I walk down to the Pegnitz river.
I walk along the banks of green and white flowers —
a quiet place of respite,
smelling both sweet and fowl.
Both the crow and the swan venture on its water’s roof,
never daring to enter the house that man has built.

She lay below and looked up to see,
the black eyes of an eager crow
glaring through the glass.
To cry underwater is not impossible,
but to learn is fatal.
A baby’s cry can never be silenced in the mind of a mother.

A girl with no direction,
pulled through life by a man’s cruel hands,
In the name of the father!
A mother must pay.
But it is only she who knows that water
cannot wash her sins away.

She stares back at the world - taken from her.

Will anyone visit?
Utter sweet prayers?
Send the mocking crow away?

I throw a lump in the crow’s direction.
It scraws into the sky.
The wise swan glides across the river's mirror,
She takes the bread.

Instead of death,
I sent her a swan instead.

So cut me into pieces then
Grab my hair, my head and hands
And bury them deep
6 feet under where
I will not rest nor will I sleep

Tortured within this system
A living doll played by sick men
Men waiting to die like me
Standing in line to die next
Like I have

I have died a million times
Each in the wounded hearts of every little girl
Been sliced in ruin with no words
To speak, to sing or carry this song

No not for me—they move along
The dead can't speak
Only eyes from a mother's son
Oh, how they will keep

Keep and keep and keep
Greedy little calloused hands
Attached to those who
Deserve such bitter ends

You have taken everything
Played with this corpse too long
Decay and decompose what
Little life may I bring

You have swallowed them whole
No sweet, soft sounds
Only hellish cries that grow
From bloodthirsty hounds

And Gods, you have taken
Every little ******* thing
From us—the dead
who can no longer sing.

Literal on site interaction with Watergate details

The female American has exposure and exhaust forcibly painted on her form her person our constitutions frame

The street tires heat and build up is on her hands and in her eyes

I washed a few days ago

The salt and perspiration glues the city upon your entire world and yet free speech is heard of here not in the assembly of a bill

Thank you Elizabeth Alexandria Gavin Robert and Mikey Taylor for congressional seat #1
Barack,  he's an overcome

Griselda, peace

Check yo head Mike I'm smoother than aloe, new York theory new York paint Chicago mysteries in frame
I'ma get you black

Matter!!!

Oh my the people
If you got organized is here
That's the dept if the interior
Build a page in Congress a day
Freedom writers don't lobby civil rights
These is liberties in ink

Beneath the waters I have grown ash true'd ink and not blemished my irresolute desk

Crooked I we back in, aca!!!!


That's organized Kali
I did it for the truth

Jenna I'm almost torn
Take two tracks

Damian when you land my plan my city

I call Jenna to turn the page for her little sister can't see the wrong impression

Paris will you wonder why we are named with me today
Tara handing out herbs I'm legitimates only

Ireland, the troubles.....

Yup Kendall compassionate us this way, haha

The middle path
Then Lord Shiva crushed or something

Learnings

Google campus link to academia.edu

mothers provided homelessness
to get a job
and now
walk the streets, terrorizing men
what do we do

well you **** people
so you can go shopping
it is called shopping addiction
and little boys and girls who you hate
die in the receipts of your smile

you don't see, but we get abused
by the freedom we have
as you grow and multiply
the fat gross arms come flying
mouth flapping
disgust in your eye shadow
exhausting demons of news

desert mules trampling slaves

men fought this civil war, under many titles
so the gold and silver and logos of banking
would never touch our graves

and the beasts stampede, ugly and weak
blind justices of empty delivery
abandoned mirrors covered in shame

Don’t call it life,
when it’s my life you’re taking,
my future you’re chaining
with laws you’ll never carry,
burdens you’ll never bear.
You preach freedom but give me a cage,
cutting deeper every time you say
I’m not strong enough to choose,
not wise enough to decide
what happens inside my own skin.
I am not your pawn.
Not a battleground for your beliefs,
not a vessel for your “values”
I am fire and fury and a voice unbound,
and I will not sit in silence
while you tear me down.
This choice is mine—
not yours to steal,
not yours to bind,
not yours to strip away in shadowed rooms,
where you sign away my rights
like they’re yours to own.
This body, this voice, this choice is mine,
I am whole, unapologetically, my own.

Don’t call it life,
when it’s my life you’re stripping,
my body, my rights, my voice you’re silencing
with hands that never held the weight
of this choice.
Tell me,
how is it your right to choose for me,
when you’ve never felt your own body betrayed?
When you’ve never felt the aftermath,
the ache, the anger,
when your life was taken, stolen,
and they asked what you were wearing,
Explained to you how it was your own fault.
How dare you call yourselves defenders of life
when you crush the life in us,
when you leave scars on our hearts
with your careless words,
your polished speeches,
your “righteous fists”.
Don’t you dare tell me what I can do
with this body, this breath, this heartbeat,
like it’s something you’ve earned,
like it’s something you know.
You legislate with hands that’ll never bleed,
never bear the weight, never know the fear—
you write laws with ink you’ll never feel burn,
ink that cuts us open, while you watch from afar.
Tell me,
how is it your right to decide,
how is it your right to choose,
when it’s my life, my body on the line,
when it’s my blood, my bones, my voice
you erase with a pencil?

You never see the hidden scars,
the marks left by hands uninvited,
by voices saying “boys will be boys” while my voice is silenced,
a whisper swallowed by the same mouths that judge me
for what they took.
Is that justice? Is that your idea of freedom?
No, you’ll never know.
You’ll never know because your world isn’t stained with fear,
your nights aren’t haunted by footsteps behind,
by eyes burning holes as you walk down the street
wondering if tonight’s the night someone decides
that your body is now theirs.
I am not your object, your pawn, your game.
Not your pet to control, to condemn, to tame.
I am not a vessel for your morals,
not a canvas for your shame.
This body, my body,
is mine.
Not yours to shackle in laws,
not yours to bind in blame,
not yours to drown in silence.

Wearing comfortable clothing is what I desire

And if that is a purple g-string with a pair of high rise low cut shorts
You best say "good morning"

And if that is a pair of bell bottom jeans that do not press tight
against my hips with a long sleeve pink sweater
You ought to say “good afternoon”

If I please sugar in my coffee or no
coffee but instead a warm swif of chamomile
tea you best hand me the cup and show
brotherly love to your sister

If in my womb a child grows or I decide
It does not grow
You ought to stand by me but you best
leave that choice to me