Burning crosses in spotless sheets
Concerned with the matter at hand.
Only in the still of night can they meet
This secret society that has been banned.  
Yet there stand in these once silent woods
With their pointed hats and rebel flags.
Their intentions supposedly "good"
They hide the blood-stained rags.
 Decisions made with southern drawls
Not very much humanity involved
They stand by the cross reciting Jim Crow laws
In their hatred they are resolved.  
They pick our victims by sight alone
Muttering unintelligible chants and marching 'round.
They say its more than just skin tone
I've looked, but it's the only reason I've found.

They kissed you with that mouth
Wrote books about you
Took pictures and hung them up for beer ads
For humans with high testosterone to ogle
While they ******* the top of a beer bottle
Like it will bring their fathers acceptance
Back into their eyes.
Your nine inched heels gave me whip lash
Your ½ inch eyelashes gave me heartburn
Your spit
Indigestion
Because they kissed you with that mouth.
And you still believe,

You asked for it

You still believed you were not worth getting out of the hood for
The hood
what good is the hood and the hood-rats

You ******* ***** in alleyways

All 10 of them lined up
said I might as well have the money upfront
If I'm gonna **** **** I'm getting paid for it

They bashed your head into concrete so hard.
You forgot how your mothers voice sounded like
Almost forgot how your uncles knuckles tasted like,
I don’t know your story
I don’t know your name
I don’t know you
I just know that your friend
And my friends
Last night
Came to the conclusion
That you were a ****
And you were asking for it
You asked for your head to be bashed into concrete
And hey maybe you did
Maybe you wanted something to hit you hard enough to make you forget
The hate inside
The misogyny you swallow
and wash down the drain
maybe you were there in front of 10 guys because you wanted to know what power felt like
what being wanted felt like
because you thought you were worth the money
but they didn't
because maybe that's what you asked for
because maybe your mother taught you to get high and surrender with glazed eyes
rather then take your higheels off and fight

because your laughter sounds more broken than you do
because your eyes hold remnants of your skull
because you remember the taste of your blood too keenly
because my friends, my female friends who are not evil or sexist

my male friends the protector of women
came to an agreement
you asked for it
put yourself in the position to
smell the inside of your brain
because your blood meant power
because finishing them off
meant swallowing or bleeding
and you did some of both because
maybe you chose survival
because maybe you came in kicking naked and maybe thats how you wanna go out with
another mans hands down your throat
some to aid air some
to constrict

weather you bleed or swallow you are only
emptying out

and I tried to explain that to your friend and my friends but
there is so much anger about what happend to you
and none of it is directed at the ten faceless penises.

Because you were once a chandelier of candles
And now you are a faceless light bulb hung on the moldy hotel building
Because your **** gives you free crack and
My friends have disgust on their faces
And I feel
Pity

I am an outreached palm
and a blank page,
waiting to be written.
I have offered you pens
and my pages,
and even my heart
mixed in with a plate
of your grandmothers homemade cookies.
I have even cut off my back
to keep me from turning on you,
and my heart may be the old motel
your mother warned you
to stay away from,
but the second it saw you
i knew to turn on the lights and
fold the sheets to make room
for someone new,
and i apologize for these sheets
have frayed and the shutters
might creak in the storms,
but i have bid you my all
in a risky gamble of love
and i will continue to do so
in hopes that i might win a place
in your heart,
like you have
in mine

It’s hard to feel at home
when such a place doesn’t exist.
I’m merely trapped between four walls
who’s lack of meaning rings from panel to panel.

No shelter, refuge or hospice will suffice
or they lack the comfort
that is necessary
to feel okay.

I’ve lost all sense of familiarity
for even the back of my hand
has betrayed me
more times than I can count.

There are things we know
don't be wrong in traffic
don't **** angry hippos
don't traverse rickety stairs
these are things we know
we are aware, and refrain

There are things we don't know
yet are aware that we don't know
neutonian physics
slavic languages
origin of universe
these are things we don't know
but are questing for answers

There are also things we don't know,
things we don't even know we don't know
I attempt to reduce this category daily.
and plus
this category only hypothetically
exists, and isn't that true about
Anything?

My grandmother's hands, dressed in
Sterling silver bands
And stacked bangles
Making music
When she salts
Slices of ham

Vacant stares consume her eyes; she’s empty behind them due to lies.
The lies she’s told about where she’s laid, she calls it her profession because she gets paid.
Because when money’s short her skirt does the same, she calls it ‘a minor bump on the road to fame’.
And she’s recently disgraced the family name, are you surprised to know her fathers to blame?

He abused her first and now she’s ashamed so she lives amongst felons and girls without names.
Instead of respect they respond to ‘*****’, and for a little lose change they’ll satisfy your itch.
Until one day a man didn’t have change, only a bullet in the chamber and a mind without a cage.
So with that single bullet he turned her page, finished her book and didn’t feel any rage.

Because of that bullet she didn’t reach fame, no money in the bank, or lights around her name.
She died in the dark, writhing in pain, tears mixed with raindrops, her father to blame.

And everyone dis-missed her as crazy, so no one held flowers the day she pushed daises.