different

As a young adult, but I guess,
it wasn’t meant to be:
Today I am calm, yesteryears I was
That, poem that never was publishes.

A little nod to Kiki Petrosino

The heart ceases to beat. Because
Some ghosts are my exes
neither angry nor kind
their faces spiral like
old windmills that clings to dry autumn leaves
looking for a place to land:

Not all ghosts are my exes
I remember them as stingy, and womanizing
Some were wolves in sheep clothing
Not smart but conniving species,
They capture your attention, like
a slow moving sunrise, then lure you
Like a vampire before dawn to have his feed:

But that isn’t all, some of my ghosts who
Walks amongst the mortal grinning
Asking to be friends, to forgive, to reflect,
Not a clever move, my ghostly friends,
just deceiving: Tactics

As a wise man once told me,
No one can hurt me without my permission…
So some of the blame, of misfortune lies on me

A nod to Emily Dickinson


I measure every Grief I meet

I know they all felt like mine

Some smaller some larger,

Yesterday, I got a text from a friend

Her exact words.

“my daughter got shot to the head

Last nite die@ a visual

At first, I didn’t know what to make

From those few words .. I later  

Reach out to her, but she kept

Refusing my text or call

Which is understandable,  

in a times like these

Is pain ever going to get old?  

Is man ever going to stop the violence?

Would all of these weapons going to be around forever?

Why does it hurt so much to alive these days?

Are we going to run out of words to comfort each other?

First thing I read this morning, on the net

“Headlines.... a young mother abandon her newborn in a New Jersey Restaurant

It might seem heartless to some, somehow, without doubt

that young mother was afraid for the life of her newborn

What future does that child have,

What future does she have?

I measure every Grief I meet

Death is something we can’t smile about

*“The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.” *
― Alan Wilson Watts

I took this line from  Emily poem

  to end my version of this piece



And though I may not guess the kind –  
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary –  Emily Dickinson

Do you still remember: the flyer flies?
And the harmonic liturgical chant of the invisible crickets
Outside our window: oh how they soothe
us to sleep : an added plus to the sound of the falling rain
of all our wishes, did we meant to leave the
tropical sound for the deafen sound of gun fire ,sirens,
or burning tires of city life, startling's hearts everywhere;
almost every hour upon hours of restless sleep

awaken to the swift sound of chirping, squeaking engine
my heart longs for those crickets outside my window
as they hide beneath the tall wet grass,
I remember how I slept between darkness and dawn
Remembering happiness comes from contentment:

Someone is writing a poem in the dark
Just to escape from the light of things
Nothing can escape from a black hole,
Creating fewer images in one’s mind,
I wonder if they can see a streak of light
Fighting its way through darkness

I can see them falling deeper and deeper
Falling, falling, but not enough to fill the void
A gun, a razor blade, a handful of narcotic, now it’s
the video cameras, an unusual collectible to assist with the pain
Keys, bolts and iron bars, hopelessly romantic
and deeply subversive: Madness takes center stage.



P>S
So when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there's always madness. Madness is the emergency exit.”
― Alan Moore, Batman: The Killing Joke

Something will always remain the same
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
Santa Claus with his red and white suit
Johnny Walker for the man who deserves
More than a gift: He is a winner by far
Another Christmas with re-runs of Home Alone (part one)

Episodes we dare not to miss that... include Indiana Jones the last crusade
Even as the Characters is all grown up and move on to different things
The poor chaps gain more shame than fame as the world watches in disbelief:

Something will always remain the same:  In and out of someone life
However, without that awkward moment when Santa Claus got stuck in the chimney last night.

Somewhere, there is a poem in our heads
About, Love, life, politics, natural disasters,
Religion and conflicts controversial issues

Suddenly, here come the uprising wars in politics
Isis and The Donald Trumps of the world crusaders
Here, we are as citizens, once again, starting to feel down,
Trying to find beauty in life, throughout the fixation,
obsession with tic, TAC, toe politicians.

