what you wont
******
an apology or somethin's
chip on you's should'a all's
I see's
looks like your brown teef
no one's taut ye' to brush 'em?
and yo' mama ain't in the mood
to do lawndries
next thin's
yo' gon' be
all up 'n
me faces
prof sizing

takin' God's name
makin' his words
fit your visions

Some kind a flag ya' got there
that stood for
a bunch of racist traiters
dude

bold cross red blue and white
almost like
our countries

I think you's a bit
jell'us ins'cure
like at
least gradiate
third grade
next year

and silk sheets
cocoons of pillows
covers and quilts
edges sanded off
the bedstead smooth
all prepared
for you

That day, the sun as bright as yellow-white,
the day Robinhood met Cinderella
on the fairgrounds at Montezuma
and Cervantes  white steed was neighing
tied to the fence
and both them,
)Robin and Cindy(
at the same time
went over to try and calm him
and Cervantes tilted ( a bit high  drunk stupored )
he was. Spilt the horse's water
all over both of them.
Cinderella's white shirt
became transparent.
Nubs soft curves
all apparent.
Robin stood,
impressed by the display before him.
Then, Maid Marion showed up,
grabbed Robin by the scruff of his neck.
And Cervantes saw Don Quixote
approaching.
Quickly he threw
the horses blanket
over Cinderella's beauty.
He whispered in her ear,
I know this abandoned windmill
near, we might
have a tilt or two,
Cinderella lost a shoe running
to the horse to mount
with Cervantes
whipping reins and dust flied
as they disappeared
to never ever be
seen again.

when I began to write
poetry
all those years ago

I was amazed to find
that I even
had a voice.

It was a gift
that I never
hoped for.

I only shared light.

There is too much
darkness.

And then
little by little
I had to write
about the monsters
in the deep.

And my writing
got to be
unrecognizable.

Those couldn't be
my words.

Don't bury me
in a grave
in a big old box
I've known too much
darkness.

And so here I am
trying to balance
injury
with hope for a new future

That may be called
healing.