"camouflaged" poems
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am a captive
Taken from my home
Away from love and care
Now I live in fear
In the midst of the unknown
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
Oh! You have forgotten me, probably
I wouldn't blame you
I am just a girl, you thought
But I am Nigeria
And I could be just your girl
Yet you go to bed with both eyes closed
Because I am just a girl.
How do you sleep?
How do you find peace?
How do you laugh with satisfaction
And Find rest?
Knowing I am Leah Sharibu
And I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
Who is she? I can hear you ask.
Oh! You've forgotten?
I am that "Dapchi girl"
Kidnapped with her school mates
But they are free and I am not
They gained their lives back
Because they are what I am not
That's what some people thought
But I am not just "that Dapchi girl"
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
And I am a captive
I am in chains
I am in bonds
I am in pains
And I am not free
I am still missing
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
I am a Christian
That's what you said
But I am more than a Christian
I am a girl child
I am a woman
I am a daughter
I am a mother
And I am a wife
But I am more than all these
Yes! I am
I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
Though you called me a Christian
Undoubtedly I am
Was that not why you left me behind?
Was that not why you've left me till now?
How callous? How unpatriotic?
You swore an oath to protect me
But you lied
You think calling me a Christian
Will clear your conscience
But you lie!
I am Nigeria
That's my identity
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I have been betrayed
By Deceivers parading themselves as leaders
By cowards parading themselves as heroes
By liers who embraces you with a dagger
I have been betrayed
By enemies camouflaged as friends
I thought they cared about me
But all they want is a piece of me.
So they don't care if I bleed
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am not missing
You can see me
But you've refused to free me
You've made me your slave
Everyday you **** me
Everyday you **** me
Everyday you brutalise me
Everyday you torment me
Despite the oath you swore to protect me
You have become my terror
My Kidnapper
My tormentor
My killer
My captor
My destroyer
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I can see, you don't care, who I am
You think I will just pass away
Like a shadow in the night
Another figure among the many lost
So you hope
But you lie
I am your fear
I am your shame
I am your story
Ugly but true
I am your cross
You must bear
I am your pain
And I won't go away
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
You can **** me
But I won't die
Though ****** with many swords
And bleeding on all sides
You will always hear my cries
Because I live on....
You can try to hide me
Like a woman's nature call
But I won't go away
I will be your nightmare
And walk the night in your sleep
I will be your nemesis
And follow you to your grave
I will be your infamy
Lay you bare for the world to see
I will be the truth
That topples your lies
And I pray that I will be your end
So you'd be no more
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria
Another night has come
And I pray for sleep
Not knowing if I will see the dawning of a new day
You expect me to be weak
To break down and fall
You expect me to be feeble and frail
But I won't
Everyday I see the sun
I will grow strong
Everyday I take a breath
I shall be agile able
Don't expect me to give up
For I shall win at last
I am Leah Sharibu
I am Nigeria.
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 7:13 PM UTC
Universal entropy,
masking it’s plan
Perceivable good and
evil, much more than so
A light waiting to be shone
beyond which we can ever comprehend
Camouflaged, patient;
wickedness one day proving itself
God’s rippling gift
And yet, the present seems bleak,
The great unknown rests
behind a curtain,
even to you
Keeping us suspended
above countless destinies below,
those realities flickering like traffic from
a private city rooftop
Our actions,
for an audience we are unaware exist
So not for naught,
do indulgences befall
Some good can come of our mistakes,
even if it's to faces we'll never know
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 11:06 AM UTC
Other cats can climb trees,
And stand high on branch catching the breeze,
But I make the wind rush,
So fast that the ground I barely brush,
Camouflaged in black spots,
I hide in the bush far from their shots,
I can’t roar but I growl,
I chirp, I stutter, I purr and yowl,
Then I run like a train,
And back to my home; safety again.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:21 AM UTC
Lustrous but also lackluster
We are gems yet salvaged
Formed inside of a shelled world
Waves waning and whining
Sailors nauseated on our waters
Drifting towards an aggrandized land
Where they might find us oysters in the sand
They'll tear them open,
In search of what only we bear
Camouflaged amongst the cultured,
Or even those with nothing there
Darling,
We are wild,
Yes we are rare
Open up to me,
We've so many layers to share
Your metallic smile,
Your iridescent articulation
Everything happened so naturally
A miracle to be in the same location
They won't crack us,
For our muscles will defend
Our valuable and vulnerable interior
From the worlds vinegary intent
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
Whilst camouflaged
The Golden Dragonfly
With emerald eyes
And rubies, and diamonds
Upon it's wings, and tail
Slept
And whilst it slept
It dreamed
And within its dream
It wandered
Flying over a turquoise pool
The Golden Dragonfly
Began to ponder
On its existence
And wondered why
It was a dragonfly
But then she saw her own reflection
On the soft rippling blue water
As she became aware
Of her own beauty
And instantly found
An inner tranquility
Just at that moment
As is the way of dreams
A long rolling tongue
Shot out
And swallowed the Golden Dragonfly whole
The frog
Had no other thought
Than to feast
The Golden Dragonfly
Then woke up
Relieved
That it had only been a dream
But now
Also aware
That it now had conscious thought
Beyond its natural instinct
And at first
Felt quite afraid
Looking around its surroundings
First making sure
That there were no frogs around
It glanced up
And realised
It was attached
To the outer skin
Of a curious looking creature
Some kind of giant
With hair flowing
In the soft zephyr breeze
And without realising
Spoke to the giant
"What are you?"
