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 Jan 2013 tread
September
Your past is a tumor,
Genetically stitched at birth.
An excessive development of cells.
Growing,
Inoperable.
Take whatever little meaning that you want from this.
 Jan 2013 tread
September
You Sing
 Jan 2013 tread
September
You*

       Don't
                  Remember
                                ­      Me.
                    Faraway.
                          ­            So
                                              Last­
                                                        Time:
  ­                      Don't come home.
Well this has been in my drafts for about... a year. And now I finally remember why.

Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do
 Jan 2013 tread
September
Yellow bird
flew into
my eye.

Made a nest of
My mind.

I am still finding
Feathers.
Haven't you ever met that certain type of person that never leaves, even when they're gone?
 Jan 2013 tread
September
Playing dead will only work                                                
until they burn the bodies.
Bartender
Pour me some more
Let me stumble through the back door
Let the police
Smell the poignant aroma of rhythm and blues
Collide with my Genius creative expression
Handcuff me for resisting being silent
Check my breath for the bubbles of a drunken poet
Spitting up words and rhymes
Expressively with profanity of poetry
Charge me with intoxication
Verbal sensation
Before the judge
I plea guilty
Poetic confinement recommended
On the walls I write art
Painting out the graffiti of the prisoner’s thoughts
And colouring with poetic expressions

Bartender
Pour me some more
Until my cup overflows
I just can’t get enough
Let this liquor become embedded in my arteries and lungs
Let it be in my very DNA
Let it flow through my blood and veins
Through my heart and mind
Let it be hypnosis for my dreams
I drank poetry and it tasted delicious.



CHRISTENA ANTONIA VALAIRE WILLIAMS ©2012
JAMAICA
This like a poetry Rap.
 Dec 2012 tread
September
He and Ego
 Dec 2012 tread
September
You:

Maybe                   everythings                   taken                   higher
Carrying  out  capsules  across  illegiment,  narcisstic  ­exhaustion.
Another                                       new                                          day?
Help! Everything rhetorical or insane now                             exists.
An acrostic, using the first letter of every word in a line—starting at line 2. You: are ****, *******, and herione.
You claim to be addicting. I find you quite the opposite. You are an inflated ego. You say I can never quit you. I am proving you wrong.

But in writing this, I fail.
He is in love with questions
And the lilting world of words,
With the fabric of philosophy
And the taste of fresh ideas.

He is in love with the smell of green
And the shifting sands of dreams,
With the hunt for profound moments
And the hunger-lust for purpose.

He is in love with his books
And the zodiacs cross the planet,
With patterns of chain reactions
And the way we cog and gear.

He is in love with pools of stardust
And fanciful notions of theory,
With darkness, deep and coveted
And the fabric it is made from.

He is in love with one who left
And the poisoned past he bathes in,
With being perpetually lonesome
And floating twixt life’s sabulous banks.

He is in love with memories, and the universe,
And nobody else.

With my choking heart, I’m grasping at dust,
And I am in love with him.
11/20/12
I am loud,
Demanding attention.
I know when I am being charming
Because I try.
I put on my impressing face
And do my impressing hair
And speak my impressing words.
I tell you my embarrassing drinking stories
And everything else about me
That you probably shouldn’t know.

I am not good at being quiet
Because that’s not who I am.
I am not the sweet girl
Who will leave you with a smile
And a touch
And a glance
Or a single word.
There is nothing of this fashion of romance
About me.

I am the girl who will point out your flaws,
And take you outside to see the stars,
And remind you how human you are,
And what a wonderful thing that is.

I am the girl who will talk about science,
And music and theology and history,
And point out constellations, laughing,
When you don’t know the big dipper’s name.

I am the girl who will make witty references,
To classic literature and science fiction,
And will tell you stories of how I once,
Made a gingerbread replica of a lighthouse.

I am the girl who will stand on a table,
And sing at the top of my lungs on the highway,
And act like a chicken or quail or velociraptor,
Or nuzzle your face like a lion to make a point.

I am the girl who takes too many shots
And then coaxes you to bed on a Russian liver,
And knows all the right places to bite, and tease,
And follows with exceptionally coherent pillow-talk.

I am not a thin silk scarf on the wind.
I am not a thing hard to capture.
You would not spend a perilous journey
Through a wild, perfumed jungle,
Searching for my slender garments
Hung beside a pool
As I wail to the breeze.

Rather, I am the bird who flies overhead
Making too much noise
Distracting from the trail ahead.
A bird whose plumage proves
What an interesting life it must be…
What a colorful life for me…
Perpetually strange
The lone comic relief.

I am many things.
But I am not quiet.
Of this I am sure.
09/07/12




A personal statement.
 Dec 2012 tread
oh me oh my
They ask me if I still love you.

I blush, grin and say;

of course.

Why?

Because your eyes are of the most utter ocean blue,

but other days they're the currents of the stormy grey sea.

I see a current of salty water, deep, once blue, but now a faded grey.

I see a bundle of darkened grey clouds in the distance,

and the thunder rumbles from your irises,

and I hear it pound in the back of my mind.

I wonder if you knew.

I see a spark of lightening flash, only once in a while,

while you look at her.

My throat corrodes with bile.


She says she sees green demons lurking in the depth of my own ocean currents,

and I shrug.

What am I supposed to say?

I know you think about her.

Night and day.


The hardest part,

is a generic, old saying.

If you love them,

you let them go.

If they love you enough to stay,

or to come back,

you never let go.





But you haven't come back.
EDIT: Wow. Never expected this to blow up as big as it did. I thank you all so much!
EDIT: 2/15/14
i would say i never loved you, but that is a lie.
they say that your *first* love makes *you realize*, your first *love* wasnt really your first.
i pray for the day this happens.
*getting over you was the best thing i ever did.
and i did it for myself.*
so, one last:
*******.
you.***
EDIT: 9/14/14
i still hate you.
and you don't deserve her.
EDIT:   12/01/14
im sorry. you still arent
the same person
and neither is she.
but we all grow up.

EDIT
10/14/20
I was going through my bookmarks
on my old computer and found my old writings.
I just wanted to update this one last time to say things are better,
things are good. Thanks again for all the likes and comments.
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