An old friend of mine, once asked of me
to mailed, one of my ****** to him
To him, it meant a lot.
however, for me this meant that mailing
an image of my beauty was a blessing for him
but for him to display my white thong,
on his easel seems enticing at that moment in time
was I expanding his ****** collection?
Now that’s the question

I felt my body rise, when he kiss my lips that summer
my unforgiving heart, has no pride

Its seem laughable now, however
Yesterday is History, Tomorrow a Mystery,
Today is a gift, tomorrow is a blessing,
I am now an avow woman in this matter

This old heart of mine
is a veritable mine
of experiences:
joy, sorrow and raw passion
compassion on some occasion

This old heart of mine
has served me true and faithful
humouring my every mood
with percussion sublime and varied:
       slow and dignified beats for prayer and devotion
       fast and furious when I must flee some terror
       joyful and expectant when she passed by
       chaotic and bewildered when I'm discarded

This old heart of mine
has seen me through times hard and easy
I begin to take her for granted
Though there's a price to pay
For, certainly, one of these days she'll beat no more

You’re telling me how good the food is,
and I can see him grab her wrist.

"Isn't this salad good?"
I nod yes.

He's now reaching for her face,
she has fear in her eyes.

"Try this, it goes great with the wine."
Everyone can see.

"Isn't the wine great?"
She's crying, he's red.

"Should we get the check?"
They get the check,
she goes for the concealer,
covers the bruises.

"Did you have a good meal?"
I nod yes.

He leaves and starts the car,
she struggles behind him.

"I had a fabulous time, did you?"
I nod yes,
wasn't that wine great?

I like the way your last night skin
Burns the iciness,
When the first reddish ray of sun
Penetrates each pore of your bare back.
And every time I touch
The mocha colour of your skin,
Fragrance of caffeine
Seeps in through my nerves
To make me intoxicated.
Now, there is no doubt left, that
My morning is going be good.

I haven’t thought your name in a month, I forget when the time arrived that I stopped keeping track of how many times you crept across my mind
They say the day that moment arrives is when you’re done grieving
Done allowing the sadness to seep in

Done letting the dead mess with you

Done living life with a ghost
Ma’s seen multiple psychics as a way to still have you in her life
number 4, letter A, books, pride, my voice

Regret

wishes he could still be by our side, living the happy life he led with us before it was so rudely ripped away

As ma says this I turn my head and cover my ears

The dead can’t talk

The dead can’t think 

The dead can’t wish

The dead can’t live

He says he can’t believe how much you’ve grown, your voice, your hair, your strength. He wishes he could’ve been there as you grew up

As ma says this I hold my breath and count to thirty

Thoughts of pale corpses

Thoughts of cold skin

Thoughts of heavy caskets

Thoughts of cold, January wind 

Thoughts of silence 

Ma looks over at me waiting for a response but I only briskly nod my head

The dead terrifies me, always has

Pa telling us to hold our breath and close the windows whenever we passed a graveyard 

They’ll get you and never leave you

You’ve never left me

Hair tugging, moving things, whispering 

The last thing we talked about was religion, you ate your favorite steak and sat down for a movie

I walked the dog around nine for an hour, the night wind brisk, swirling 

wondering what I did to be blessed with such a loving life 

Death terrifies me, it hasn’t always

Never knowing when it’ll visit

Never knowing who it’ll take

Never knowing 

Left wondering

"What's the point of loving, if it's not meant to be?"

Who gave you the key to my cage?
I've embraced my death, like its love or compassion.
Four blank walls, suppressin my guessin.
Born into this, pulled out of it, now where do I go from here?
Colors fade.
Ideas change.
Defamation of the martyrs stage.

Never agreed to be freed.
Rusted metals attached to me.
I'm forced to drag it around,
Until the limb gives out.
To learn to live is what im limping toward.
But where do I begin?
Colors change.
Ideas fade.
Evolution of the modern age.

Slamming doors 

Looking into mirrors with no results 

going back rather than letting go

Jittery hands and helpless goodbyes

Wishing for a quarter yet repeatedly receiving a dime 

Wondering when the time would come that you didn’t wish to die

Widening eyes and opening palms

Learning to stand but accepting the fall

Routines, repeat, redo, robust 

Repetition is what hides the rust

Too much smoke not enough air 

Inhale the breeze, exhale the year 

Drink up the bitterness 

Eat away the pain

Run it all off in a day

Start with a beat and end with a tune
August was a bunch of blues