Just two words is all we'll allow.
Goodnight, goodbye.
These tears are on the prowl.
We shook the bed, your hands gripped my waist.
I tried to fight the feeling while I was dying for a taste.
My head was pounding bricks as I realized our smokey sin.

But..
I love you.
Dont leave me.
Never let me leave.
I need you.
I breathe you.
Im begging on my knees.

I know, I'm the one running.
God, we are so sick.
We're running from the feeling but the space it never sticks.

Our passion was never deeper, breathing through the covers.
Your face never more perfect, as my fingers slowly trace
Every inch of all I've known, what is now not called my own.
I loved you the most when we said goodbye.

Memories flash before me.
How you whispered "I'm always here"
Never till then did i believe, a love like this exist.
But still I'll run, cause nothing ever feels the same.
Nothing was more painful, then a tattoo on my heart. Simply just your name.
You ripped down walls and heard my calls and silently i slept.
As my heart you did protect.
My tongue is weary from all my lies. I did not know.
My eyes they cry.
Im fighting death as it's knocking on my door.
Come out & play, you filthy *****.
No. Not again. Dont leave me all alone.
The demons wisp in and take me for a spin.
Infiltrate my mind.
I dont see them, i won't give in
I promise i could have loved you right before the storm.
I sold my soul to the devil.. That was my selfish sin.

This is the one and only time
where Im gonna bust a rhyme,
about things that make me smile
so you might be here for awhile.
This might be lame, but soon I
will reveal the one to blame. One
thing that brings out these pearly whites,
are seeing you in those tights. This isn't
for anyone particular, so don't think of some
one familiar. Bright colors never seem to fail
to put my smile on trial, but just because I like bright
colors doesn't mean i'm gay so that thought can hit
the hay. Music makes the world go round and round,
but music keeps me strapped to the ground. Girls seem
to drive my heart into a frenzy, but real women tend to
make this heart stir crazy. I might write more stuff like this
later so for now you can be a hater. Just writing some things
down that make me smile, but next time would you join me
for awhile?

Who Am I?

Well,
I must be
that ******,
the one
in the black hoodie
***** sweatpants
and an uncombed eye,
that's always wooly
scratchy,
bloodshot
with searching for
my stash spot,
that ******
in your peripherals
that you keep your eye on
because he's
not
in a polo
looking nice,
talking
"well-spoken"
and
not
a threat
to your beautiful
lily-white daughter.


Because I grew up
fixing myself
ramen noodles
and
lifting the welcome mat
after school,
I must also be
that ******
whose father wasn't
in the same house
until he was age 13,
and when I tell you that,
you weren't expecting it
because "you're not a racist."
but
you weren't surprised.


You see,
I must be
that ******,
a stand-in
for all other *******.
I must be that ******
who represents
all *******,
not because you are racist,
but because I'm the only
******
you've met
who doesn't talk like
dis, y'know whatmsayin,
and i talk like
this, do you know what I'm saying?
I must be that ******.

In order for you
to feel okay
being around me
I must be that ******
who goes to college
does the right
thing
the white thing
and gets a job
a nice little house,
a nice black wife
with a nice
new england
clear
dialect,
(what I was
trying to get at
earlier
is that ****** dialects,
by their mere intonation,
denote stupidity,
right?)
and doesn't say a word
when his white friends
make ****** jokes
or talk in a ****** dialect
mocking some Aunt Jemima
they heard at Walmart.

But,
I also must be that ******
who doesn't step out of line
and say
"WHY IS IT
THAT IN EVERY SINGLE
ENGLISH CLASS
WE READ
ONLY
TWO
BLACK AUTHORS
A SEMESTER,
AND THAT'S
ENOUGH,
JUST ENOUGH
TO KEEP THE
****** PARENTS
HAPPY."

And If I happen to be a ******,
I,
by all means,
must not be that ******
who had a white girlfriend,
and
this girlfriend
after dating
a ******,
tried to date a white guy
she liked,
and when she told him
that she had dated,
loved,
and yes,
******
a ******,
he had said back:
"I can't believe
you ****** a ******."

Then again,
I must be that ******
with the big swinging ****
able to destroy
a white girl's ******
with its pulverizing
power.

And,
please,
If I am going to be a ******
don't be the one
who writes a poem
about
having to be
that ******,
because those
kinds of *******
are being
over-sensitive,
those dashiki-wearing-*******
who think
"Da white man dis."
and "Da white man dat."

Because
I am not one of those *******
descended from the first people on earth,
your brother,

not in the ****** way,

but the familial,
species way.

Why am I even writing
this, ****** isn't a main operative
word anymore.

Search and find "******"
and
replace with
"Black Guy." That way it becomes
a joke.

Why do humans have to be so structured?
We are expected to be sculpted and perfect,
As if we are made of granite.
But why?
Why are we expected to
look,
think,
and act perfectly?

Why is being yourself discouraged?
What is wrong with being a part of that weird goth group
even if you aren't goth?
What is the problem,
with your favorite subject being math?
Why do we all have to conform to the same rules?

Answer me this one question,
Why can't you just be your self?

I may be from the sticks
but I'm hood
at heart.
Gagayngster style.
Trend setting, tight jeans and hair dye.
Diluted goth style.
D-d-drink punch and die,
for y'alls lovers
or die a used ******
on da side of da road.

Soul Spit.

I am caught
In gold rays.
He plays with my strings.
Plucks and pulls at my papery wings
That flutter and beat
For the lights on the street.
Drags me in through attraction
When night is black and goth.
Just like a magnet.
Just like a moth.

leering lurking

before me

crazy jet black coal eyes

peer

red crimson droplets

forming on foaming saliva

teeth as sharp

as a bear trap

baited and ready to pounce



copyright gothic mistress 2012