I'll study the demise in your eyes and wonder if there was ever a time that you cried
For your loss.
I'll copy and trace the structure of your face and realize that
I am you.
Then I will show you a picture of my Dad and tell you but
This
Is my father.
Your genome may construct the structure of my bones but
I am his daughter.
And I am my mother
And I wonder, if you'll find it any if at all meaningful-
When I look you in the eyes and ask you
How someone so ugly
Can create something so beautiful.
When God created you,
He created the creation of me
And all I know about my identity is that I'm half Haitian
But that limb fell off from my family tree.
I pray
That God finds it in his heart to love you
Because God doesn't love the ugly.
Fortunately,
My skin may be tinted from the sins that make me your kin
But from the outside in
I look just like my mother.
Do you remember what she looks like?
My name is Rissa Ann Perkins, and I hope that you can't sleep tonight.
I hope that you frame a photo of my face in your brain
And if ever again should you dream,
I hope you wake up screaming my name.
Are you ashamed?
I'm not here to blame you
I came to show you
Just. How. Beautiful. I. Am.
And I just have to know what it feels like
To know that
I
Am you.
You gave me life.
I am you,
And I don't even love you.
So I have to know,
Do you love yourself?

The understandings of your very nature
that you despise
so you lock them away
forever.
Dreamer of fanstastical stories to tell the neighbours
and girls and boys in who's arms you rest at night
And the love you have is boundless
but you're empty all the same
And the arms you have harmless
but you have no-one to hold
And your morals and standards are above the beanstalk
yet there is no 'Jack' to reach them.....
And my mind is wondrous goldfish bowl
of a kaleidoscopic fancy and dreams
And there is love and princesses and avengers of hurt
and there are brave superheroes and friends, and happiness....

Yet in my home, it is empty
In my home, nothing is mine
Yet in my home, I am alone

By choice i tell myself, it is this way
I am strong, yet i fall
I am spiritual, yet i am lost
I am lost
I tell myself i am not meant for this world
too much of a rebel
too flighty
too much of a dreamer
too much of 'i don't care'
too much of 'what is the point'
too much of 'why?'

....Because there is a child locked inside my body
that is scared of growing up.
She lives inside a closet that she binds with strings
there she hides when she hears shouts and words
closing her eyes and covering her ears
there she runs from and pays avid impatient attention
when she hears wanting and 'i need you'
there she jumps and dives head first and strains
when she wants and sees love and affection
love!
love....
love?
there she hides from the notion of love
wetting herself in fear when she feels it at the door
there she hides when she is in reproach and failed
covering her naked body with a invisible cloth, her face turned straight
there she hides from being found out
face languidly ashamed and swollen from crying.

And i sought her out...I sought her out
and we hold hold hands,
because we are petrified
we are scared
because we lived in fear our entire lives
and hid from this world

This is our beginnings....

This is a new angle for me....rather an opposite to those men who treat women like objects
Best reading whilst listening to this....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8LZGQ4MkvQ*


I don't think you get, me.
You. Do. Not. Understand. 
I am not like those other girls.
I do not want to lie at your feet. 
I do not want your secrets,
I couldn't give a flying ****
about your absent mother,
or your lost abusive father. 
Your pain does not bother me
in the slightest.
But i know you will **** me like i understand it,
You will **** me with your grief, despondency and pain
You will **** me like you're hitting them with your words.
You **** me like you're ******* the world,
Sticking ******* up at 'them'.
I know this.
I know you.
I know what you're all about.
I smelt it in the air,
caught your scent.
As soon as we met, 
I had you at ten-to-two.
I listened with my big-ole-blues,
and made the right noises,
touched you in the right places,
made you protect me from the ghosts you told me were there
I made you believe.
I gave you one or two whisps of a my story.
To be truthful?
You aren't the man for my heart,
No sonny jim,
my wee man,
You aren't strong enough for my battlefield,
You have no more strength than you think you believe.
Your ****** prowess becomes your gun,
you **** me, BOOM
you think you've won.....
Hands on heart....?
Oh **** me, please....
(And that has two meanings, by the way)
You think i lie here for you?
No i lie here for Me.
I don't want no musclebound man 
who means with his heart what he says.
The easy ***** are far better these days. 
Coming from men like you.
I'm not ready for that ****, 
Love and romance, 
woooaahhhh not one ******* bit.
****** up lil cutie.
I'll make you mine, come here you lil beauty.
(Sorry to slip a rhyme in there, then and now,
makes it more interesting, more, i don't know how)
And **** me sideways til Tuesday,
I'll make you be the King of my World.
Ha.Ha Jack my boy
****. me. Like. You. Mean. It.
Doesn't mean i am a two-bit *****
just know I've found a man i'm looking for,
and i'll stick around til he's spent all his bullets 
And walk out the door.
To a new bar.
Silently as i sit here with a gin and tonic.
Silently laughing.
*******, ironic.
And you thought you had me at hello.....

Are you struck with her figure and face?
    How lucky you happened to meet
With none of the gossiping race,
    Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire;
    I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
    Is my very particular friend!

How charming she looks — her dark curls
    Really float with a natural air;
And the beads might be taken for pearls,
    That arc twined in that beautiful hair:
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread -
    That she uses white paint some pretend;
But, believe me, she only wears red
    She's my very particular friend!

Then her voice, how divine it appears
    While carolling: "Rise gentle moon;"
Lord Crotchet lastnight stopped his ears,
    And declared that she sung out of tune;
For my part, I think that her lay
    Might to Malibran's sweetness pretend;
But people won't mind what I say —
    I'm her very particular friend!

Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme
    To posterity surely must reach;
(I wonder she finds so much time
    With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed.
    Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed —
    She's my very particular friend!

Her brother dispatched with a sword,
    His friend in a duel, last June;
And her cousin eloped from her lord,
    With a handsome and whiskered dragoon:
Her father with duns is beset,
    Yet continues to dash and to spend —
She's too good for so worthless a set —
    She's my very particular friend!

All her chance of a portion is lost,
    And I fear she'll be single for life;
Wise people will count up the cost
    Of a gay and extravagant wife:
But tis odious to marry for pelf,
    (Though the times are not likely to mend,)
She's a fortune besides in herself —
    She's my very particular friend!

That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
    It were useless and vain to deny;
She's a little too much of a flirt,
    And a slattern when no one is by:
From her servants she constantly parts,
    Before they have reached the year's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts —
    She's my very particular friend!

Oh! never have pencil or pen,
    A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,
    Proves a sad want of judgment and taste;
And if to the sketch I give now,
    Some flattering touches I lend;
Do for partial affection allow —
    She's my very particular friend!