The giant
Looking startled
Had obviously wondered
Where the small voice was coming from
The Golden Dragonfly
Spoke again
"Are you going to eat me?"
The giant
Then realised where
The voice was coming from
Looked around before answering
Whispered, "No!"
The Golden Dragonfly
Accepted that this was at least true
"My name is Lucianne" said the Golden Dragonfly
Not knowing, until that moment
That she had a name
"My name is Petra" said the giant
With the long flowing hair
"I don't understand how it is possible
to be conversing with a dragonfly"
The Golden Dragonfly
Felt the same confusion
As it had never conversed with anything, ever
And never had questions to ask
But now
The questions came quicker
Than her wing beats
The giant spoke again
"You are welcome to remain on my waistcoat"
"And we can speak more, when we get to my home"
At that moment
A sudden gust of wind
Blew the Golden Dragonfly
Off the waistcoat
Into some dense undergrowth
And within this undergrowth
Sat a frog
And in an eye blink
A long rolling tongue shot out
And swallowed the Golden Dragonfly
Whole
The giant, named Petra
Searched the undergrowth
For several hours
Shouting out for Lucianne
Other giants around
Became concerned
When Petra explained
That she was looking for
A talking Golden Dragonfly called Lucianne
Petra would often return to the park
But never again
Did she see, or hear
The Golden Dragonfly again
by Jemia
Jul 11, 2022
Jul 11, 2022 at 8:18 PM UTC
1
We're not in darkest Africa
and jungles don't adorn,
this little bit of overgrown
that wraps around our lawn,
2
Plants of pretty colors
sit comfortable in there bed,
and about two dozen footsteps
find us at the potting shed.
3
Our potting shed has seen better days,
some parts have been rebuilt
and it's suffering from subsidence
for it's slightly on a tilt.
4
The walls desperately need painting
because the wood has got some rot
but a boring place to come and sit
it definitely is not.
5
Odds and ends adorn the shelves
and the places spiders tread
where the dust has piled on the weight
and the woodworm may have spread.
6
Smells that we first come across
carry the scent of damp,
foul stinks from half empty sacks,
paint tins that have gone rank.
7
An old oil lamp expel the rust
like dandruff from my head
reigning down golden crumbs
that looks like toasted bread.
8
We think that we have found some proof
of what might linger around
footprints so large and evident
that a Tigers walked upon this ground.
9
So while we have been sleeping
and resting through the night
there's been a Tiger in our shed
but he keeps out of sight.
10
We've sorted through many boxes
we've moved some things aside,
looked into shadows with a torch
but we can't find where he hides.
11
Perhaps he's gone out hunting
for an evening meal,
eyeing up the neighbors dog
with energetic zeal.
12
Perhaps he's out sunbathing,
sitting somewhere in a tree
camouflaged with all those stripes,
that's the reason we can't see.
13
I don't know if he's Sumatran,
Siberian or Bengal
and he doesn't ever show himself
or come to me when I call.
14
I believe he stays outside all day
and only hides in here at night
but I won't come down here when its dark
only in the light.
15
He is a wild animal so
one must take the some care
for he could be stalking us as prey
he could spring from anywhere.
16
But we leave the door unlocked for him
and we've made a comfy bed,
and a sign that just reads "WELCOME"
to the Tiger in our shed
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
You cannot hide,
It will find you.
It is not meant to be camouflaged,
Rather avoided by those who claim
They are innocent.
