He reads me like a book
Every page he writes
I’m astonished every time
I hide in a maze
Confused of my time
Confused of details I have shown
And what I’ve shown not
Those of hidden disguise
He finds
And so I question what he knows
I treat it as fools gold
Because knowing me is not that easy
But yet still today
It’s easy to him…

I think the hardest struggle I deal with on a daily is wanting to be loved, wanting someone to take the time to show me I am loved. And it’s difficult for me to understand why my entire life why it’s been so hard for people to show me the love I desire. I hate false promises, I hate “I will get better” because lies don’t do anything but run in a circle and I get so tired of being in a 360 field with people I hate turning back, I’m tired of not getting 180, I’m tired of giving my all and being everything when everybody can’t give me an ounce of themselves, I hate it, and as I go day through day it gets harder, as I grow older and want to lay down in the bed with my husband every night and be a wife and be protected, I grow knowing that visions don’t fulfill my womanhood, love does, men gives sometime love and think it’s enough and I deserve so much more. I’m more important than i midday nap, I’m more important than ounce of snore, I want to be put on someone’s pedestal as I always try to hold men to highest degree but yet I am always left crying bending down at my altar talking to mother asking her when is the pain going to end, when will a man hold me higher than hisself, a man that makes sure I’m okay and can feel how I feel from Miles away, seems so untouchable and when I get it it seems so temporary because with a blink of an eye I feel that love comes and goes when it comes to a man loving me…. It’s the truth that write with the tears that I shed and the blood that seeps down my fingertips as I write words with thorns from my pain that has risen.

As in this night,—
Under the moon's calm glow,
I found a sweet Jasmine,
Riverbeds of colour resting in flow.
She's mine of great beauty,
Mine of owning my last hoodie.
A jasmine flower of my incapacitated,
Do you understand my love to you so?

Far as it appears. You are here;
You are near,— Of a white day,
Peace being a ballet display.
Constantly dancing in my eye,
Capturing all of sight.
I held on; holding on longer,
As long in your shortest life.

Oh Jasmine, I failed to make out of you a wife.

I couldn't have made it
without you
from recognising a kindred spirit
to discovering a soulmate
beyond passion, beyond even love
you are part of me

In the night
Memories drift like the hair of a drowned man
The waves a callous lullaby
curling around the body of his sleeping wife
the unburdened curve of her hip against the moonlight
The drift of her breath in the dark
Coursing to match the sea wind
That sings across the lake’s dark mirror.
Her black hair spills across his hands
Ensnared, he pulls her in
To the harbor of his great shoulders—
It is the same
As it was on their first night
she is warm, small,
still smelling of the almond blossoms
she gathered in twilight.
But tonight, his impetuous heart is awake
Moving between the woman in his arms
And the messiah in the next room
the love he bears both
At once consuming
And unbinding,
his heart a stone
On which they both
rest.

Good morning, Dear Wife,
The only love of my life.
The sun's not yet up,
I'll go brew us a cup;
So, stay snug in our bed,
And I'll bring it up
With a bite that's enough,
Till you're ready to rise
With those gorgeous green eyes,
And join me this day,
And all days I do pray,
Till we rise up no more.