she make me coffee
on Saturday mornings

She makes me happy
On Saturday mornings

sometimes can't tell
the difference

but she makes me
on Saturday mornings,
see the differentiation

taste the differings,
color coded clearly,
she doesn't even ask
See?

needed not,
she hears me whispering,
in a foreign tongue,
vive la différence!

C
is confused, so a little complex
I mean, one moment it’s top of the range
glowing
in the hierarchy of vitamins
but next it’s a little abashed and low
in a student’s report card –
you know, C is not as good as an A
And so can you blame C for its mood swings?
Its agony continues:
one instant C is Calm, in another it’s a Curse


And you know it also feels a little wanting
a little under-stretched, not fulfilled
like not being able to complete
all the stretching exercises
its fitness trainer metes out
“O, if only I could be a little more yogic,”
C intones
“I’d be as composed as an O” -
but O no, that’s not to be

And don’t you start
on the indignant possibilities
of the letter C, for C has always aspired
you see
to be genteel, cultured and debonair
and curls with disgust if the uncouth
should use the letter  
to refer to any body parts,
be it that of male or of female
So, dear mortals, C should be left in celestial spheres

And so, in conclusion,
one Commandment I give unto you:
*Never drag C to ****** shallows

She didn't have your eyes,
                                   yet she reminded me of you.
She didn't have your hair,
                                   yet she reminded me of you.
She didn't have your name,
                                   yet she reminded me of you.
She was nothing like you,
                           but I can't stop thinking of you.

I am not a wise girl.
I'm foolish at best, 
All I know of this universe lays beneath the crevasses etched in my skin that I wasn't even a conscious being to know how they even got there.
I know of the silk ribbons that are my legs, 
do wonders.
I know the highlights of my stripped hair, 
attract a variety of strangers.
I know the painted mask I smear makes people believe I am
"pretty",
Valuable.
Within the vanity of my reality 
Remains the wish for authenticity,
I am not a doll.
I will not say "I love you"
As you try to pull my string.
I've ripped that from my back years ago,
For I play no foolish games, 
And for that I'm seen as *broken.

your razorblade tongue ran across my forearm
my *******
my thighs
i know it isn't right
but make a mistake enough times
and it no longer feels like one
i am always fine
until i am alone
in my room
thinking about you
and your
quick
cutting
tongue
on my skin

forgive me lord
i have
sinned

I took her to my room
Where she took me
Any way she wanted

No questions asked
For we both knew
There were no answers

We came together
But left separately

My life and me.