I believe I can be free from you
That the memory of you is less a tattoo
More of a bruise

Painful
Not permanent

Yet a memory
still
Is what you held me
And yet still lingered briefly
was the belief I had in being your wife

Your King’s crown
Only a fool’s gold
from Jill Scott’s script-ure

Karma is my favorite *****
and I won’t even have to wish her on you

Your demise
already Materialized
in the form of Your weakness’s
Imprints on me

To be clear
This is about me now
My evolution
almost makes me want to thank your ***** ***

Because What I’ll do with this hurt
Is God’s work
Breaking generational curses as I
Dare to heal in public
The audacity of me


See...You never understood me
Never bothered
You may have taken my first time from me
But you were the only one slaughtered

You’ll never forget
The night you killed your soul
I’m your tattoo...yet stranger
Judgment day will be your toll

&...
For me?
The ampersand runs deep

A magnolia blooms in my womb
No longer A tomb
for all the Ways
yo mama didn’t love you

Will you tell her you hate her?
Once you do
Will you tell her to
“Get that look off your face you act like you never been in pain before”
Look her in the eyes when you do

That’s your thing right?

It wouldn’t be your first time anymore either
You don’t have **** to lose
Gon head...Let that hate sink deeper

I cast my eyes
upon the sky
each day it seems
a new artist died
purganan in purgatore
every hue and every horn
in and out of heavens door

You came along with your bags,
All arranged and looking neat.
To find a place for a vacation,
To spend quality time within.

To your surprise, the door was shut.
No one welcomed you like before.
You questioned yourself countlessly
And tried knocking even harder.

All your efforts left no reward.
The ****** deal had finally ended.
There's no more room for you in there,
Embrace your shame and take your leave.

The damage you caused was terrific.
Never again will you get that chance
So carry your bags and cease knocking.
You're not welcome here, never again.

Yanked me from my roots as if I were a ****,
he never did know he spilled all my seeds
For I was a flower
and he was a plucker,
I fell to the ground, and into the earth
I shed my former self, this is rebirth.

Copper walls insulated the cold heart of gold,
   with limbs of steel extending out,
touching the comparably icy concrete floor.
   The perfectly symmetrical skull of bronze contained
   an inhumanly small encephalon of cobalt,
packed with scarlet wires and a
near invisible flashing microchip.

Alone in the sterile room,
the infantile Adam,
now standing for the first time,
observed his surroundings as he further
         extended out his limbs – taking his first steps.

i was not expecting that our ending,
would make me feel so relieved

I suspect that poetry
Will save me from death

That my poems will be
The blueprint to immortality

I shall be reborn as a rhyme
And baptized in metaphor

My body will be of words
And my soul of imagery

And the past is eternalized
As photos save memory

And so will you reader
Be saved by poetry

In every poem you read
There's a whole country

Of angels that will praise
Be of good cheer and be merry

Your eyes will be restored
And be filled with mirth

As the crucifix saves
The ****** on Earth