My journey is a mystery
     of misery.
They say it will make me wise
     when I'm old.
Who's they?
Why are they so cold?

They must have broken too;
Everyone has.
If they have not,
Then they are few.

If they have not,
They are not wise.
They faced no lies;
No demise.

I pity them.

My journey is a mystery
     of misery.
It tears me apart;
Starting at
     my heart.

Cocoa coffee.
Brunet,
Dusky.
 
My skin devours the sun.
I glow.
 
My skin was once a barricade,
I couldn't do much with it.
 
My skin was lynched, blistered, hosed.
 
Annihilated.
 
My skin disassociated who I wanted to be friends with,
Taboo places I wanted to fall in with.
 
Banished where to sit,
walk,
ride,
play.
Illegalized my freedom of speech.
 
My skin grew and grew and grew.
 
Broaden all over,
Creating role models that stand before me now.
 
Underneath all tarnished wounds,
I glow.
 
Chocolate chestnut.
Auburn,
Melanin.
 
My skin is sweet like Apple pie,
Ripe and enriched with knowledge.
 
My skin is coated with a honey glazed shield of righteous pride.
Embedded with the most exquisite fine wisdom.
 
I’m fine wine.
 
 
They say black is deliberately harmful
Boding ill
Soiled-stained with dirt
Grotesque
Illegal.
 
But what they don't know is that
Black goes with everything.

To never again pick her up at the
Train station.
"Look for that green dress you
Love. I'll be the one in it, loving
You."

To never again watch her
Frustrated and cursing the
Similarities between puzzle
Pieces, with Easter snow teasing
The windows behind her

Silhouette in my living room as
Belle spotifies Pieces
On my stereo and I just
Stare, smiling like an idiot until
My gaze burns a hole in her

Beautiful neck, and she turns
And giggles "what?"
Blushing and rubbing her cheeks
From smiling so much.
To never again.

The first flowers I gave her made
Her cry. As did the last ones.
I don't even know if she'll see
The card with these ones that
Says "thank you for each second

Together."
So romantic how we thought
Death by her cancer or my failing
Heart would end us.
No, the trivialities of Life

Saw our poem burned. Buried
Like some completely healthy
Pet put down prematurely.
I remember the mid 80's; dad
Drunk and unproud knocking

On the door to my room.
"I killed the kittens again.
Soon it'll be your turn."
Now I know why he always
Kicked at the cats.

He was kicking himself.
As do I.
Never again.
Train stations and green dresses
Will always hurt like

Hell, and people loving, and
Kittens, and puzzle pieces that
Look alike.
"Never again?" She asks.
I love her too much to lie.

In a way you are,
This little far away star,
And I cant reach you