I rather not talk
I do not stop to think why I just ***** you
All I know is that my shins are made of stone and my feet feel white hot

This bed is a sanctuary, a resting place for my soul after a dreadful forge that hammers me alive. Drops of myself have leaked into the furnace I live out as working days

You look straight at the other end of the wall
waiting for me to catch myself

I know only how soft you are and nothing else matters.

You were glad before I touched you

A sorry is locked inside its jail and the steel bars of yearning has its keyhole, but my other self won't pick it open. I refuse to come out.

I know only instinct
And I want you. All for myself...

when I look around at this world of ours, so much pain, anger, destruction, I can't help but be so grateful for the mother I was blessed with because, although fathers are important, God made mothers the nurturers, the protectors, the warmth & light...I can't imagine growing up without that soft spot to run to, that unconditional love...when I envision the woman I hope I'm growing into, I pray I am a reflection of my own mother...selfless beyond measure, understanding...true, at times, a bit too overprotective, but heck I'd take that any day over a mother that didn't shelter enough.

Every so often I wake up on top of my own blood
It seeps into the bed sheets where I usually count sheep
It causes a mess
But it comforts me

Because every so often I'm reminded that I am a woman and I have a woman's touch
I'm gentle but fierce
And blood, I've seen so much


Blood is the reason for a motherly touch on a child's scraped knees
A bandage infused with love engrained into the very fibers so deep

And Every so often someone's fingers touch and a bond is formed when one drop of blood kisses the other

And even when a baby leaves it's mother

It it covered in the sweetest pink tint of blood

"My people refers to me as Adamant,"

Adamant, this
Adamant, that

Adamant, ruin their marriage.
Adamant, make the politicians **** one another.



"What do I get for being Adamant?"

Come here, Adamant
Stay away, Adamant

Chant me million of butterflies, Adamant.
Learn how to nurture, Adamant.



"But I will not be Adamant no longer,"

Adamant, this
Adamant, that

You will love yourself, darling.
Fostering kindred soul within us all.



"God bless you. Not me,"*

Adamant, darling
Adamant, dear

You are God.

Frozen fire
Never said a word
Muted choir
Always seen and never heard.
Don’t react
The control is not subliminal.
Trained in guilt
And treated like a criminal.

If your children are prisoners
And raised to have no voice
They grow up untutored
In how to make a choice.
If questioning is not allowed
How will they ever learn?
This is how we teach them
That frozen fire can burn.

Frozen fire
Never said a word
Muted choir
Always seen and never heard.

If saying no is tantamount
To picking up a weapon
Then sooner or later
Their rebellion will deafen.
The children cannot exist
In a world that makes them whole
If they are raised and treated
As if they had no soul.

Don’t react
The control is not subliminal.
Trained in guilt
And treated like a criminal.

So ask yourself some questions
About what you were taught.
Some family traditions are
Better abandoned and fought.
Is there any act a child can do
That needs a slap across the face?
If not then there may be
No hope for love in our race.

Frozen fire
Never said a word
Muted choir
Always seen and never heard.
Don’t react
The control is not subliminal.
Trained in guilt
And treated like a criminal.

i have heard of how problematic you were in school
how pale and skinny you were
how you once tried to jump from the third floor

take this water
sleep
and dream of me

Were you born into wealth
As a lonely heir;
Are you rutted in poverty
And don't want to be there?

Did you emigrate,
And take your world with you;
Are you an immigrant,
And find one that fits you?

Were you born a she
That should be a he;
Do you feel the red shame?
Are you gifted,
Do you think you're insane?

Was your upbringing
In a scholar's home;
Did dear old Dad leave
You alone to go roam?
Should you blame Mommy's drinking
For your lack of get-go?

Did a brother abuse you
When you were young;
Did no one amuse you
At night with a song,
Or read bed-time stories,
Or say Good-night
With a hug?

Whether well-fed
Or well-read,
You've a future
Not used,
A conscious decision
To do what you choose.

Whatever the condition
Of your initial on-set,
Whatever's your story,
*It's not over yet.

Let's nurture nature..