July 19, 2017
Lost my muse,
Lost my voice
Picking up the quill again,
Where I left off,
My choice.
Backlog
Tag: Poetry
Glass
Written 2006
Tears have dried
Coarse salt remains
Jagged crystals
That burn
Blur and tear
At my eyes
So young
But this soul
Is so old
Filled my quota
Now I balance checks
On rain
My stare is not empty
But behind
layers of glass
— scorched salt
of my tears
Rooming with Racism
November 2006
I’ve come here
To save the world
To learn the ways
From this false sense of liberty
Juxtaposed with this
Colorblind class disparity
Education breeding freedoms
But also fastening bonds
Of angst
The copper taste
Of pride
Crushed between my teeth
Fight or flight
Nevertheless
Limbs of lead
Lips sown shut
By the privileged power
That silences me
On pins and needles
Explosions of rage
Die
In the pit of my throat
Blank stare
Recognizing the futility of the fight
Despite what I know
I’m financially lacking
And I’m not white.
Dust to Dust
October 28, 2006
Oh dearest love,
oh butterfly,
Stay a moment in my palm
For my pure adoration
Your camouflaged complexion
Fools my fickle eye
I hold tightly
Closer still
For fear that you will fly
And suddenly
As I try to calm
Thy fluttering
Dissolving
Thy powered wings
You die
Butterfly
How I have forgotten
How fragile you may be
My painted admiral
Lost within the chaos
My heart
My love
Reduced to fairy dust
Levee
August 23, 2006
Your silence makes the blood
Run cold
Frustrates the barer of this tale
Who’s heart is strung up
On the sail
Upon a ship
Of collected stories
Lost out upon a raging sea
Just one moment
Of your time
They’ve entrusted so much
In me…
More wars are started
By your apathy
By what you’ve left unsaid
Wear a sentient heart
For once
Pray for more
Than your own
As you climb into bed
Dream of what could be
If I were you
And you were me
Now spin their silk
Weave their web
Remember
Word for word
What they’ve said
has it still escaped your soul?
Or are you now with them,
With me,
Lost upon the raging sea?
Passion of the Child
July 2, 2006
Child,
is it worth the forfeit
This life you think you know?
Never to meet the dawn
Nor the sunset
That is always
Anew
Child,
So young,
What do you know?
What does the world know
Of you?
Suffer the day
Fight until dusk
But determine to taste
The fruit born
Of your tears
To do so,
bask in another morn’ s sun
You must
She of Letters 