We shared our organs in the space of one body, one mind, one soul;
I kept yours dear,
Made sure to
Squeeze a piece of me a bit closer to make room
For you -
All of the credits were to you
This physical need to be near
To struggle and push, to not give in to fear
And all of the time I spent saddened to see
The old me go
Left you.
It left you on a lawn of stray twigs
Searching for the old me
The one that you devoured
No,
I didn't spoil and I wasn't savored.
You wiped your hands and mouth clean so easily and I
Well, I made a liar out of you.

Age is a timeless prospect.
Youth refolds into a thick mold,
Heavy and demanding
But continuously folding matted knowledge.

Forgiveness
A steady, strong suit handed out to each player
When it's true form is the rarest form
Of acceptance.

A fighter must be as sharp and as slick as a blade,
To be as critical and focused
As a bullet leaving the carrier when aimed
But not as deadly.

There will always be a balance
Nature runs on a cycle that all fumble on
In the arise of dust left behind;

In its presence
Becoming lost is about as natural as the cycle itself -
An obstacle can be overcome
In the way that a challenge lights a fire
In pride,
All must accept;
Smoke clouds are blinding
Having the urgency to defend
The drive to push harder may as well be lost too.

In the midst of a cloud
A branch could very well be a snake.

You should brew a batch
Of a tea that makes you bright
And if it works the rest of us
Can get some sleep at night
Because whatever tea you drink
As you plow your awful road
Is making you a truly lethal kind
Of hairy, ugly poisonous toad.

Tea for the Trumperman
For him and his bund.
Pay for it all with our
Stolen pension fund.
Make special batches
For him and his cronies
Look them up under the tab
High treason and phonies.

Maybe drink the kind of tea
That hippies still smoke
It might make you think
You are a bit less of a joke
But it won't ever make you
Less of a fool than you are;
The highly lethal driver
Of the Republican clown car.

Another kind of tea please
For those who called this fool a ****,
But this time make this batch
Of primo quality hemlock.
The best way is to tell all
Those dim Trumpster finks
This is precisely what der Fuhrer drinks.

Tea for the Trumperman
For him and his bund.
Pay for it all with our
Stolen pension fund.
Make special batches
For him and his cronies
Look them up under the tab
High treason and phonies.

It's warm here -
Not in the middle, slightly to the left
With my hair *******, laying on the edge
It's warm here -
The catcher's eye blinks red
Creases above my eyes feel swollen
Yet I lay still, unmoving
Watching the kernels on the ceiling pop
Or so I imagine in the dark,
But it's always warm here.

I have a mother who spits venom on wounds
sliced open by her sharp tongue and -
She expects them to heal.
A mother who,
after her stormy rage,
slaps me with affection
then wipes her hands on her apron
as if to rid herself of the remnants
of the broken children
that her home houses.
she mothers shells -
Lifeless vessels
Any residue of life
died at her negligent hands.
I have a mother.