Tag: Poetry

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Poetry

I promised to write to you, about him

I promised to write to you about him,

So here I am.

You have the mind, body and soul of a goddess, you are the very essence of a god

Let not his words, kisses and caresses compose your worth,

He prides himself in snatching cradles, this emotional sloth

He comes to your safe haven,

with an urge heavy laden

Cums into you, a passionate lake

Then comes out with a piece of you,

Never gives, only takes.

Trip after trip your faith in love wavers,

Morphing into faith in a man who places your worth in a string of others

Playing oh hail Solomon, but he is no King

He can never be king

Because a King has a Queen, a lover, a friend; their union an end unto itself

But all he has are means to his end, slaves to his insatiable urges, savors of his temporal surges,

Satisfaction is what a King has

and darling, you will never be enough.

And lest you judge me not, that I judge you

I have sewn not a scarlet letter and shipped it to your door,

I have written to you

It has taken this kindred spirit to know one like yours, my love,

Do not let him come to you again with his urge heavy laden,

Do not let him cum inside you, though a passionate lake

For he will come out with what is left of you,

He never gives, only takes

Send him on his way, and with your stance do not be mild,

For you will save yourself from being with child,

Then maybe he will not raise his hand,

and with denial and accusations of betrayal so wild,

beat you to your child’s end

Do not let him come out with more parts of you,

Nor yourself feel as hollow, when he pumps life right out of you.

You deserve to be filled, watered and replenished

Not flooded with angry passion until you are famished.

Categories
Poetry

Scribbled away

Before she wrote, she wanted to write

But in her pain her soul was for moments on end slain

and she would leave, and by a euphoric womanly form be replaced.

 

For stark raving hurt, she craved

 

Then, as though mother nature had her cry hearkened, 

the sand would from the hourglass break free, the clock would chime and the second hand would ominously tick,

and her tears would at the same pace flow.

That it is time to painfully heal, she would know

 

And about that journey she would write. 

And she would walk with her pain,

and at its pace, scribble away

one open wound at a time.

 

Categories
Poetry

To my daughter,

I do not own the rights to this image

I know you were born to defy gravity,
there’s no weight in the words they will throw at you, you will soar.
I refuse to let you think of yourself as capable of anything less than the distance to the moon.


And if they try to pull you down, remember your Name is ”Song of God”
I saw God’s face in more ways than one with you

You are an answered prayer, the very voice of God.

Remember, you are the Goddess of the sky,

A Queen in her own right.

Categories
Poetry

You can love me

Image from www.luvthatart.com I do not own the rights to this art.

In my vision you walk to me with such Graceful agility

You pace without even trying

And with every step I try to make my heart beat steadily in constant futility

You can love a woman like me

 

I am scared by the very thought.

I have known too many a violent and shallow caress;

A quick foreplay.

Men who do not bother to make love to my mind first

Who just dig in and eat without wondering if our palates agree,

Without exploring just how deep I might be.

 

 I catch a fright when you embrace me

I remember it’s you and I am terrified the more

Feeling how tight your embrace is

Almost as if you are wringing out the last of the loneliness my soul was drenched in…

 

God, I love you.

Categories
Poetry

Dear M

It was brief, yet so profound,

Like patched ground suddenly quenched by brief showers

Nels said she loved the way you looked at me,

I never noticed I drained from your eyes all the light you saw in me.

Until my brutal honesty, insatiable thirst, and aimless wander in the search for broken souls like mine to feel at home beside, was too much for you.

Until forgiving me was a burden.

I would still come back to you, with guilt heavy laden.

Love was always found on your lips.

You deserved home;

I was an intimate dinner that had morphed into a house party you wanted to leave so bad.

The smoke in my lungs choked you, the alcohol in my blood drugged you every time you tried to make my lips your home,

The marijuana I fed you from my hand drove you mad.

This party would not end, but I hated to see you leave

I broke you, and it broke me to know that I did

You were all I needed, but my self-destructive record remained true; I lost, and I am still, forever losing you.

9 years and I still think of you

It dawns on me every time I walk into a room, that no one will ever look at me the way you did

It was not lust, it was not love, It was an adoration I did not deserve

It still haunts me whenever I think of you,

That I may have broken a perfectly good relic; a Soul like Rumi, a mind like Gates and a heart that could out love you in loving you.

I pray I did not, I know I should.

I know your heart was big enough to forgive, maybe even forget the bad and keep the good,

But all I can think of is how your overwhelming genius, good looks and love for me was a whole fucking mood.

I have not come across a soul as kind as yours in the vessel of a man.

I do not hope to;

No one should be given a memory to live up to.

So If ever a soul intertwines with mine in the vessel of a man, I hope he is better than you, M.

Categories
Poetry

Curvy woman, speak.

I am oozing womanhood and personality,
I am curvy without apology

I will never grow weary from celebrating this magic
From marrow to skin, to ignore this Heaven would be tragic

I trudge rugged terrain in near magical stride,
because you expect a heave here,
a shortness of breathe there,
You confuse my body’s health with its breadth.

But I am never bowing to your philosophy, Me and every inch of mine,
Owe you no apology.

Categories
Poetry

What shall we tell the sun?

When the sun comes back, how shall he find Yasin?

The sun shone for his skin; we all know it.

It glistened, and Yasin agreed, never squinting at the sight of his sun

What shall we tell the sun about what we did to Yasin?

How shall we explain spraying bullets to fight invisible things?

Who will stand and speak for the grease on the bullets and the people that made it?

Will we point fingers as the sun scorches the earth in his search for Yasin? How can we tell the sun that his son is gone?

Who will survive his fiery rage?

Who will tell him what happened at 7p.m, when he went to sleep with him in his sight?

How shall we atone before the vengeful burns finish us all? Shall we wipe the tears of his Mother and Father?

Shall we stomp our feet and demand justice?

Shall we carry placards and hope the sun stands still after 6:59p.m?


Can we ask for mercy from a sun we have deprived?

Image may be subject to copyright. Image Source:https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-news/boy-13-shot-dead-police-21946399