Dirty Strings

The blight in those fearless eyes,

Cutting blooms from plants,

And love from romance.


The blight in those fearless eyes,

Giving rot to my precious,

While gripping close to her heart.


Dare her to dance on the strings pulled by fingers,

The overbearing over-blaring opera singer-

Of her present,

Decide to build her future for her,

Give no regard to the desires of the subject.


She is family,

The closest there is,

The only there is,

But she is not theirs,

And she is not his,

She is herself,

Owned by her actions,

Forgotten by her inactions,

She is precise,

And has been given her rightful opportunity to build her own life,

She’s been guilted twice,

By the edicts of puppet masters making sure she doesn’t still the show; keeping her alike.


If she wields her feet to step, they shall,

If she wields her sleep to slept, it shall,

The power of breaking from the shell,

Of her elders’ shadows.


Precious Spring bloom,

Not arid, not trite,

Never taken by the blight,

Of their fearless eyes.


I promise the pressure will be a prospect of the past,

Just step.


10 Feet of Hearing

Hi, whenever you get a chance outside the poisonous walls of the wretch.

I would like to explain the pain of the consequences you haven’t met yet,

Birthed from your inattention turned torment,

And your civility that’s grown dormant…

Let her explain the reasons for her filth to your gullible ears,

Screaming explanations off-key,

Her duplicity triumphant as your second X chromosome disappears,

She scoffs and I sneeze,

Because I’m allergic to fake hair and real weave,

I’m running a day care and she won’t leave…

Damaged be the ones who constantly put their wants over their needs,

If I could, I would hang her off from a 10 Storie building just so she can feel the breeze,

And then use both of my hands to nonchalantly scratch both of my knees…

These walls are fucking thin,

And if we were ever to talk in depth I wouldn’t know where to begin-

And the conversation would never end,

I would convict you of your sins,

And you’d be in a world of ungodly trouble as the Devil continues to smile,

All while-

She rests infirmly in your arms,

Waiting for the right time to do you do you harm,

You’re still falling for the wench and choking under her charm,

Every night…

When I’m 10 feet away through a thin wall trying to have a conversation with the one person that make me feel safe in the midst of all chaos,

Ya know what?, I don’t want to talk,

I want you to suffer for your inaction, inattention, inconsiderateness, inconsistency, and insolence,

All while you choke to death on your arrogance,

So I know where I would start in speech…at the ending.


The ties to my devil,
Severed at every level,
I repent for gloating,
I abstain from hoping,
Too hard in triumphant day,
While my demons still remain in way,
Of what is to come,
I am not yet numb,
But healing.

I force my paces unset,
From paths I haven’t walked yet,
But seen with watery eyes,
I have broken the habit of questioning to what I know I’ve been tied,
Not until now have I tried,
To actually look beyond my burning grounds and old skies,
I have slowly halted the perpetual, one word at a time.

Now I stand along the edges of commitment to a better woman,
More complete,
Not tempted to compete –
With outstanding facts contradicting her emotion,
I stand by a more beautiful commotion,
A more final devotion,
To irrefutable evidence of betterment,


Touching deeper than my skin,
Below calluses and thick,
Reaching for that one wicked mix of scorn and doubt,
To be crushed in her palms,
End the drought,
Break the dam, create the calm,
Make me shout!…

From their gentle tips,
Give tranquility and peace,
To the strips of me that fall to her little feet,
And when I am full, she provides me with supple joy to eat,
Along with meat-
Of certainty and we-
And I,
Weep in sight of her pure soul.


  • WRITTEN IN MAY 2015 


A still ocean, no longer rumbles against the earth,
A dead sun, no longer provides us gravity,
A deceased moon, no longer gives us light,
Spoiled oxygen, no longer gives us life.

I pull the waves inward with logical embrace,
I spit gas into fiery pits and nickel with intelligence,
I comfort the darkness with unwieldy compassion,
I exhale life into her broken lungs to be,
By only what we can see, tragedy.

Myself will not be given away,
I can, will, can take her astray,
The darkened days, of gloomy grays,
I will remain us.

Perfection, mythical,
Her placement be not,
Realistic it is before me,
Always it is without me,
Direction be driven, unforced,
Deeply chiseled into her heart of gold,
Guidance toward me, be her own,
Idle hands of me, the predictor,
No more than prophetic suggestions,
Fall from a pure heaven into the grips of rugged skin,
About the body of beauty,
Be sentineled by my competent eyes,
Abolish lust, for else exists beyond its promises,
Intimacy to be molded by my idle hands,
Passive advances break notice,
Sip disgust from the tongue of your current chaos,
Hand me your heart, on a plate,
I will protect you.

North Star

It’s second nature,
To vibe with those alike,
Nervous notions nulled by hexing similarities,
And a smile like the North Star in dead night.

The music in her voice heard,
Over loud crowds and words-
Musical nomenclature propels and reverbs,
Off the chapel’s halls,
Enough red hair to contradict my self confidence’s fall,
A shaky burst of laughter to show I’m enthralled.

I’m tapping my foot on the carpet floor,
Arms crossed and head wrapped in rapport-
Forged from present fantasy and something more,
I decide then to not place my hands where I no longer want them anymore.
The corruption of her white righteousness by my black hands,
Staining and-
Debasing things grand-
Clocks just strike four.

A Forth

A ton of arrogance,
I know she can’t do well without me,
Not internally.

A ton of certainty,
I’m sure she presents her image happy,
To persuade herself joyous,
And appease their wandering eyes.

A ton of ire,
I’m sure her chest burns,
From consequence of poor decision,
I’m glad.

A ton of space,
I promise she’s empty inside,
Like a beaten tin can,
That can’t accept her bruises.

A ton of insecurity,
I swear she’s still hideous,
In her eyes,
And still blind.

A ton of curiosity,
A check up on me,
Will kill the cat.

A ton of pieces,
I’m sure still forth a woman,
The rest a jest,
Presented whole.