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  Oct 2014 Tajia Williams
nissa
Roses aren't always metaphors, you know.
For the ghosts in the walls that write poems about how you sleep.
For the shadows in empty closets that you fear will creep.
For the rivers you've travelled that leave burns on your arms.
For the faces pressed against windows that slip colours into the wind.
For deserted bus stops made of crushed beer tins.
For the bars filled with grannies and trannies and the best kind of sins.
Sometimes they're analogies.
And boy, are they lovely.
received  a tumblr prompt (-::::
  Oct 2014 Tajia Williams
Heliza Rose
Why can't we be like grass?
When it gets stepped on,it gets back up
Alone
To me is home
I let the music flow through my veins
And my hate dwindles away
No stress, no paranoia, no screaming or hateful words

I am alone.
And I guess I'm bothered that I don't have friends
But I guess that's okay also
I've become everyones doormat
Sure, I'll buy you this
I'll listen to your petty problems while an (unmentioned) family member of mine does some more ****
But in my head, I scream as loud as I can for just one person
One
Person
To hold me while I cry
And tell me that everything IS going to be okay
And that all this IS going to be over soon
But I guess we can't all have what we want, right?
  Oct 2014 Tajia Williams
Jay G
i am drunk
and that doesn't make
me a poet
the cockroaches are
callin'
cause they know
they cant
die
the cigarette ash is
burning too close to
the ****
i'm snuffing
the heart
outta my own
soul
burning my own finger
tips
and the mountains are callin'
their own code
i cant smoke marijuana
but the dream is
dead free
the landslide is
callin'
draggin' my dreams with
the land
.



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