No slur, hear the pride
I was Mother Warrior
fighting for my charge, my child.
If I had not so much to learn,
the path would have been other
than playground of victory and loss.
Adult now, evolving still
aging scars and complex psyche
stories of bright riches savored
but do those boots still have a use ?

Her eyes a tempest,
Cold words dropping like water,
  .  .  .  Shivering in rain.

When the music of summer dawns
with silent songs, drinking in blue water's calm,
far is a place where northern geese have flown.

Here flowers and shooting stars twinkle heavenly upon the lawn,
we lay in daydreams deep, sinking into the sweet
of being so far gone

In London, a statue of Neb
is constantly turning its head.
Despite being placed behind glass
The statue keeps showing its ***.
Revealing to all who are near
its demands for Bread, beef and beer.

An explanation had yet to be found
for why it keeps turning around.
As for its demands for some grub
It requires a lift to the pub,

some-times I'll push my finger
down on my skin, my face

just to check
just to *see

I know what it’s like to be heartbroken too

it feels like a bomb

like the flowers that have been eaten alive by aphids

always sitting with you, uncomfortable,

a notch tighter on your belt loop after a heavy meal

or someone taking an unflattering picture of you and posting it all over the internet

you are ugly to yourself now,
and quiet because of it

I lost my clarity after I ran up the hill and rolled down it, clumsily with joy

it must have fallen out of my pocket or dripped out of my eye sockets
as they teared up from the pollen

I ask myself

what is true?

but it’s harder here, when I can’t be certain if there’s a ghost hanging around in my frontal lobe or if it’s just the pulsating fear of being kicked to the curb

that’s what being heartbroken is like -

always feeling like you’re being kicked to the curb for no good reason

it’s like,
what’s the point of getting up in the morning? I’ll make breakfast and then somebody will hurt me again

the point is
learning how to decipher the difference between apathy and acceptance

you’ll get there

redemption doesn’t count or feel at all rewarding if everything is easy

This life  is nothing but, magical fiction,
love, the diamond we found, is inlaid poetry,
your heart conjures up sublime symmetry
in what I mindfully create, merci mon amour**.

Timmy the tortoise shell
Lived a tortured hell
When he fell
And cracked his shell

As Timmy tortoise
Had a timid soul
That would spill
From the cracks
And stack in tow

But Timmy was a loner

Quick to ******
Closed the traps
Of deviants and attackers
With his snapper

Even happier
He'd turtle slap ya

But Tim's dapper days
Were done

He was a flapper in the ****
Of an overly populated pond

Technologicalcated and wrong

And it tinied t
Under its beams
Of ruining

Until he
Eventually

Was gone