Somewhere, there is poem ,a  poem in waiting,
waiting, waiting, waiting, and waiting,
  Too many words, not enough ink for printing,
not enough folks, who cares about such matters.
Because, they saw the up and down to natural disaster,
the tricks of trade in the political world of politics

Even if we do comes across a little harmony in love,
Because, out of clutter, find simplicity, said Albert Einstein.

P.S

We are all equal in the fact that we are all different. We are all the same in the fact that we will never be the same. We are united by the reality that all colors and all cultures are distinct & individual. We are harmonious in the reality that we are all held to this earth by the same gravity. We don't share blood, but we share the air that keeps us alive. I will not blind myself and say that my black brother is not different from me. I will not blind myself and say that my brown sister is not different from me. But my black brother is he as much as I am me. But my brown sister is she as much as I am me.” *
― C. JoyBell C.

Time and distance—speed and time—allow us to see the good in most people. I strive to recognize the goodness in others, even when hope seems endless. They bid for my love, and my boomerang-addicted heart should know better. Why hide the truth about one's feelings? However, expressing emotions through self-care is essential. The unexplainable feeling of longing for someone so far away can also play tricks on your boomerang heart.

A natural height, whether safe or unsafe, can lead to a state of happiness. According to experts, euphoria or exhilaration accompanies certain achievements. Imagine being awakened by warm, manly hands on your body—instead of hearing him say, "I wish I were there" (😊 is a plus. Long-distance relationships require a reality check, considering both time and distance.

---

I Walk Into Bobby Department Store
And I yelled where is the Bajans at?
This might sound a little weird to most
But, it’s that seasons when I get to hear
The native tongue, follow by the real country accent
Plus some rudeness as their form long waiting lines

But to see the joy of Christmas
Still exist in their tone of voice

Christmas time is that one time of year
when you could be happy without
giving yourself any reasons.quote

I could hear sentences like
I want to mail this barrel by next week
But I know they wouldn’t get it before next year
As an outside, listen in on stranger conversation
they might say to themselves

“What is this barrel they talking about
A barrel of ***, a barrel of jack Daniel
A barrel of monkey, what barrel?

Yes Bubba! that barrel it filled with gift and food stuff
For their family on the Island of Brim
So all I have to add to this is.....that

I am reminded that while New Yorkers say "standing on line,"
the rest of the English-speaking world says "standing in line. - Jeffrey Steingarten quote..

Downhill after dark we took our nightly showers  

Under the standpipe, dodging the cars light,

It was fun in those days, the life of the poor black child

The countryside, but the sweetest thing to remember,

Roast breadfruit, roast flying fish, roast corns,

It was fun in those days, for the life of the poor, young villagers

in today world it called Backyard Barbecuing with friends,  

when we did it was called poor people way of cooking, and celebrating.

So often now and then,  

it's good to go back in time

And relived, those awkward and happy moments

Only thing I detest was loading the sugarcane

On my head and going up the ladder,

The white man reap all the sweet

The black man bake under the sun.



Last month I sat in the most expensive Restaurant

And eat, lobster, drank expensive bottle of wine

I wouldn’t reveal the cost of the meal,

But, I always knew, that one day, this would

Have happen, from roast fish, on the hill of Prout Hill

To Washington DC exquisite night restaurant. MI*VIDA

And yes I made all of this happened:

August is wonderful month for star gazing.
Camellias, dauphin Oise and renuculars in full bloom this August
How much sun does my August Moon flowers needs;
the more sun, the more golden the texture shine  on through

Here came the brides, marching down the aisles with theirs fathers
While, the theme of Goldenrod, Sunflower yellow, Saffron and Dandelion takes center stage,

August is a month that stands its own merit
an excellent month for bird migration, but not for illegal immigrants
August's birth flower is gladiolus, its comes with, calm, integrity, and infatuation

August is the wayward month no less.
Star gazing at its best

Stop badgering the witness!