It is not what you have done or
What you will do;
It is what you failed to prevent.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
We've got a red white and blue bloodlust
For the drips
from the slits
in the wrist
Of Ms. Statue of Liberty
Miss America
Covered in capitalist pigs blood
camouflaged as corn syrup
whispering bitter somethings
to the diabetic nation
that broke her sweet-heart
They'll give her something
to fill her wounds
And add insult to
Self-inflicted injuries
in flashes of light
our arrogance
under-shadows
our destiny
She’ll overcome us
in her apotheosis
She’ll come
back around harder
next time
When she finally comes for us
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest
‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence
Kindness is not like that –
Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption
Kindness defies convention
Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day
Kindness doesn’t delay
Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts
Kindness confronts
Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms
Kindness transforms
Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms
Kindness is not 'nice'
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight
Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Sent with love
Tango with love
Camouflaged by love
I escaped my cage
Not a soul on earth
can ever trick me
into going back
Regardless what
you tell me
I am free.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
Enticing us in, sugar coated doors
for sticky fingers,
Doors of mystery, keep out, staff only
nettled in barbed wire.
Half open doors full of promise,
chocolate soft centred
Exciting doors, silk covered
in lace suspenders
Inspiring doors, Leonardo bold italic,
uppercase only
Lonely doors all shuttered in silence,
cobweb covered
Sad doors, tear stained
and umbrella wet
Happy doors,
candy striped in laughter
Forbidden doors, Pandora boxed,
best kept locked
Revolving doors covered
with the same sticky mistakes
Trap doors crocodile sprung
to catch you out
Doors that slide on tram like runners,
buffered into walls with imprint of face
Secret doors of camouflaged chameleon
Troubled doors
thunder clapped in turmoil
Doors enticing us.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
Harmonica and strums sail my shores
Tell my whole clan sonny, he ain't good
That I met a troller under a sycamore
He passed me all the love as he veiled
We walked around,camouflaged by leaves
Tell mummy he was a preacher's son
A soul that was open and hid it's stick
Unharmonised in accapellas I drowned
Swingers of melodic stormy strings
Tell sassy to keep her tassels tucked
To calm her tussles and noisy gongs
Shake on the octave of the beats
Whisked dreams of the lost yesterdays
Tell Jimmy to listen to her heart raise
Tie her down, bring her back home
Liberate and let her fly like a wild bird
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
because our dreams of leaf-canopies and lignin
arrive at a certain variety of green, we will zither
anew with song
here in Bulacan; all the leaves are capsized
brandishing inflorescences as naked as
the scent of petrichor girdled
on the cobblestones: they are forsaken not by
trees but by seasons only, a twofold deliberation
of caprice: there is only two of what is spoken.
such is the warmth and coldness,
missing their obvious targets, hesitant and abstruse,
scattered and at long last, never collected
deftly camouflaged in the familiar drapery,
“Tantusan mo!” as they cry for marks to remember,
we touch the cicatrix to measure with our jagged hands
how much we have forgotten.
what we cease to remember descends deep, as wash-hand basins
concur such depth,
into the well of ourselves, later to discover such
perilous foundling in the squall of either morning or evening,
still devoid of sense: still arguing whether there is much
to reconcile with what has been found and what has been pictured
now, altered by such loss: this is danger, and so is nothing,
swollen and tender, the waters of the estero reek of such
remembering – we cannot ignore its perfume, oddly taking the shape
of the next dagger slowly making its way towards the back
of the skull to pare with river-run precision, what we all
try to hold back inside; so as if to say,
“Tantusan mo!” to remember
where we last took off, like a heron,
or a bird, wary of distances.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
I'm speechless
That's my approach as you approach me
And usually I'm too focused on finding the perfect words
To penetrate the simple space I provide
So when beautiful girls intentionally invade my atmosphere
My need for speech is satisfied
Your beauty speaks sufficiently for two
So while I'm struggling for oxygen, I hope you recognize
Your presence is all I've ever needed to breathe easily
I'm stuck
Between unexpressed elegance
And helplessness
My mouth is screaming out
But frozen completely shut
I'm worried my compliments
May be complications
That my suggestions
Might suppress my objective here
We typically rely on our words
To settle the score
As if you and I are in overtime
Of a tie ballgame
Looking for phrases to frame the scoreboard
With an absolute victor
But I was hoping that you'd be willing to join forces
To break through the proverbial force field
That prohibits rivals from overthrowing obstacles
Because I've always believed the input overpowers the outcome
What if it were possible
To eliminate our speech
So our ears could erase the need to draw conclusions
We don't etch our words in pencil
Our words are enunciated in permanent marker
Brutally beating through our eardrums
Rhythmically reminding us
That silence can be more sweet sounding than any set of syllables
All I know is I'm hell-bent on remaining a straight shooter
My arrows will always be designed for the bulls-eye
But lately I've been questioning my targets
They haven't been painted red and white for all the world to see
They've been camouflaged by constricted communication
Secretly searching for statements that haven't met the airwaves yet
So I'd much rather absorb your definite thoughts
Than accept your remarks as absolute
The truth is
I'm not sure
What needs to be said.
