Need it reign this  supreme
over us--  death's ****** up message..

do we lay down
and let its shadowed ways
continue to run over the top of us--
the way that it has,
since flesh-wrapping's  first advent?

My beautiful, broken-one  deserves a chance--
may my whole world  be of that
which most,  brings her hope.

My beautiful,  sweet young:
so very, unfairly stung
by that which steals the mind away
into the shadows of insanity

in and through the injustice-sufferings--
gifted, from an unholy company
of a light-dimming,  buffering

  these dealers of this ****..

dispensers, all
of this death   of the spirit;
these  forever  unholy
robbers,  of the Glory

that was always
always

always
meant to be, our own.

patchwork girl dreaming
piecing together the scraps of silk
frayed ribbons of broiderie anglais
the tears of velvet darker than midnight
squares of sackcloth hessian made to scrape
against skin both thick and paperthin

patchwork girl sewn together
with a golden thread and a needle finer than hate
embroidered edges with floss spun by spiders
from clouds of dreams, flower thoughts, starwonders
and fragile pockets of maybe hidden beneath morning dew
stitches all lose, then too pulled too tight

she is together
she is all fallen apart
the soft shape of a doll
the tender shape of a girl

hold her, not an armful of scraps
     but something precious, one of a kind
          couture

The first time I wrote a poem was pure brokenness, where sadness became my relief, and the pain who has crushed me and tore me to pieces gave me comfort. But when I met you, I tried to change my genre into something blissful, something permanent; no more writings about my dark days and empty feelings because knowing you were here beside me and the overwhelming feeling I’d never thought would put me at ease became my inspiration to make something peculiar out of my familiarity. But my hands betrayed me, my mind was in knots that I couldn’t seem to follow. I ran out of words. It felt like a complete derailing of thought where despair defeated me as I could feel this wasn’t for me and had to give up the poetry inside me.

The first time I wrote a poem was pure brokenness and today I’m writing a poem out of it, because the day you leave me drives me into deep-seated words, my hands are dying to be written until my fingers bleed. Things before I was certain of turns blurry, but the only thing I’m sure of is that creating art today gets back my longing into poetry.

I stopped being a poet when you arrived,
Today, I’m back at it.

The waves welling
Up my throat
My stomach full with doubt
Constipating despair
Irritated by questions
As my brain can't comply
My reasoning sick
And the rhetorics
Driving me crazy on what
Is the real deal here.

Who am I?
Why me?
Why all the struggle?
Then purpose drops
But the questions still
Remains unanswered
Bewildered at how people
Push through suchlike
Waves
And why?

You know yesterday
I actually found a card
He once sent me
Then reading I discovered,
He saw that coming
Us breaking up
"We may not be making each other aware of our feelings often, but the love we share, is beyond the day to day expressing...
Its a feeling that our hearts have taken for granted forever."

Am not sure what I
Feel anymore
Should it be joy
That he hoped that even though now
We might part ways
That later we will reunite
Or he saw that even though
Our love was true
It was forbidden and
The only way out to
Protect both our hearts
Was to break the bond and hurt
To nurse it all our lives.

Its hard to keep breaking
Through when all I can do
Is try keep up!!!

I have been listening to you. To all your worries and pain, your sorrows and tears, your brokenness and shame. I've witnessed everything, held you heart and loved you all the same.

But when my time came and all of me became broken, why did you throw me away?

It all started with saying hello
and now I barely know you
each day grows shorter
and I struggle just to grow through
the disagreements and anger
that find themselves at our door
that only seem to flow true
the only thing I remember now
when you said you hated me
is the sad fact that I asked for this
and how I still only want you.