tell me that my poetry is horrible
until i stop slicing myself open
and bleeding words out

tell me that i couldn't write my way
out of a brown paper bag
like the ones you packed in second grade

tell me that my writing is sad
and i'll give a little smile,
and walk away

tell me that you love my poetry,
and i just might
fall for you

Dear God:

You will be my best imaginary friend
You'll circulate.
Hey god,
We'll incorporate
Your practice.
Holy water drips in the past tense.
My passion striped away by his lashings
I know I'm asking
A lot.
I pray for the lasting
Of us.
Tip toed walls
Surround me.
Blocking out the guarded son, and his glory.
You live under god
I live under an open mind.
Until he shows
And releases a sign.
I loved you through a letter.
He loved you through books.
Until you discover what "it" took,
You're open mind, mind, mind, mind, do you mind?
I'm stuck with differences so I ask all the time.
Do you mind, mind, mind, mind
What I believe?
Because me and your god,
We share similarities.
I loved you so,
I hugged your soul,
I was tender and caring
I was close to you.
Now I'm a distant
You know this
We share final words
It
is
finished.

Amen.

You were watercolor
A masterpiece soft and awe-inspired
Quite thrilling and beautiful as a mid November

I keep a ghost of you
Sealed inside of an old mason jar
At night I take you from your tucked away hiding spot
The best lullaby that I never got-
Was you in the late nights of December
When our breathes turned to frost

The night was a barrier between them and us
Until you became the toymaker and I your knickknack
But the final product couldn't live up to the blueprints
So you crumpled the papers
And threw out your knickknack so you could begin again from scratch

So I keep my manson jar-
A memory-
Perhaps a token of time
Before the canine complex I have come to know so very well

Still raw from the drums
The purging of sound
You are an ulcered kleptomaniac
you can't fight such thrill-
The thrill of consuming
Theft
Thieving metaphorical hearts
Your words are howls
You're a dog burying it's bone without a care as to who it belongs
You steal and you destroy
And you leave the poor ashes as a final knife-
The fatal blow to their chests

(C) Tiffanie Doro