I’m words away

From exposing this poetic truth

You can’t take me away from my poetic roots

My garden is rich with colorful poetic fruit

Get you a glass come drink this poetic juice

I muse just to confuse

Filling up on poetic soup

Words dangling from this poetic noose

Poetry has no justification

Only words I speak

Is truth!

Perrizzites lay babies in my brain

Forcing poetic germs from these mythological veins

I write and put my random thoughts in mind carved frames

And I bask in my glory playing this poetic game

My passion has no mercy

It has no senseless shame

I’m sworn to secrecy

I have no poetic gain

And if I don’t write

I fear my brain will not retain

Tryna’ master the art of




I am desperate to be heard

I hide and take refuge from behind these poetic words



I savoir every image

I don’t want to waste it

Running from the anti-Christ

Because I know he will hate it

Using this poetry to sooth my poetic nerves

But the truth is I’m lost without these prophetic verbs


I write until my fingers bleed

Making babies to add on to this poetic breed

And my garden is where I plant these poetic seeds

For all who roam my pastures to meditate and read


So I scribe and plant poetic seeds

I’m addicted to these words

This is my pathetic need




I am a spine filled ghetto

With intellectual notes

That gets stuck in my throat

Mid way down the words become my cloak

I claim not my thorn

I am a womanly girl

With Bobbie sox and Shirley temple curls

That pushes me to the masses


That’s right!

My thorn pushes me to the masses

And its mines!

And can’t nobody tell me about my spirit

That sees deep into those judgmental eyes

I used to know Sanchez

He was every Spanish

Every PuertoRico

Every San Juan

Every memory

Tenderly tucked away

In my smart phone

He was my lover

He was my Papi

This is a drawling

Not to be confused with a real life event

I watched my chest

Only flesh between the earth and my breast

That heaved monumental particles of me

Fragmented remnants


Left behind

Shattered glass

Little pieces of me

I needed his bricks to build me strong

Nestled in his flesh is where I belonged

And so I wait


A steady heave

To blow deep in my chest

3 things you need to know about Sexual Soul Ties

Light lily’s breeze through his building

Turning his mouth cotton candy

Was a moon to me that exhaled my essence?

With laughter

From embarrassment


From an hour glass

Timeless image

Faded photograph

That blew butterflies thru my frame

And sat me on pipes thrusting pulsed between my brains

Not even the roughest twister

Can tame

His hurricane

That paints

A picture

Of Her

IN RESPONSE TO A POST I REBLOGED http://artlesspoems.wordpress.com/

By http://seanbidd.com/ and me (:

Should your pin run out of ink

Seek out small pieces of chalk on a wayward journey


Pledge allegiance to the clouds

Grip your memory up

And say the words out loud

We are not always promised this liberties end

Say goodnight to justice

And sweet dreams to your pin

Find shared pavements and walls

Grace them with poetic voice

And colors of the temporary moments in changing worlds

To an underworld of unheard and lost verbs

Waging war between ink and brain

The fear is not what’s lost

But what’s replaced between the pains

Ink injections make way between your veins

Let them yell



Have conversations between the earths

But after the ink is gone

It will be my memories transformed this silent birth

Rising energy from beneath this tattered girth

But above all always set them free

The words

The thoughts

The lines

The memory

Will never let go of me

Even when the ink dissipates

And deviates from my pin

Challenging my thoughts to bring forth memory again


The lines

The words

Let them be free to discover their atmosphere

Because deadlines won’t wait for the ink

Sitting between my branches

I am waiting for the wind to gather my leaves

And bereave broken limbs dead on my tree

I am something this broken

I can smell your memories

Translucent energies

I am still something this broken

Coffee at my kitchen table still brings mourning


I will always be


This broken


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