Stop telling me I need a savior.
I stopped believing a long time ago.
Stop telling me someone will deliver me,
I been waiting for my hell to end
Stop telling me I am loved
If he did love me, I would not know abuse
Stop telling me that prayer is the answer
I have prayed my life away
Stop telling me this life is planned
why would god plan for me to feel so inhuman?
Stop telling me it is in God's hands
If so, his hands are full of sin
Please, for the love of god
stop
trying to make it okay by using *God

Cozenage be vein of her parsimony
deciphering unlikely by any logician
witchcraft concealed in metrical composition
She jerks one’s tears with great acrimony
as selfish rhymes sings no just harmony

Carefully she devises alliterative pull
this to an ear, dare sound enchanting
how known better be most common ranting
Twists words with lilt but not essence full
leaving some to say, “such pulled wool”

Speaketh she, as from long faraway world
this strange poetess be not one at all
seasoned sailor know she blow tall squall
Serpent’s tongue flailing and twice twirled
young sailor I suggest, keep sails securely furled

Perceived significance by breaking virginity
Never vouchsafed, not even understood
Complex memories in genitals’ vicinity
Cache, RAM, ROM, hard drive if you would
Nothing really computes, as it should

Clearly confusion in wiring memory bank
Who engineered puzzled aftereffect?
More than likely, a predator to thank
Prey succumbs to hacker’s muddled intersect
Virus from which, nil shall disinfect

Cross-wired, used, high-jacked and fused
A child’s loss of innocence complete
Morality bruised on Internet cruised
Cyber collision crashing ******* to meet
From innocent mind this cannot delete

I left part of you
under and within mulch
of the rhododendrons
by sacristy's window

As close as I could bring you
to saintly relics
without endangerment
of my own immolation

That way
when church bells chime
communicant I might be
with you

Garrulous tolls
ringing from a high
reminding me
your hallowed selflessness

As clangs resound,
reechoing's reaching,
your preaching, there
to your choir

And here I dance
above other scatterings
of you, your deranged
selfish parts

Dichotomous bones
cremated and created
because I never believed
in your martyrdom

Too self-righteous
to resurrect
Let your clattering flatter
Let my feet stomp

Your suicide changed me
Enflamed me
And you and I
are not saints

Though you are now
somewhat
closer
to them

Bring me to heel

Task me to feel that crushing sensation

Oblige me to love you in my defeat

Your clutch at my heart

lift me from my feet


My heart leads me to feel

The passion in the rough

And I fall

Head under heel in love


What are bruises

Compared to the passing of time

Love learns the hurt hurt leads love

I'll be your haunted woman

As you look from above


My heart leads me to feel

The passion in the rough

And I fall

Head under heel in love


Crush me baby

The waiting isn't thrilling me

Just release me from my expectation

A cruel word or a cut n' bruise

Love versus pains elation


I once knew tender love

Touch and kiss

A glimmer of the past

Lost and missed

Pain is not just reality

It IS me

In the morning she hums.
She makes her coffee and
butters her toast.

She opens her newspaper
and submits herself
to the daily crisis.

She pleases herself.

Digests the news she
is reading like a seasoned veteran
returning from a war.

She sees a picture
of the Prime Minister.
He's somewhat handsome she thinks.

She likes the way his eyes sparkle
when he fabricates a position to follow.

One day she might take herself
to Ottawa.
Sit in Parliament and follow
along with the story, live as it were.

Maybe she'd shout down from
the Visitors Gallery her opinion
on the matters of the day.

She would not get evicted.
The RCMP would not bother with her.

She knew the Prime Minister would
look up at the interruption and, upon
seeing her, would become enamored with her.

He'd leave his wife and family.

She'd be responsible for the
marital collapse of the man.

Sighing, she smiled inwardly
at the plans she was making.

Of course, in order to make
anyone fall in love with her,
she'd actually have to leave the house.

How could she do that?

There were too many cats to feed
and take care of.
Anyway, she didn't do well
with real people.

In the morning she hums.
She makes her coffee and
butters her toast.