Love is a mysterious thing poker face
Even though we tend to think of soul mates
as a symbiotic union, we have to be open-minded

Marriage is a business transaction
We've all had nights we can't remember...
or wish we could forget
as we all recalled it was the mindset
that triggered strong emotion into an explosion
that separate the thing called love.

It’s have been more than twenty odd years since
the Weeper's victims left over tears, that never faded.
the dead  never felt neither pain nor anger

The jury is still deliberating long and hard with miles
  to go on the public views, so once again
if the gloves don't fit you must acquit
  Stop badgering the remaining witnesses America
Love is a mysterious thing, poker face

Our neighbors hate what they do not understand. As a child, it was so hard to comprehend such behavior. To me, it said more about them than us. However, envy is not jealousy; it was their way of feeling left out. They would say things like, “Her head is always buried in a book.” But to me, their noses were all up in my young business. I was always searching; I craved knowledge and loved looking up to intelligent people. As I listened closely to their words, I realized that conversation is a two-way street. Somehow, I loved being on their street just for the knowledge they seemed to possess. I never seemed to smile; my brain wouldn’t allow it. But somehow, my lips remained pliable. So many would say, “I saw your lips first,” but I knew I wouldn’t get a smile from you. My days aren’t like yesteryear; I don’t care anymore about other people’s feelings. The experts have a word or two for this kind of thing: “Emotional Invalidation” (rejecting other people’s feelings or thoughts). Or others might say, “I don’t give a [expletive].” In my youth, I loved beauty, but beauty moved slowly. I always knew that an ugly duckling would become the Queen of the swans. Our neighbors hated what they didn’t understand; they were too busy searching for words to put us down—words of hate, nothing that one could find in the dictionary. As a child, I never knew that grown women never wore underwear until that day when the neighbor fought her neighbor. Only two silk *******, and it was only for Sunday worship. So, the gossip goes, anxiety and uncertainty circulate. My neighbors and their offspring still hate what they do not understand. If you need to learn more, ask the village bread man.

Whilst I was walking down the street this morning
I tried to be polite and inconspicuous to a passing stranger

He stares directly into my eyes;
My brown eyes speak louder than my husky voice
without the spoken words or improvisation.

What was he looking for?
Did he like what he saw?

The pain, shame or a sense of connection
Love, is nowhere to be found in my eyes,

It's ruthless, it deems, it disappoints
By now we all know the stories about the pain
Of lost-love,

It begins with a smile
A kiss a warm embrace,
The tears and fears during the last years
of something that was once so beautiful..

Did he love the raven in my eyes?
Sorry stranger! ,
I played the game of love and lost
I paid my tithes, sorry stranger!

Caw, caw, caw!
Did the stranger love the looks of the raven in my eyes?

While the children sleep
I learn from my immediate elders who taught me
the good, the bad and the ugly;
however, my strength is hiding deep within.
If only the pain weren’t so severe.

An ugly duckling who suffers Verbal and physical abuse
From the cool, pretty crowds of clueless incompetent?
You with your tawny hair, they often shout
Flat jacks with granny strap
String beans without the lean

So cruel; so mean those  terrorist sounds  
That goes round and round on the playground
While the children sleep  through the night
I play with night flyers
Golden wings and friendly flittering smiles we dance,
Into Twinkling lights of the meadow;
Late at night without the feuds or the abuse of the inferiors
I got teary eyes as I say farewell to my misty friends

Bigotry and hatred, Playgrounds terror,
  Children of the cornfields rules the inner cities school
Throughout kindergarten into high school

You must process the Skill of a tiger, speed of a leopard
Going to school going isn’t any fun anymore

This is the day of trouble, and of rebuke, and blasphemy: the
The children are coming to birth and there is not strength
To bring forth:(bibical)

Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.  
— Frank Lloyd Wright

Thousands and thousand
Of people, will die this year
From the virus, and the
Streets they lived on is sadden
By the masks someone
Refuses to wear, stingless
And reckless those buggers left behind

Another apartment available,
In our city, waiting, the grass
Seem greener, politics outbid
The tik, tok creativities challenges

If we listen quietly at seven P.M.
We can hear the cry of essential workers
Crying for justice victims,
The virus is a terrorist, boomer!
Launching attack on foreign lands,

Overhead we raise our voices
And asked God, not again!
In the meantime the skies seem, clearer,
the ocean seem, cleaner, less pollutions

Every time the flowers are blooming,
it’s reminding us that a new chapter of the day was born.

