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I went to our place.
It was rainy.
It was cold.
It smelled of peaches;
the thing you thought of,
when you thought of first kisses.

I went to our place.
It was rainy.
It was cold.
It's funny how fast
that peach can mold.
I feel the sting and she throws me against the walls and counters she's mad not at me but I'm there to torment as I fall to the floor barley breathing I can hear her screaming I feel broken I can see I'm bleeding I'm too weak to run to strong to give up I dare not cry or the beating will all over begin I lay quit and hurting with death im flirting hoping that soon she will be leaving she needs her fix before my bones break like sticks I dare not move or torment and pain I can not refuse she walks out the door little sister will be home soon so I clean room by room mop the blood from the floor as she opens the door little one must not know what mom has done so another white lie is told sis has homework dinner bath then bed not another word is said kiss goodnight my fear is it was a kiss goodbye moms on her way home I wish she would leave me alone but little ones safe as long as I am the center of her hate this is my life my childhood past
I have a dark past sorry if I write about it to much but the nightmares are horrible and this is how I get rid of them so I don't have to keep reliving them
 Sep 2014 Towela Kams
Sau Vu

Langston Hughes
 Sep 2014 Towela Kams
Kopter Zero
Have I been wrong all this while?
Should I have done something different?
Should I change everything now?
Have I rejected wonderland for hell?
If yes, can I go back? Can I undo the past?
If no, how long can I go on this way?
It hurts! It pains! It stings!
The past claws at me,
And my faith grows weak.
How long can I go on,
Without a sign?
So you say poems don’t sell
ain’t no buyer for your works
arduous hours of a job done well
go down the drain fetch no perks!

You’re right poems do don’t sell
though you fill them with heart’s spice
by the hour growing weary and frail
you surely can’t feel any nice!

A dollar a poem how fine it would be
add a dollar a read to it
but poems are meant to be sold just free
you aren’t to be paid for the feat!

But you’re wrong poems do sell
them the readers do buy
when to their heart your thoughts travel
and their spirit soars up sky high!
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