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 Sep 2014 Olivia Mercado
nivek
are you doing this?, or that?
Never tread on my slice.
My penchant for argument
is as big as my false sense
of identity,
the fangs and claws I preen
just waiting to unleash,
yes, mild , mild , me
 May 2014 Olivia Mercado
nivek
the eternal is not static
eternal is
and is you
and your family
your looking
your believing
everyone
and lets face facts
truth is
were all as bad as each other
so there is no
pay pal
or entry fee
can pay
the best
when reached
heavens gate
a forgotten help
you may have helped
some helpless
is the only chance in town
 May 2014 Olivia Mercado
nivek
and finally

I say hello

as we say

goodbye
 May 2014 Olivia Mercado
KB
Rain can fall hard,
Like a storm sometimes.
While the drops of water
Pitter patter on our
Windows, doors, the
Sidewalk, driveway, roof.
You can see the
Individual drops
If you look close enough
As they hit a surface
And dissolve
Into a river
As the other drops
Join them.
Surprises can be
Like this.
So can
Anger.
And so can feelings
For one
Another.
Why do all my poems need to be about
You?
Sometimes I wonder what you would say
If you found me here.
Would you know who I was?
Would you remember?

I read over the paintings I wrote of you.
Glittering masterpieces,
The work of one mind.
Again I down another
Poisonous elixir of the mind.
Again the only thing my pen creates
Is the perfect image of my mind:
A perception of what could have--
Nay, should have
Been.
Gone now,
The imaginings of a heart grow
Faster, fuller,
Top heavy and prone to fall
At the slightest touch.

Left alone in the dark,
Anon I wish of you.
A soft touch,
A kind word.
Do you think of me too?
Just please don't say you love me,
I'm too scared to say it back.
Too long
I've been desolate and deprived
Of encouragement.
Too long to trust.
Too long to care.
I would gladly fall into the
Abyss
Of your heart.

Spin me around,
Take my hand,
I don't know how to pretend,
I don't know how to stop pretending,
I love you too much.
And the only one who knows
How deep this love grows
Is Fate.

Would you believe me if I told you?
Would it be the same for you?

I doubt it.

The sparkle of a gem
Is only perceived by those who can
See beauty in rocks.
Wallygowdy Definition: A precious jewel or gem.
Been off stubbing repeatedly,
my toes,
on the raggedy twisted
sidewalks of a sinking city, not mine,
where here, my own metaphor,
is being hand delivered,
to me, for me, by me

too many cayenne creole paroles,
none of them getting me any freer
none, as of yet,
making me a free parolee

been off studying some
of what I cannot yet do,
parole in libertà,
a language cosmopolitan
of creation, via creative writing
remolding all of the dix senses

been drawn and french quartered,
drilled down, found no unknown
solace deep bedrock grown,
so doing a redistricting of the map personal,
exposing my gardens, my Doric columns,
to any passerby with the
audacity so sheer to look me
in the face direct and say
laissez le bon temps rouler!

looking to liberate my words,
looking for liberty in my words,
in a different melting *** where here
I am a semi-low semi-free
person of color called
Old Fashioned White,
looking for a seasonal hurricane
to move me along,
push me to write in a new style,
developing cayenne words
smothered in jazz à la mode

multi-flirting with multi-fluency,
searching for Experimental
mellifluous words
stolenlen from, and built upon
a thousand years of languages,
river wide delivering its mountain deep
cargo of silt, a city of words, upon it built,
just like the great Mississippi,
changing course every one
                                               thousand years

my mouth, a river opening wide,
catching both salty and fresh,
god's love delivering,
doing the best I can,
writing real fracking poetry for poetry's sake,
not text messages of asstags
kissing nobody's ads of sad dead #hashtags,
following nobody noticeably,
but thrusting your good stuff into my orifices,
most pleasurably deep
                

but never parrying,
                   

      I am a poet social only in this:

my devotion to my crew
                                   stronger every day
for and
                           of that particular poetry,

           I can write better than anyone,
              so big,
                                    sooooooooo easy,

and that's, Steve, Bala, y'all,
how and what I'm doing
and by the way,

Putain Zang Tumb Tumb

you could look it up
In Nor'leans, studying alternate forms of poetry and discarding half-started poems on the street, arrived as a mate on board a steamship, standing on my only good left foot....
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