She wore the results of last night’s fight

On her face as badges of honor

Sitting on the curb, she is waiting

Waiting for a ride, an escape

Away from this life

Neatly tucked away in a small corner apartment

The sun beats down upon her back

Rays pounding until her body was sweating

And she wanted to cry

No one to call and nowhere to go

She sits outside a church

Hoping for charity

Thinking she should get some religion

Then at least she could confess her troubles

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt

Knowing she had nowhere to go

Except a curb outside a church

Discarded, like a five year old sofa

Permanently sunken in the middle

Or an old office chair missing a wheel

So always teetered to one side

She slumped forward

Watching the traffic speeding by

Hope lingering on her face

Tucked in the wrinkles around her eyes

Maybe, she needed a sign

With HELP scribbled in big bold black letters

Then maybe she could find something more than this curb

Maybe she could find her escape

Her way out of this cycle

I was the king with no throne,
             I only sat upon the curb..

My crown was my neighbourhood,
   and all that did surround...

I'll never disrespect my brethren,
             for they stand by my side,

behind me, in front to protect we, us
           all from the idioms of who


think that this land is free verse,

     never this is a rhyme of colours
           that'll write that this is our

street and others neither may stand

                              or bellowing there

right to stand on land sacred to our
                                                  families.

we don't fight with swords,
           but our metal will pierce like
cut from a far we are the knights of
                                our neighbourhood.

I don't sit on a thrown, on a kerb I gaze
              around I wear no crown...

But everyone knows I'm king and ill
           bury metal in you like a sword
pieced the stone.

Like that you'll be cold,
metal not pulled but
                          rather calved out..

Snap to
a snapshot of
that time I balanced on the curb
                   balanced between
                                          the sidewalk and the street

step after step
foot in front of the other
my hands out to each side
                         to distribute the weight of
   the burden on my shoulders weighing
lightly.
Surprisingly light,
my understanding was that it's usually
                      heavy.
Just not this time.

                                         The sidewalk and the street,
both perfectly distinct
         perfectly indifferent.
At times teetering
                swaying
                      for different reasons
as they present themselves.

  I'm perfectly contented
                   balancing on that curb.
At times I wish to walk
                           on either the sidewalk or the street
           one over the other.
And I'm greeted with
                                 either a honk or a fire hydrant.

A minor nuisance
An obstacle or action
that leaves me bitter
that renders me flushed with red.
           So I hop back on the curb
not rife with anger or sadness
                   but indifference

While it may be easy to pick
                                          the sidewalk or the street
the choice shouldn't consume you
                                 leave the curb to divide
follow where it takes you

ive never been
to this part of town
before.

second thought
ive never even been
to this town
before.

then why
does it feel
so ******* familiar

why do i remember
getting drunk in
that bar
chipping my teeth on
that curb.

i think the parts of me
that don't like me
stay here.
calling out for skin.
im freezing out here.

i havent been
warm in so
long

My momma threw me to
the curb like she had a
wanting to stomp me
         American history
                         X
                             style
to much of her wrong type
of love made her corrosive
                                          in my life.
Telling truths of what her definition
of love was, a gunshot bleeding
every time she let of verbal shots.
But I wasn't the fever that collected
within the palpitations of her heart.
That point which was quenched
                    by the point of her rage
every time she was coming
                                      down to earth
like she fell from orbit.
But I wasn't a footstep in her failing,
I was a shadow leaving her behind...
Sometimes you have to leave
                  that which you love..
to make you stronger.
If their there when you return
you know they were willing to change.
                  And if not,
you just visit there quiet place
and tell them you always loved them.

To survive sometimes we wonder alone,
      not to be suffocated by the rot of
       another's love,
she curb stomped my love, but I love her though..

Y a cuantas querre, a cuantas masturbare, cuantas se masturban, cuantas lo piensan y cuantas lo haran.