I just want to write a poem no one ever thought of writing
It must have the same effects as walking on the moon
It must trend faster than a meteor as it  hurdles through cyber space

I refused to love any man, who dislikes my poetry,
My man must support my passion ..
not only the warmth of my body
but the passion within this poetess, my secretive mind he must be able to balance:
Without wondering why a woman like me is so naturally secretive
I am always embracing the dark side of my creativity
Dropping little hints here and there throughout the years,

Sidney   J. Harris once said something that left pondering thoughts
He said “When he hears somebody sighs,
'Life is hard,' he’s always tempted to ask them, 'Compared to what?'
I would simply say dog-gone it: Compared to struggling poets whose tries to make a living as a writer

While an upcoming rapper like Chief Keef
signed a several-million dollar deal
with offending lyrics in today music industries:

I just want to write a poem no one ever thought of writing,
With lots of intense emotion bursting through each line:
Because a poem can’t exist without a poet's multiple voices
and most of all his divine missions

Wisconsin, fine--
We sit on state lines.
Across the street, Rodeo Drive.
Move a little bit
and East L.A. makes you feel alive.

Go to the diner
where the mermaids wear aprons
and hold out menus like personal stock.
Where the surfer-rama drama in the diner deep
allows them to let go of those they keep.

And you and me and those we love,
keep us finite, because why not.
I could tell you how to eat your waffles
if you will be the spoon that stirs my coffee.

Listen to me,
"Rachel, there's no one, right now,
that I'd rather sit and eat breakfast with than you.
And if it doesn't work out,
and we choke on our meals, that's fine.
I just want to try when I'm with you."

We exchange glances
and I'm sure, then,
that I adore the aplomb,
for your smile leads myself
into believing and being more.

She looked at me and said,
"You should **** me
before you love me."
And so I did.

Her hands covered her *******
and she said,
"I want you to guess which breast
my father touched first."
And so I did.

The bones in her hands shifted
as she fixed her hair into a ponytail.
"You're going to promise me that
you're not going to try to fix me.
You're going to promise me, okay?"
And so I did.

Her lips would start bleeding
because when she lied
she chewed her lips.
She said, "I think today
will be the last day I live."
And I asked her for one more.

Dry blood sat on her inner lips
as she kissed me good morning.
Her voice softly cooed,
"I hope that isn't the last time
I kiss you."
And I asked her for one more.

She bled,
"All you write about are girls.
You never write about me.
All you write about are faces
without souls. What about my soul?
Are you going to
******* write about my soul?
Are you going to write another poem?"
And I asked her for one more.

Looking at me,
she ran her fingers
down her hips,
across scars,
and said,
"Too many men look at me
and see what they want to.
They look at me and see
broken picture frames
that they can repair
and put our faces into."

Our hands met
and our fingers grasped
at the pieces of ourselves
that were deeper than faces.
But it was only me
as she whispered,
"Stop,"
licked my cheek
to my ear,
finishing,
"Don't fall in love
with what you
think you see.
Just **** me."

And so I did.
And so I asked her for one more.

Loneliness is a taste of death
Here I am, dying,
without arms to expire in.
The house is silent, as I drift to sleep,
not eternally,
yet.

covered by thorns and hidden by vines
but you’re still attracted to the light
that reflects from my broken sides
you want to swim alone tonight
but I know you’d let me hold you down
Velvet rose petals and shattered glass don't mix but still you’ll love me anyway
despite the scars I've left on you
you’d lay with me
on dead grass
and let me point out your fading colors
you’ll excuse my relentless attempts
to bury you under ground.
“you're destructive
and reflective,
I see myself in you”
As my ridges rip you to shreds you stay with me,
a ****** mess and a lonely swimmer,
another garden destroyed
with wasted raindrop tears

The mirrors reflection
To find
What I've been searching for

She kissed me
not because
she wanted to
but because
she could.

We fell in
love.
Not because
we could
but because
we wanted to.

We made
mistakes.
Not because
we wanted to
but because
we could.

We thought
we were
perfect.
Not because
we could
but because
we wanted to.

I vomited in
the bathroom
of a
Baltimore
7-11
because
sometimes
you cannot
hold it in
much
longer.

Her hands shook
as she held her
mirror
because
sometimes
your reflection
can only
tell you
so much.

My body shook.
Her body stiff.
And when
the bodies
move
the hearts
stop.

She lied some.
I drank words.
The veins
in hands
are maps
to imagined
consciousness.

Really,
it's just
a
*******
*****.

Music to
my ears.
Nervousness
between
blinks.
Noise to
my brain.

She said,
"I love you"
not because
she wanted to
but because
she could.

I said,
"I love you, too,"
not because
I could
but because
I wanted to.

I'm going to throw up I'm going to faint I'm going to hit the floor and let the blood pound pound pound in my head like a ******* drum like the one that our good friend Chris plays.
And I'm going to cry and I'm going to scream and I'm going to tear out my skin and my eyes will burn red like a sunrise like the sunrise we watched that morning when I gave you everything.
I'm going to hit the wall with my fists and yell and yell until my throat is raw and "why did I fall so ******* deep oh my gosh HOW WAS I SO STUPID SO. *******. Stupid."
I can't even type because my hands are shaking and my head is pounding and my chest is heaving and I'm going to throw up. I'm going to throw up.