The real poets
Are capable
bleed through
their verses


The only thing
I' ve ever wanted
was caress your heart
With my simple words

We are not heroes.
We are just people,
trying to survive.
You and I,
are not equals.
You work from home
while I...
I work to ensure
that I get to keep mine.
They call us essential,
because we provide
all the food and the things
that help keep you alive.
But I am resentful
that I don't get to decide,
What is more worthy,
my labor or life?
So don't call me a hero.
I am simply doing
what has to be done.
Don't call me a hero,
unless you plan to treat
and pay me like one.

Lazy and lethargic
Loopy and lost
Little dizzy dots dancing through glass
Distorted and reorganized daily
Finding wiser ways warily
Cutting rosemary from the dirt
Megahertz blurt thoughts into blankness
Blankets on the back porch
Roaches in the feed corn
Violating duties sworn
Better to be never born
Steel shorn clean, violently
Violets growing amongst ivy
Mahogany inseparably blending into ivory
Talking more quietly
For you

A man behind my memory.
@niamornimo
She lived in fantasy of
How and what's like,
Her whole life,
Where her pure heart was handed to you.
She was only 15 but timid.
Kept you at arms length
But after a while earned her trust.
She had a dark past down her memory lane
As she encountered
Betrayal,
Mistreatment,
To being damaged and scarred for life.
Before you came she found her way
Around her misfortunes to almost accepting
The course her life once took being history.
Her reservations very well informed
You knew she was a rigid and fragile soul.
Down the romantic walk ways
She gave you every insight of her.
Like a woman took up the role of
Grown up and gave you her all with undivided attention.
Mercilessly biting down her trust,
Swiping off her balance to a state of confusion
She still had hope.
Regardless of the tough road
Her faith adamant in destiny like
A staunch Muslim with no demeanor.
She'll meet again hoping
You wouldn't have forgotten her
To imprint the original heartbreak.

How to fill this book
Of Poe and ravens
This is heaven and hell
Maybe Milton
Some of it even sings Dylan
Not Bob, but, Thomas
How do I make myself known
Among all the full moons
And solar eclipses
Written in metaphors
So pure and ruined
That make my mind
Seeth with spinal fluid
That spills out secrets
That will never be appreciated by my gorgeous girl
Oh, my art! It is with you
In death and diseased simile
In love and happiness' alliteration
A couple of complex images are mine
But, the poetess is you
Who understands my warped words about water
Out of whack and lacking space and rain
Everyone wants space
Everyone wants poems on rain, at the same time
Muses and amusing schmucks! They want a trucker and poetess too
And Lincoln to come back alive
Tell the rightful truth
Or loose a tooth or a flower
With deep protected roots
From where an idea
Penetrated the sky
Protruding into the sky
Penumbras fall from the sky
The shadow falls as the book shows the life
Smile my friend
Till the end
My friend.