with promises of forever,
I touched the love locks,
lit up by city sights and ocean views,
metal hearts hung, with faded names.
I touched the locks to bring some luck,
touched them with the promise of us.
That lock long since broken,
falls pathetic to the ground,
empty promises spill forth,
but no one is around
to see it fall.
I looked for love and found it lacking,
and you left, got to packing,
leaving broken metal on the ground,
the last mark of love,
of us,
underneath the bridge of locks,
forgotten tributes of love.

I tell my secrets to children
in the form of fairy tales
A "Once upon a time," is enough
to quiet down their wails
and I spin stories as well as spiders
weaving webs that a lost child
must navigate the tangled trails
with cleverness and wit
sharper than any sword
more accurate than any arrow
I speak of children who questioned
the established path of rejection
and this misguided idea of reciprocity,
"You must suffer because it happened to me."
Because my blessing in life was not brute strength
but a clear mind and clever tongue.
I tell my secrets to children
so that they may grow smarter because of them.

He cried for her to stay
She left with his heart in her hands
Drowning it in her tears
He slept with his fears
heartless he was
A savage seeking his next victim
Insecure growing up with no father
And an addict for a mother
Motherless Brooklyn
your city lights never sleep
Your heart sold for attention to the next buyer
Left alone on an island called Coney
Summer nights become cold as the heart of winter
Creating a cold killer
Oh Motherless Brooklyn she hopes you heal
But in the meantime she hopes
you spend time in hell
As you in hell
For the pain you caused her
Weak men fall victim to their insecurities
While blaming it on their passionless passion
aggressive nature, leaving prints on past lovers
While tucking Their souls under covers
Motherless Brooklyn you have not seen your sin
A fool to love you are
As you fiddle with old scars
You are a victim of a perfect crime

I don't need stories of battles
Between knights and dragons
In the days of old.
I don't have dreams
Of everything I touch turning to gold.
I don't need to walk on water
Or turn water into wine.
I have enough magic in my life
Because you're mine.

For every poem you write about rich,
write ten more,
each about poor.

For every song you sing about rich,
sing one hundred more,
each about poor.

For every story you tell about rich,
tell one thousand more,
each about poor.

i wanted to visit my ancestors,
so i stepped up to the gate.
i was told “You must be
/this/ dark to be let into this space,
see, there aren’t many people
here that we can match
up to your face,
and by the look of your skin
we couldn’t be certain
you’ve ever felt the sun’s grace,
we’ve seen many colours
but you are another,
do you really belong in this place?”

i wanted to visit my ancestors,
so i stepped up to the door.
i was told “You must be
/this/ light to walk up onto our shores,
see, we saw your curls and thought
Black Pete had come up
from the moors,
and you're familiar,
but that foreign tongue’s
taken several points off your score,
we were only one colour,
there's no room for any others,
so what are you coming to us for?”

i wanted to visit my ancestors
but i wasn’t sure where to go.
they’d shut me out, left me in doubt,
and i was in limbo.
i thought i’d had a birthright,
some kind of claim to make,
i didn’t think that i would be
so easy to forsake.
i hadn’t convinced the ghosts,
and there was nothing left for me,
so i packed my things, tore my branch down,
and went to sow my own tree.