The races are shading, the people is vanishing,
The birds will read them down with a song,
Why!
Nobody is allowed near the headstones
Nothing last forever: unlike the red states
Winners and loser, statues falls to the ground:

Lord Nelson they are coming for your pillar
In Bridgetown,
You must come down, it is really civil rights
suddenly, not so popular at the dinner tables
he must come down!


.


,

A perfect summer day is when I am at the beach,
the sea and sun blend my caramel skin into an even tone
hyped up just watching the seagulls
diving straight into the water searching for food.
and all internet connection is shut down.


*Happiness is a day at the beach

I had to let go the sweetest love, and let it rotates again
Because the journey to love is a journey to one’s self,
Your highest, most sacred and loving self(quote)

While my broad rim hat were shielding the sun from my face
Who was shielding the hearts of sin?
Your smile, my laughter, your presence and your calm demeanor
Somehow the calmness worries me,

But, I must do bear in mind that some roses bloom independently
and some struggles through the concrete to survive
this morning I am struggling with the thoughts of emptying my suitcase
Too many memories, too many smiles and most of them
Came from, you, I never wanted my vacation to end
But once again the journey to love is a journey to one’s self

Where do we stand, after the darkest hour’s commute
and the fall season arrives in my part of the world
without warning?

The black birds will stop singing by midsummer,
and our love will fade from view, low blow , low blow
to our  lonely hearts,
I am not too big to sit here and cry....
another step back  from happiness once more.

Sunday Morning ******
My soul has been ****** dry,
due to the rising body temperature,
This drove me to speak in tongues

I close my eyes and I drift deep into a bed of jelly
as my heart called out his name,

My body became lifeless like emoji expressions
my new morning love of language
and we become one with our feelings

Tainted Blood

They lost me because I loved them enough to let them go, If you love something, set it free; if it returns, it’s yours. Or perhaps they wanted to have their cake and eat it too.

As poets, we often shy away from lines like these, Odium-filled phrases that don’t necessarily mean failure. A failed relationship doesn’t imply personal failure, But rather a problem—either created by us or our partner.

Let’s list the problems:

Lack of capital

Lack of patience

A weak man seeking rescue from a strong woman

And the list goes on, each issue a thorn in the heart. The pain fades after the first heartbreak, Yet trust and love become elusive.

I knew I would lose them—the scent of tainted blood wafted from their pores as they drew near. So, I stopped the kisses, the intimacy, and then came the unwarranted jealousy, the emotional hurt of rejection.

We see them for what they are, and sometimes, that’s enough to set us free.

I became your favorite obsession
I wondered if my last hour had come.
I am not alive until you called,
In an hour or two my cell phone becomes as hot as I am.
Take me, break me, I can’t be obedient,

I want to feel whole again…
without looking over my shoulder.
Oh my wounded and troubled heart
My soul is in deep anguish,
Without this forceful conquest

Within my eyes, jealousy wedge deep
Because of my self-critical thoughts,
My early rejections, my feeling, thoughts and action:

Our grandmother’s words came to be fulfilled
“An old fashion botheration,
   My indulgence from my past,
This led to an old fashion romance,
That wasn’t resolved then or now.

Take this kiss from my lip
And in return take off your glasses
and let me see your weary eyes
You are not wrong, my jealousy is a disease

If life had be kinder to us,
I would have been yours,
And you would have been mine.
I would have been the slave to you,

I stood by the window, and stare down at couples walking by
holding hands and I thought about them and I think about us:
Making further plans and I waved my hand to them
and smile because love is a lie.

heart of darkness encounter of lies
I have paid my dues, I settled my tithes.