The syllables I've learned to form
Don't apply to situations where
Words remain inherently absent.
And too often we force our hand
To make phrases appear
Where they don't belong.
But something about
Silent speeches is appealing to me.
Because the power in your eyes reduce
The need for any type of sound.
And the shock waves your steps make
As you inch closer to mine
Create the sweetest melodies.
So all I will tell you is this:
Let's leave words out of this.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 6:53 AM UTC
Seldom doth man stop and stare
At the caste iron manhole cover there,
Seldom doth he analyze
The majesty, which beneath it lies.
The pipe work systems vast and long
Dark catacombs so precise and strong,
Buried deep beneath our feet
Extending forth from street to street,
Out across the breadth of town
Those secret fluids trickle down.
Laser levels carve the pathway
Through the walls of solid stone,
Shovels scrape and dig with effort
Forging hard trajectories home.
Digging, digging metal mountains
Sweat cascades upon the brow,
We lay the pipes in straight formation
Precision's satisfaction now.
An Artisan's great work is hidden
Lost beneath the earth's grey stone,
Appreciation camouflaged in that,
The cast iron manhole stands alone.
Magnificence unrealized
For deep beneath your feet,
A subterranean Michelangelo's
Sisteen Chapel, lays discreet.
Unsuspected rivers
Flowing darkly to the sea
In caverns of unwanted waste
Quite unbeknown to thee.
Vaulting brickwork chambers
Which are ancient works of art,
Carry oceans of excretement
Far from where their journey's start.
With thunder's crash and lightning flash
And torrents of cold rain,
The road's awash and gutters flow
Through roadside grates to drain.
Gushing torrents cascade down
In waves of flowing might
To the storm water system
Which promptly swallows it from sight.
Magic, you say ?
Nay, nay I say unto you
That the drain layers artistry
Is unappreciated, that's true !
That the Herculean effort wrought
In winning his great fights
Is largely lost to all and sundry
Who avoid construction sites.
They miss the planning and the layout
And meticulousness too
And the rubber seals which stop the leaks
Which really bother you.
The massive holes and danger
Of being buried in collapse
And the wondrous satisfaction
Of achieving downhill flows... Perhaps!
Marshalg
Apprentice drain layer
MHX Beachcroft site and Eastport
19 September 2009
Jan 22, 2010
Jan 22, 2010 at 3:08 PM UTC
Near a town of history untold
Where everyone knows each name
Wooden behemoths - obliviously old
Each unique but each the same
It was meant to be a perfect day
Of tranquility through the trees
Instead, the sky is brood with grey
And the leafs flow as they please
Alone, in nature's splendor spilled
In a rainy wilderness, seldom seen
The birds and insects grow suddenly still
In a spread silence of the green
Like eyes embedded in your back
You sense the stare of something sour
The mood hurries to horrid black
As you quiver into a cower
In bending branches blended
Creeping in creases - camouflaged
Nature's imbalance to be amended
In the forest's full mirage
Witness a terror appearing
Frantically floating from afar
Emerged in echoes and vaguely veering
Black, bleak and bizarre
A malevolent, monstrous maw
Snarls of hunger, habit, and hate
A malodor of meat, reeking raw
A violently increasing heart rate
From frozen still to fearfully shaking
You are manically mesmerised
Your pupils promptly dilating
As you and the beast lock eyes
Your meaningless attempt to run
From a stride to a collapse
The beams above crown the sun
As the twigs around you snap
A soar of pain as you hit the ground
Chest cavity cracked open
As you faint, you hear the sound
Of a language never spoken.
Gutted and gargling gore
Eaten by nature's nightmare
Convulsing on a forest floor
Indifference chokes the air
It's just another perfect day
Of tranquility in the trees
The rain has stopped, the leafs still sway
With the cooling, comfortable breeze
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
I’m going home
Even though supposedly
I’ve always been
I’m sure
If you search hard enough
You’ll find me
In a memory
Camouflaged as rose pedals
A gray sky perhaps
I’m going home
And when I do I will
Be a part of your world
At last
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
The fearless ones
are fanning out
into the woods.
Others are huddled
in smartly constructed
camouflaged blinds.
These self styled
eco-warriors
brave the cold
and the discomforts
of inclement weather.
They keep a
watchful eye
over the stale
remains of
Dunkin Donuts,
bagels and
bacon grease
they cleverly
scattered
outside their
deadly bivouac.
