You think that you were hurting me,

but I promise I was letting you.


The last hoorah.

Your eyes,
No hope.
A lie.
Never will
We breathe
Clean air
Because we are
By a surrounding so dirty,
By people, so dirty;
Like puppets.
You leave
8 days
Far away.
My heart will break
My air will be
Clean then.

Not sure if it’s the time change or because things have changed

I turned the air conditioner on 69 because I keep

waking up in hot sweats.

Losing the battle over who my mind should be on

Trying to remain controlled, though my mind is on

like a light switch spasming from faulty

electricity. Its not fair that you get to sleep

through the night,

When I am the one who has been disrespected.

But I try to keep my thoughts blank, because

thinking about the unfairness causes my mind to

blank, anger rushes out of me like it were running
late, no real refrained composure, my heart

shakes in my chest feeling like compulsions, when

is it appropriate to lose control? Mourning my

time like it was a child of mine, wanting it back

because it feels like everything else has declined

around me, losing you I thought to be a tragedy

until i looked at everything in clarity, so many

chances I’ve given you to love me- something I

thought to be so special because others seemed

too lazy, you were just a really bad actress and it
kills me, how I waited out your performance

because I thought you were improving, now I’m

back uncomfortable with my back, head, and

heart hurting. You’re going to regret everything

you’ve ever done to me, of this I’m sure. When it

really hits you, its over this time for good.


Can be so painful sometimes.

Especially when life takes your voice away. Writing a poem no longer feels like a skill or a hobby, it becomes a task. A life or death situation that no one can save you from but yourself, words just drift around your head space; tortuous banner, taking away any ability to relieve your stress.

I imagine that is what writers block feels for you as well?

Every once in a while I stare at my blog post drafts and sigh, what the hell is drying up my creative juices these days?

Oh well. I read somewhere that “If you can’t be a poet, be the poem.” So I will continue to live my life until a movement moves and then soothes me.


I’m moving all the way down,
Motions and emotions
Toxic potion,
You tell me to keep going,
But I stop right…there.
Have I ever told you that your body
Is beautiful?
And not just any beautiful, more like
The kind that lingers long after one closes their eyes.
Art, changing a non-believer;
Perfect specimen, sexual healer.
You go to hide away,
I pull your hand away,
Baby, I know you…
Lol, shy.
I love that body like it owns me,
From each curve of your legs, to the sounds your mouth makes,
No dusk nor day break
Can keep you from my head space.

I just wanted to remind you…