It's been years since we left Not just us but also the place where us existed If places moved on, I would have taken ours with me Would have claimed it to be mine in the aftereffects of the separation Would have fought for it in the court of places for full custody All the nooks and corners would have been mine to embrace They would still have you in memory, and that's what we would have had in common We both would have been craving for your presence, but too stubborn to let you in though But for better or worse, places don't move on and that's what we indeed have in common
Custody, first a checkerboard of red and white squares trapped between thick black bars. Days of the week, prisons, and I was wrongly convicted. My fingers reach for help through my metal cage, yet only receive paper cuts on the corners of divorce letters. Letters drowned in blood bleed off the page and stain my Saturdays and Sundays. Custody, now neatly separated into red and white columns, walls dividing weeks and weekends. National borders barricade one house from the other. Two countries clash in a war waged with two atomic blasts burning my culture into ash white as paper. Custody, the absence of red and the erasure of my father from the calendar taped to my mother’s refrigerator, and I’m frozen in place. Custody, a vast snow-white plane: One step forward, nothing in my future. One step backward, blizzards in my past. Custody, ground made of paper so thin, with every step, life crumples under my feet.
i'm a yellow chill a daffodil in the rain thought i found my place kinda heard to explain
sip each glass of wine your palette needs a rest taste his *******'s brine along your lips
signing documents you can't help hide your grin sweat beading down your brow my nervous penmanship
is this what they call peace four hundred dollars an hour the clock says nine past three rounding up minutes they devour
caught you dead to rights my son's new step father when he sees your blight harvest grapes turn sour
i feel constant dread our son can't cope the truth so far above his head your soulless attribute
i'm a daffodil, more like a coward in the rain.
These troubadours, between truth and lies, corrupt lovers, women and husbands and keep saying that Love proceeds obliquely A tenso (Old Occitan [tenˈsu, teⁿˈsu]) is a style of troubadour song. It takes the form of a debate in which each voice defends a position; common topics relate to love or ethics.
Didn’t you wish they cared? Didn’t you wish they wanted you? Didn’t you wish they pretended? Didn’t you wish they wouldn’t have started it? Didn’t you wish they hadn’t hadn’t showed you the pain? Didn’t you wish they would pay more attention? Didn’t you wish they never said what you wished you’d never hear? Didn’t you wish they saw how it affected you? Don’t you wish they cared sooner? Don’t you wish they didn’t want you back? Don’t you wish they didn’t pretend? Don’t you wish they would just end it? Don’t you wish they would let you feel the pain again? Don’t you wish they didn’t pay attention? Don’t you wish they would say it again? Don’t you wish it didn’t affect you?
The snow drifts from the roof tops, Lights shine in the brisk evening. Cheer is spread, Joy follows behind the winter winds.
Letters are sent North to Saint Nick, Children dream of what might come in the early morn, Prayers are shared around the dinner table. Memories are created to be never forgotten. Stories being shared with those you love.
Tears fall upon my pillow, While bellows of laughter echo, From the other side of the bedroom door. Life seems to be coming to a stop.
My only Christmas wish is to be by your side, Surrounded by the most welcoming family, The warmest love, The family I always hoped to be apart of... Yet it still isnt feeling like Christmas.
The joy, cheer and laughter being stolen away, The pain hiding behind a fake smile.. The words echo "it could be worse." If its true I dont want to know what it is.
My only prayer is that I wake up by your exciting yells. All my letters to dear Saint Nick saying one thing. "Please bring him home." All go unanswered.
My only Christmas wish is to hear you say, "Im home Mommy." Hold you in my arms as we see what Santa has blessed you with.
nothing pushed my creativity more than someone trying to take my baby daughter from me peaceful on the outside kind loving focused dedicated to helping I always wanted to save the world now it is with unmatched and inescapable vengeance helping everyone especially my students with early childhood trauma but deep down in my world of communication expression a whirlwind that no one really knows but I must add I now have absolutely no doubt that the passion that has been culminated in society that I get to experience comes from the shared experience of children being taken into slavery this is the destruction of the human origin which we need to have a nice happy ending we all come from Africa not from slavery and when I am a black man all my lifetimes that have been tortured and killed for being accused of being angry violent ****** by any means necessary genocide of us the only choice is creativity and although this in itself is also a threat and will get me killed atleast it does not satisfy their lust for dismembering my freedom into their pickle jars of liberty for their children to save for their children