These bold ones
eagerly finger the
barrels of their high
powered rifles,
palming the smooth
wooden stocks with
warm naked hands.
They itch to squeeze
the trigger but discipline
and fortitude inform
the vigilance of these
sentinels of sustainability.
They philosophically muse
about restorative balance
and the paradox of killing
in order to survive.
Another day has broken
over the New Jersey Highlands.
The hunt for bear is on.
Let the mammalian cleansing begin.
jbm
Oakland
12/6/10
Music Suggestion: Radiohead, Hunting Bears
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 9:02 AM UTC
Another Tear,
One more Smile,
A word of Anger,
With a pang of Hunger.
The pain of Loss,
Also, a ray of Hope,
Some tinge of Fear,
Behind the show of Valour.
The quiet Noise,
The silence's Voice.
Numerous displays of Destruction,
Infinite prayers for Redemption.
Of that,
Another camouflaged visage,
Have once again,
Gone unsung.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
this path i wrote
wrought with missed
twists and turns and trip
wires made of pit vipers
camouflaged in ******
stripes the color of bumble
bees that make me sneeze
humbly god help me please
i hear foot steps quietly
lightly on the trail behind me.
r ~ 11/15/14
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
Black out, fade in,
spot light on the boy with his guitar.
Dim light, dim blue flush,
she sits in the corner,wishing on her imaginary star.
Same stage, same adrenaline,
same passion but time never intended for them to meet.
She plays on her role,
and he strums away at his gig.
Sound of guitar coming from his window,
no audience and no standing ovations.
On rented wings, she takes flight,
no rehearsals, no scripts,just tucked away passion.
In his camouflaged green,
he wakes up to his responsibility.
In her traditional prints,
she's all set for the working society.
The clock strikes twelve,
it's the end of two thousand ten.
He's at the eating place
and she comes by with her friends.
He's sitting at the corner
and she's at the other end.
Their eyes met for the very first time,
when they reach out to shake hands.
No lights, no stage,
no audience and that adrenaline.
Just the boy with his guitar, strumming
and in his room she sits, watching.
She talks about the plays, the roles
and in his room he strums, listening.
No lights, no stage,
no audience, just he and her,and their spoken adrenaline.
Twenty-six February,
two thousand eleven.
He and her,
like a match made in heaven.
You know what they said about heaven and earth?
A new chapter begins
for the guitarist and the wannabe actress.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 1:04 PM UTC
The cocoons cracked open
And these beautiful creatures
That resulted from metamorphosis
Fluttered around their new home
In the wife's stomach
"I am going to pick him up"
She kissed her daughter
Whom also had insects
Fluttering inside her 9 year old stomach lining
720 seconds were spent in the station-wagon
Dodging the potholes the city refused to repair
720 seconds were spent
Taking her to see him.
His flight landed
360 seconds after she arrived
And they embraced one another
for 180 seconds
Before she guided her camouflaged warrior
Back to the station-wagon
Sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel
Salt water streaks on her burning Scarlett cheeks
Bleached teeth being advertised
To her camouflaged warrior
Thhhunkthhuhnkthhunkk
Pothole.
As the wife turned to the rear window
Fearing she hurt one of God's creatures
Frightened she had innocent blood on her hands
Inadvertently disobeyed the shining red beacon ahead of her
Screeching metal violating airwaves
Burning tires sliding against asphalt
Glass fractals orbiting through the sky
Flatline.
Beneath the Mylar balloons
Waiting patiently under the "Welcome Home" banner
Sat a daughter with fluttering butterflies
Unaware the balloons would lose their helium
And the insects inside her would decompose
Long before she would be reunited with her parents again.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
its camouflaged
its swimming there
in plain sight
its sitting there
its the mimic octopus
you don't know where
its hiding here its hiding there
the mimic octopus
you don't know where
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
Imperfections are beautiful..
they make us stand apart, from the crowd..
they are not always meant to be plowed;
Imperfections..
They are not liked by any
and camouflaged by many,
but they are closer to my heart..
as they are evident on me like a schardt
Imperfections..I will not disown them for any flagships..
Because imperfection is what defines our relationship;
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
I find you
the lappet moth
like slug or bat
with fuzzy ears
stuck dead with
nothing except
the toxins of
my fever
abnormally
high and
boiling
how
perfect it is
to be under
your legs
bugs
or none
my fingers will
do the
crawling for
any insect
camouflaged
in the skin
dig
the nails
now
bits of flesh
under
tiny specks
of blood
gather
and your net
snags
words I’ve
never uttered
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC