i saw two little love birds sat up in a tree
very much in love as happy as can
they would kiss each other with there little beak
then cuddle up so closely touching cheek to cheek

it was nice to watch as lovely as can be
i sat there a while wishing it was me
then they flew away up in the sky above
flying side by side so very much in love

A silent promise,
Whispered low,
My love to you began to grow.
And yet stolen glances
Turned into lost chances,
Where did all that love go?
Do the pleading eyes
And desperate tries
Just fade away?
No.
But slowly the ember dies,
Aching for a glimpse
From your eyes,
Lost in a sea of forlorn despair.
And yet it never comes.
Soon,
That love grows dull,
And the sharp words
Bang in my skull,
Telling me you can
Never love me.
And in the mirror,
A stranger stares
Weak, pitiful,
A lifeless glare.
And yet,
Love foregoes the empty...
It's all that's there.
My silent promise to you is this:
Your ghost,
I will always bear.

My study in poetry for feminist theory
Evolved out of the portrayal
If depth defined the spirit
I'd find the depths of my poetry
By immersing myself in an evolution of provacative portrayals of what cannot be seen.

Reckless Girls

The emptiness machines

French mimes

Because of this I'm not allowed access?
No because of civil rights violations I learn of the disobedience of America

I'm not widely known nor need to be but also because there's no money in my mom being from the family of Ireland and America she built

She saw Barack speak early and said Kevin that's our next president.
She took me back home to Texas so I could see the ranch for awhile.

My momma Sophie b Hawkins
Tellin me I'm the controversial on it
It ok to live with a woman
Miss Lara Brown of Colorado
The pj sparky pants of thousand oaks
Try a business on me?

She the greed

That was hell and back Michigan by colorado

Down and out in grail A

Peachy it shall be,
Preaching beyond choirs devout,
Guide all souls to Light.

From Pelham
To the boxcar children
In Buddhism
All you can really get after science
And letters are finished
From before that
Is poverty is a just end
To ones suffering

The inner peace of being correct

I am changing —
Truly, I am a different me.
But the question lingers
Like an echo in my bones:
Am I becoming
The best version of me —
Or just a stranger
Wearing my name?