I cried these dirges brashly,
After these long nights
While my skin cracks;
Irrigating it with my dry tears
By the desperate harmattan;
My cries are a rustling of leaves under a sun
That never fades- washing my face in strict rays
Its attendance is long overstayed;
Resting on my absent mind

I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
Weeping proudly without a rush of blinking tears;
This everyday world isn’t my beloved home to own-
A shelter neglecting to cover my nakedness

I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
With a tiny cloth left damp, sodden and weary
By the stretched tears flowing down my bare *******
The world quickly suckles on my grief –
Biting, pulling, and scarring them by their buds
calling it all fair by its, “Budding remarks”
With the goalmouth of getting itself full up;
Never nursing the agony.  

                     Oh, how my heart hurts!

always happy, always in bloom,
always one step away from becoming
just a collection of parts;
her head still smiling and pretty
rolling across the floor.
sorry, did i break the illusion too soon?
not so beautiful now that you know
what it feels like to be her.
makes you wish the flashes would stop,
makes you want to scream
"can't you see she's already done enough?"
why can't they set her free?
but alas,
she must always be happy,
always in bloom,
always one breath away from becoming
just a collection of parts.

For a woman I am a decent driver

Enough to hold wheel
You once told me

Argument admissable

That mastery majority of female species lacks

Like testosterone and equality

I am evidence that there is an exception to every rule

Hopeful to not be tasteless,
I let you in to take a quick lookie.
You reached with intentions nameless,
and found my heart quite jankey.

Now out and melting in your hands,
The crimson essence drips.
All I can do is watch as if in the stands.
While I feel the smile on your lips.

The energy surrounds mine.
Trying to dig at my core.
As if it didn't cross a line,
Ignoring holes it tore.

Then I was claimed,
To be yours of course.
Your being was aflame.
Because I was the source.

My appearance to match,
Only your imagination's images.
as sweet as a cookie batch,
and no disposiotion to scrimmages.

Forgetting that cookies don't last.
After time they get eaten,
or become stale like the past.
Perfection achieved by being beaten.

Pressure makes diamonds,
You say I am no exception.
So I'll use my ribbons,
To give explanations.

And just like a cookie,
I will cover it up with sweetness.
Giving everyone a lookie.
Knowing I am tasteless.

I lost myself
On an isle of nymphs
And found myself
Only when I rejected,
Every libation offered.
Blinded by decadence,
Focused on filling coffers;
I broke for the ship
Calling to my officers.
Men, your senses are being dulled-
Drunk and high, doing as you're told.
Lucidity take hold! Freedom is close,
We need only embark
Loose the sails & start
The journey out among the stars

wait a moment, please.
should she feel sorry for being an inconvenience?
she'd rather plant the seeds of self-love
and wait for them to turn into trees,
sheltering her from poisonous bitterness,
nurturing her inner peace,
so that she can leave this world with ease,
letting time cover her steps with green and red,
letting the branches take shape of her silhouette.
someday this path might be found by someone else,
as unaware of her worth as she once was,
all out of strength, given up on all her hopes;
she'll follow whispers and slowly retrace the steps,
and take her shelter among the fallen leaves,
nurturing her inner peace.
wait a moment, please.
should she feel sorry for being an inconvenience?

he doesn't even realise it yet,
but holding her is but a momentary bliss
and being abandoned by her is torture.
despite already being caught in it,
he doesn't see the intricately spun web
or perhaps he doesn't mind it at all,
hanging by the thread of a a fleeting kiss.
she's fire and fury, barely contained,
a hurricane, disobeying the nature's orders,
an impossibility, endlessly defying itself,
and he doesn't even realise it yet,
but he's always been hers.

she borrows the light from the sun
just before it can set,
slipping to the other side of the horizon,
reflecting it in her irises,
covering them in liquid gold.
she's the entity that the pagans prayed to,
the object of countless legends.
she slips into her skin like a hand-sewn dress,
and everyone who ever loved her
is now consumed by the earth.
she picks flowers that took root in their skulls,
wears a crown of white ribs
and grows around their remains like moss.
she's the end of all things,
the silent watcher of time,
meeting the travelers on every single one
of the countless roads.
she borrows the light from the sun
just before it can set,
breaking through the other side of the horizon,
reflecting it in her irises,
standing by as the world around her burns.