I don't show her all the poems
I write,
Because if I did,
I would be picking up
***** crying tissues
From every room.

I don't show her all the poems
I write,
Because if I did,
My neck would be sore,
My back twisted,
My arms black n blue
Where she alternatively
Hugged me too hard or punched me harder,
For making her sadmadhappy,
Or just one of
all of the above.

I don't show her all the poems
I write,
Because some are meant for her to read,
Après les deluge,
After I'm gone,
Safely but sadly,
Out of her reach,
And the man who always carries
Tissues for her,
Has finally
Run out of stock.