I’d like to see your scars patched up into a ball of sunshine,
maybe I can apologize for never once being sorry
but it’s not every day that one finds their peace
in this story
she saves herself.
in this story
the Princess slays the Beast
Apparently I am a poet,
They say they saw it on my collar bones
and in the way I cross my T’s
and roll my R’s.
They say they saw it when first I could breathe
and looked up at them with
a sea of absence in my eyes
like I was meant to live in my own mind
and only pay them short visits in the form
Apparently I was born a poet.
the maniac’s hand scribblings,
written partly by heart
partly by intuition.
My very own ensemble of:
lyric meets poetry
My words aren’t haunting enough
reappear like shimmering gray ghosts
or swiftly find your doorstep in the midnight rain
come to you when you least expect them
and make themselves home in your presence.
My words aren’t welcome enough
save your life,
be the last or first words you hear,
be monumental in any way,
stand out amongst the books in your house.
My words aren’t vital enough
twist the doorknobs of your heart
or bring with them a whirlwind of enlightenment,
catch you in your nakedness and still call you beautiful
My words are to be flushed through your system
with a generous pinch of salt and an insulting dash of scepticism
They don’t :
ask of you to shed arrogance,
pick up banners of compassion,
or beat eggs of bitterness into sunshine
My words will never be inked onto someone’s chest
or recited in front of the lighted-mirror
have you feeling like losing
your underbelly of excuses and
molding houses from hills,
change the world with one finger
go back and
relieve every ache
My words aren’t consistent enough.
make you rethink your cold-heart
or shift the dynamics of where
your coffeetable should be in accordance to
My words won’t go viral, or be known by even the common
They’ll never sound familiar
or grow written arms to hug you with when you are low
my words aren’t haunting enough
they don’t linger like
bow you down at the brink of the world
and change you.
Can you throw away what matters least
and never spare your eyes of the forward site,
live only by the rule book written by your cursive hand
and refuse to explain your doings without praising them highly?
love fiercely but not with force?
coil between both sorrow and joy
and never let them make a pedant out of you?
Can you laugh at everyone as loudly as you laugh at yourself
and remember still to not lose your friendly blush?
Can you glide across the sky of opportunity with wings woven from your tears
and never brag of your ascension ?
Can you find peace in inadequacies yet venture for consistency
with the back of your hand keeping each door open?
Can you put a pin in your transgressions yet never talk down about your mistakes?
If you can pass by your lagging comfort
and make your home in hearts not houses,
walk with pace and head held positive,
break ties with doubt and regret
and never reconcile with that darkness,
then you shall be called an honest one
and all of tomorrow will congregate at your feet.
How many poems have I lost in the backwash of this thinking machine?
Backspaced long without realization losing art in the infamous stream of nothingness
in the porter-potty of a typing beast.
How many poems have I lost to the thinking machine?
Gone before my fingers could bid them farewell
Gone before my face can change expressions
no backup drive,
no automatic save,
it’s just gone,
into the oblivion that is dead literature.
words stattered across the written hemisphere.
give or take or take some more
20 poems of mine swim in the cesspool of Times New Roman (font 12)
and they slowly forget me as I forget them.
last stanza’s fullstop
and I don’t recall their name
like twenty one-night lovers
I serenade them out of hiding
and promise to love them
that they are the one poem I’ve been waiting for,
willingly they hand themselves to me
and entrust me with their cores.
But I am an unfaithful penwoman.
With little shame I wake and leave this poetry
slide out the door
and never remember the address or its occupant
but they, oh they still remember me
but I didn’t save them then
and I can’t save them now
This a lovely slideshow of how much I’ve seen so far. The magical Buckingham fountain,Ribfest, The Shedd Aquarium, first time I saw a Kangaroo and much more. This city oozes beauty, there is plenty more to see. Wish me luck.Chicago Love.
Lots of love.
Did you love me yesterday
with my riveting conversation?
where I had compliments to spare
and hands so free
limbs open- umbrella.
yes, you loved me
when I couldn’t love myself at all
so I turned all my bitterness into a pedestal for your feet
I wrapped your silhouette in amber and radiance
I wove my broken heart into a chalice for your masculinity
and rubbed your shoulders with my insecurities
You thought I was fascinating
and watched me drape you in my vices
stumbling over all the good within me,
picking it up and using it to tickle your fancy.
I begin to resent you even now in the end
even now as the engines roar.
Well it’s almost morning time in Chicago and I thought I’d brighten up your Mondays with a colorful display. So aside from writing I design (not uncommon) and well now I have found a new love for making jewelry. I am the woman with the wild and wide collection of earrings so it was inevitable that I’d take the next crazy step and start to make them myself. And then I thought how could I combine my passions and make this new business venture a reachout initiative, well by donating of course!!
I give you Tulip Girl, my semi-line of handmade earrings that I intend to give half of all the proceeds to a charity in Malawi that deals with helping expectant mothers access clean drinking water, have some of the nutrients required for the growth of their unborn child, gain educational on some child-birthing and infancy and then gain access to Doctors that will deliver their babies safely. In a third world country a high percentage of mothers and babies die during child labor, every child deserves to live and every mother deserves the chance to watch that happen. So please spread the word,this is just a small step but by purchasing one of these pairs of earrings you will help, even if only minimally, in saving a life.
Please contact me to make your purchase at : firstname.lastname@example.org
or call : US Number: +1575-386-2455
“There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.”
― John Holmes
It’s too big a world to be alone
So many arms, so many embraces
so many shoulders
too much poetry,
nothingness & everything on bread,
how can you not be loved?
how can you not be bathed in kisses and polished with good intentions?
It’s too big a world.
One bitter bread, one grass root sweet
One set to rise, one set to cheat
One open heart, one cold shoulder
One a puzzle piece, one orgami
One elegant, one eloquent
One nice to have around, one essential
One a kiss with tongue, one my hand in theirs
One carries heart, one drags it by
One a picnic, one a nightcap
One silver spooned mouth, one working hands
One brick wall, one seat of comfort
One right for me,
One wrong for me perfectly
but right for me helplessly.
I consider you a friend, but
I consider him a feeling.