How can I tell my heart to stop loving him?
I became his favorite obsession, now he’s mine
Take me, break me, I can’t be obedient,
I want to feel whole again, my friend

My wounded and troubled heart,
My soul is in deep anguish,
without this forceful conquest
So why do I weep in my sleep?

My God of refuge, what was the hidden truth?
I played with fire, and now I am burnt.

If we must die this year let it not be of neglected


Puffing and gagging for air,

While the virus ripped through our bodies

Because someone didn't adhere by the rules


If we must die, let it be of natural causes,

So that our names wouldn’t be another

count on the wall of the unfortunate  

Oh skullduggery, take the vaccine:



If I had loved them sooner, I would have missed them

They never love me truly, so I don’t remember they kisses

The touch I would have treasure, they smile I would have remembered,

It cost too much to remember,  

and too little to trigger the love in my heart



To think of them free, because of death

You think that my coldness, was my only way of loving them

But my warm hands were a reminder, that I am alive,

You never saw my face, when you were dying,

I know that they wish them did,

To take back our love is a hard thing to do
Once you let your guard down,
Your future becomes totally uprooted and confused
You see old lover’s faces amongst the crowd,
Taunting us, like thugs

Why do people think that a dark cloud is unattractive?
It’s just as cool as any rainbow sparkles,
and as trendy as any black cocktail dresses

Being in love works well for some,
  It’s chore for others, not a lustful passion.

Let our dark clouds soars with the eagle, but allow
  the poet to write,  let him express his thoughts
Never allow it to vanish into the dark tunnel
Let him grieve, let him write, let him move forward.

In the tapestry of life, memories weave their threads, and the echoes of past workplaces linger like faint perfume. Seacrest, with its morning shifts and graveyard hours, left an indelible mark—a mix of disdain and nostalgia. The Stench, both literal and metaphorical, clings to the corridors of memory.
Retirement, a withdrawal from life’s hustle, offers solace. It’s like stepping out of a turbulent river into a calm pond. Yet, self-reflection creeps in—an inventory of wasted years spent in an institution were money reigned supreme. What good remains? The ledger is blank, the balance elusive.
Here, at sixty, sanity is my prayer. A few screws may be loose, but not enough to rattle the Monkey cages of life’s absurdity. Kindness flows, a gentle current, but I know it can backfire—a vulnerability in a world that thrives on sharp edges.
And you, a familiar face, a reminder: “This path, tread cautiously.” In my next life, I’ll be a poet—a real one, successful and unyielding. A master tinker, weaving words into magic. A philosopher, unraveling life’s mysteries.
But for now, I am Annie—the content creator, the mother, the friend in need. And perhaps, that’s enough.

****
scars all
the victims
sweet revenge
attacker castrated: open wound bleeds

I always know when I’m in love
My heart reacts to the sound of your name
Like pounding waves on a stormy day
Until I received the text you sent yesterday
My love for you fade so fast like excitement.

Thank you, God, for your love and wisdom. Even in moments of doubt, I tried to keep my faith discreet. Many times, I felt the weight of my sins, knowing that conscience is not just a guide but a compass. I speak for myself when I say that each day,
I struggle with the inevitable tasks and the pain inflicted by evildoers. Today would have been his birthday, a bittersweet reminder that evildoers cannot harm us for long if we believe in your power.

I have come too far to let regrets weaken me. I am too proud and too strong for shame or regret.

Please, always come to me when I am in doubt. Keep shining your light upon me and keep my mind healthy.

My vision is clear, and I know my children will be happy and safe. I will fight for daily strength to move forward. I will adhere to your words and find rest in your guidance. You know me better than I know myself, and I love you, Lord.
Your mercy never fails me.

I grieve for others more than I should, perhaps being too mythopoetic. I am mortal, a giver by nature, and proud of the choices I have made.

I am who I am, black by nature, and I embrace my identity with pride.