When I have a daughter I will never tell her she's pretty,
because she will never be pretty.
I don't want her to walk down the halls at school and say,
"I'm pretty"
She doesn't deserve it.
My daughter will never understand the word 'pretty'
because my daughter will never be pretty.
She will never know what it means,
because everyday I will tuck my daughter in
push her hair away from her forehead
and kiss her there telling her
she is beautiful.
She is magnificent.
She is perfect because despite the lies that say
to be perfect is to be flawless
my daughter will know that being perfect is being who you truly are and not what everyone makes you out to be.
My daughter will never know what it's like to be
pretty great or
pretty cool or
pretty amazing no!
No.
My daughter will know my love for her every second of every ****** day because my daughter will be
beautiful and perfect
all on her own.

My middle name was
Death, because I wrote
of a rose who grew
through blood

Look at them
noticing me,
I think they finally see
through the dark of me,
the demon inside.
I was beginning to
believe I was living.
Possibly breathing
But I was dreaming,
thinking they'd see me.
They believed me
deceased

there was something almost magic about his hands
the way the worked so skillfully over my skin
setting ablaze my desire and hunger and thirst
raising goose bumps as he went along my body again
tracing every curve, tracing every imperfection
finally giving me what I want, what I need
my eyes wander carefully over your perfect body
I have never felt this much passion and greed
my body caresses yours in the most delicious way
hips touching hips and limbs tangled in haste
desperate kisses, longing moans, needy whispers
arching my back at his aggressive touch, hands gripping my waist

.
                       p             P
   p              u               u s
   u             s                 s  y
    s              s
     s            
       y                            p u            y
                                   s      s
                                   y      p
     P                             u   s
       u                             sy
         s
            s
                y

When a poet has nothing to offer
she lets you have the sound of silence
so be kind to unkind people.
They need it the most.
because she want to guard her words to
protect her life, she gets knowledge from sun
you see, the sun love the moon so much, he dies
Every night to let her breathe,

So, when a poet has nothing to offer
She lets you have the sound of silence,
A little kindness from the unkind

Peace within.