before you say something that’ll hurt.
Don’t blurt it out in insults
that cannot be taken away
even with an apology.
People remember their history.
Scars of words past said
have become my suit of armor.
It’s made me hard, not softer.
I cannot hold you close
in a body of chains and metal.
Like a tea kettle letting off steam
I burn you in my every scream.


STOP
and take a breath
before you do something
you’ll regret.
A good night’s sleep will
clear your head.
Take those ugly thoughts
to bed.

STOP
before you do something rash
something that cannot be taken back.
If it cannot be undone
Better that it not begun!!

smiles
than frowns.
A little more
Building me up
than putting me down.
A little more listening
than offering advice.
Wouldn’t **** you
to try to be nice!
A little more gratitude
than complaints.
It’s all in the attitude!
We’re humans not saints.
A little more forgiveness
and holding less grudge.
God, and not you
is the final judge.
A little more love
than hate.
Life is too short.
Why would you wait?

painted black, white and
yellow. In a struggle with
herself. Hunting for her next
meal, scraping by on scraps of

bones and *** appeal. Not a lap to
lay her head or a four-post queen
size bed. Ears sticking out
like pegs, not the type that humps

men's legs. Scouring the scene,
hungry and lean. Living life on
razor's edge. She cannot be
domesticated. Her eyes are wide,

pupils dilated. Likes the chase,
grassland and plains, the open
space. Wind whipping like cream through
tangled hair, danger lurking in the air.

with a stiletto, the **** of her
jokes. And like her cigarette, smashed
into the ground. In a flash, turned to ash
from her smoky breath. Crushed like

a plum tomato in the sauce. I learned
quickly she was boss. Crushed like ice in
her drink, slivers of the rock I was. Melting
in a frosty mug. Like a tin can she

ran over me with an electric mower that had
teeth. I was dented with sharp edges, thrown into
the neighbor's hedges. Like an old car piled high
in the junk yard. Folded up like an accordion

after years of Freudian therapy. My Dreams,
crushed rose petals and scattered  like leaves
in the potpourri. Stuffed inside a bedroom
drawer, lost between the underwear and socks.

like pancakes on a plate
drowning them in maple syrup
till I ate them all. My belly
ache! Or If I stack her pain like

dollar bills I'd fill my office like
a bank. And she'd thank me. Then we'd
take the stacks and blow them at the
mall. Or I'd stack them on the wall

in wooden frames so they can
be contained.   I'd pile them up
like colored blocks and knock them
down like bowling pins and score

a strike so she can win. If her pain
were bricks I'd stack them one on
the other till I build us a home on a grassy
knoll. And we'd live in it till we grew old.

on dotty days lost in
a billowing haze of crimson
lingerie and perfume merry-go-
rounds that lifted us up

in sweet anisette but were
dropped to the ground like
a smoking cigarette. The fickle sky
painted orange didn't

blossom. It turned into
marmalade hurling its seeds
on our show parade. Burning
a hole in the horizon

that plundered our dreams
and covered our eyes in
shards of irascible men that died
at sunrise from the ink of a pen.

lights a saffron ribbon sky
in a tie-dye of rosemary and
thyme. She sits strawberry cheeks
pressed like rose petals against

the windowpane, watching the rain
sprinkle the glass. Her eyes pool of
parsley leaves stringing crimson memories
with a twist of lemon rind. The ring

of the bell swells the reverie
in cardamom and chili. Dressed in
cotton turmeric, hair swirls of
cinnamon sticks she picks at her

scabs. Her world is peppered with salty
dogs she logs in books. In script she hooks
them with her lines. Drinks her *** with mint
and lime. And falls in bed before nine.