There is a
screaming
screeching pain
that is so raw.
It's like a
mouse caught in
a glue trap.
It must be locked
away for no one
to see or handle.

And sometimes
on moonless nights
when no one is
around, and the
owls have killed
their prey, and the
teardrops have been
bottled and sold on
the black market,
you may be tempted
to take that pain out,
like a slice of pie,
and taste it.
Be careful.
It may have
fermented and
developed a mind of
its own.

Some people can wait
     Before they die;
Hold on for a loved one
     To say Good-bye.
To have one more Spring,
     Or any Season,
For Love or Closure,
     This we reason.
Now many can leave
     This coil of doubt,
Guilty they heard,
     On all thrity-four counts.

In these lines I read you as lullaby
In these pages I wrote you in hindsight
In these details I exorcised evil lies
In these anthologies, this is where I hide
You're a better poet than me
You may never know
Hello Poetry.

Monday,
We woke up looking perfect, right?
Tuesday,
We're kind to everyone cause it's what we love to do, right?
Wednesday,
Put extra makeup on to hide the evidence of last night's beating, cause if anyone found out they'd laugh and tell us to **** it up, right?
Thursday,
We laugh because crying ruins our image, right?
Friday,
. . .I got in a fight.

I don't know about you but even on the moon's brightest nights,
it's still got a dark side,
Maybe we don't always see it, but it's there,
So don't judge me when I miss the mark on "perfection"

Our love is a given.
Precise! Succinct! Intentional And Directional!!
WE speak in one voice and we stick to the rhythm and tone of our voices.
Our voice  are devices
Music to dance to and feet to swerve.
Yes! we will swell and swerve to this rhythmic  tunes and turns of our collective voices.
And like David of the Great Book we will dance fearing no nakedness.
This given love will strive Omalicham.