A Fancy Word For A Plug    
    
     That’s how it opens, from the end ripped off, the open end. Good bread, meh. The best bread I can find
here right now.
     every afternoon someone finds everything they’ve thought they’ve ever needed in the trove of glances stalking their eyes stalking back at someone only
      five minutes ago they may have called them, stranger, but brilliantly they have hope now, or the illusion I had thinking I’d be able to please every woman I’d ever take to bed
     being fifteen years old can do that to someone who spends nights after high school smoking his father’s marijuana. It’s funny how glances and stares are all a single man needs to feel empowered by a woman
     like he’s just captured his muse in a butterfly net. This is before he learns not all lepidoptera are butterflies, before he learns to transmit his rattling indecipherable hormones to her antennae, but never to touch the wings.
     He is a stalker of wing-touches, with a fancy diet to guide him through the unforgivable minutes he tricks himself into thinking he can make anyone happy, he carves a topaz vase he hoards the few moments before any voice should trammel these moments whose preciousness isn’t foretold by nearly a decade.
      Everyone wants to escape someone to move from one silence to another, they put on a show if only to escape everyone they ever went begging eyes from in a not so distant past.
      I used to last eight or nine times a day in college, I made a collage of faces for a Freshman-studies course, as if there was no price too vain for me to expose my soaked and fleshy junk. That was until I started guilty catching stares, taking away a gaze from another’s gaze, becoming Casanova for a moment, then again it’s still hard to resist something I know six billion people are wanting to put inside or be put inside.

my tears will disappear
and i will heal once more
this is a now forever, never ending process
our love and our memories will not ever leave
these parts of my mind have been closed off
the life here has faded like your voice overtime
time has ripped you from my memory
i try not to think too much
because i expect a miracle
i know you won't be there when my nights seem eternity
those nights spent pondering you
and it will bring the heaviest oceans to my eyes
so i continue to wait
remaining broken
for the day that will never come
when i can hear your voice once more
and recover myself whole again

In my childhood years
you planted curious seeds,
fountains of wonder and devotion
that continue to spring and splay,
grow and evolve
into blossoms of hope today.

If I had to express my gratitude
I'd have to paint all your talents
on the canvas of life,
for the older I get the more I comprehend
your fortitude, your support,
 ongoing humble presence,
distant yet close,
and your light shines inside me,
unrelenting,
like an eternal blessing
that will live on in my daughter's heart forever.

You better love her more than I love her
Heal all her scars
Speak to her insecurities
Be her security
Show her loyalty
Respect and honor who she wants to be

I raised her
now it's your turn to raise her beautiful gifts
Love them and cherish them
Embrace them and adore them

Love her and she will love you more
She will never let you go

power pose
in front of the angry men
"we're not scared of you"

but they should be
she spits fire bright
from lips she wears matte dark
she's digging the perfectly manicured claws into the palms of her hand
hands that bring incredible generosity
and incredible pain
depending on how audaciously you approach her

with your alcohol-stenched breath
and a body that takes up space
but contains nothing of substance
aside from liquor of course
an empty, angry vessel of wordy slurs and slurred words

she knows they don't deserve her tears
they should feel grateful to receive even a smirk
an ounce of her attention
in this economy
with the men who untuck their shirts after a long day's work
unaware of what the women have been up to
is priceless

you can't commodify what you can't touch

they are not beds waiting for you
to lay down on
to make your lives easier
while you weigh down upon ours

her silk sheet skin
and the comfort of knowing she will be there at 2pm and 2am

this is her home
this body is an address
it is not your residence
loiterers will be fined
she will be fine

power pose
the power grows
this is your power prose
because mama,
you will be fine

She's alone in the crowd
Surrounded by her friends
Yet as she walks by
Nobody turns or bends
To watch her as she cries

Oh Girl
You don't need turn your eyes
To see Him smile
He's where your help comes from
He sings your love song
He's writing it for you
Every morning it is new
And He looks and sees

Oh
She walks in the crowds
Surrounded by his love
And as she walks by
He turns to her and says
"I'm walking by your side."

Oh Girl
You don't need turn your eyes
To see Him smile
He's where your help comes from
He sings your love song
He's writing it for you
Every morning it is new

He loves You, He loves her
We're all daughters of the king
So sisters we sing

Oh Girl
You don't need turn your eyes
To see Him smile
He's where your help comes from
He sings your love song
He's writing it for you
Every morning it is new
And He looks and sees....You