Dear world,
I understand I'm not the perfect
picture you paint in your mind
Let's be kind to the truth,
I Look at my reflexion,
something isn't right
Dear world,
I'm losing my youth
never had a connection

Day to day I face rejection,
You Say there's redemption
As I see this reflection of non-perfection
I Try getting along
But there is all these objections.
You echo
"I lost connection"
Well Connection was never lost,
That path was never crossed
See world,
I don't fall for your lies and deception
Saying this world is yours,
Well where's mines?
You say see its my world,
You must play by my rules

Well one day I'll say that too,
I will one day feel the same way
Maybe because,
I'll Get you caught up in tricks and lies,
Make you feel criminalized,
In my world,
You'll be victimized
You will be called uncivilized
You won't be the perfect picture
You painted in my mind.

Sometimes
I see a picture.
A picture of a woman
in a kitchen.

Her hair is tied back. But sometimes
it’s not.

Sometimes she winks at me.
A knowing
smile and twitch
of an eyelid.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she’s angry.
Drenched
in the sweat of steamed
broccoli and cauliflower.
Sometimes.


Sometimes she’s cleaning.
Scrubbing her kitchen
spotless. Red tomato
sauce and broken
glasses.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she wilts.
Beside the petunias.
Black
and purple.
Blue
and pink.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she’s spilling.
Water flooding
over the counter
top and stuck
to the clotted drain.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she sees me. Usually
not.  Sometimes she smiles. Usually
not. Sometimes I help her. Usually
not: sometimes.

I love images
of you, but why bother look
if you are now gone?

I got lost in those laughters and joy in the album of ours.
I found myself pumped with a big smile
and after, a long sigh.

A picture is worth a thousand words.
What I find most impressive,
is how with one sentence,
you can paint a thousand different pictures,
in a thousand different minds.

A picture is worth a thousand words...

And a loss of them when you ponder
that moment in time when you were alive
and how things were

A longing to speak to a different you
with a harbored wish to tell them what's to come
and the feeling of remembering what you didn't know

Happiness knowing that person will become who you are now
with a quilt of pictures just like this
making the blanket of their existence
it has warm spots and cold spots that make the other what they are

I see a picture of you and it
punches me in the chest, eyes
of night black darkness bleeding
at the corners but your

smile now means nothing; it is directed
to me no longer. Arms so soft and brown
caress a skin other
than mine and you turn

to thinking of her, always. I sit and stare
embroiled in memories
as the print of your hand runs
around and around my head,

the words you once meant that I can
never bring myself to
throw away. The lament of lapsed lovers
sings low and persistent.