Her Waterfall Curls

Her curls 

are like a

waterfall that drapes down,

cascades from her scalp & ends

towards her upper chest

falling gracefully almost as if off of a cliff.

This body of water 

just like nature's bodies of water & 

nature's many different environments,

this waterfall

has suffered pollution of its own.

The waterfall has

tried to eliminate

the natural rural waves of its

trickling beauty. 

She has

used grease & other

products, each of which

puts the ecosystem of this waterfall

at jeopardy in their own ways &

indifferent severity,

she had forced her waterfall to go

through droughts

adding heat to the atmosphere

where it was not

realistic, but yet

she tried...

repeatedly she failed.

Green

Roses are red, violets are blue and stems of both of these flowers are green. Shall I dream, shall I sleep tonight? Shall a shadow from underneath my bed and do me no harm? Roses are red, the sky and violets are blue, the grass and flower stems are green. Show the storms pass over me with no harm to my homeland? So I meet a loved one who actually loves me or must it be in just fairy tales? Shall I always be the damsel that is no damsel waiting for a prince that is no prince in shining armor? 

Mango

They say mangoes is a sacred gift from the gods. They also say that knowledge among other things are also gifts from the gods, but the only gift that I've received came from The One and only God. This Love that festers inside of my beating organ that is parentingly pillowed behind my two lungs kept safe and housed inside of my 24 ribs. This love sweeter than the juice of any fruits and any flower nectar. This love is a gift is not from arrows serve to me on a silver platter but it's given to me by God wide armed, this Love comes pricelessly. 

Wire

Cut the wire and burn the bridge. Is the wire red or blue? How long should the bridge be before it still doesn't do its job by putting space between me and my problems? If I burn this bridge will they still be able to jump across earning the ability to wreck my life? Is this bridge really the problem or is it that I'm just that afraid of heights or better yet scared of what might really be on the other side? These are questions that rooms inside of my head like freeloaders in an apartment. Wrong wire.

Typewriter

When she writes, do not disturb her. She writes of dreams that have not come true. She writes or tells that she cannot yet tell you. When she writes, give her space, make sure that typewriter has its essentials, make sure that that desk is clean, make sure she has tea to drink, and make sure it is quiet from all of the distractions. Because when she writes she must be the vessel for the message that is bottled inside for that message to be read and acknowledged. Because when she writes she really writes.

I'd Hate You if I Thought...

If I thought you were wrong, 

but stealing my heart & not giving it back 

is not against the law.

I can't even call it kidnapping

because you stole a piece of me

when you stole my heart,

that piece of me is someone 

I'd never get over or will ever get back,

but I can't call what you did a kidnapping or even a murder

being that I'll never write an obituary for her,

and that I never did a missing persons report for her either, but

there's still a gaping hole her gone.

I'd thank you if I thought you did

something good or if I

appreciated what was done, but

I had to evolve because of you.

She Whispered to the Moon

because it is her soulmate

She remembers being

in the sky

with the moon,

being able to spend more

time with it;

She remembers being

jealous of the sun

cursing it for being able

to claim the moon,

She hated the limited time

the sun & the moon spent together.

She whispered to the moon

since she

can no longer 'first-hand'

be in the presence of the moon.

Now limited to only 'second hand' presence.

She writes to the moon

in the lighting it provides

Candlelight puts her loving words in jeopardy 

so she dares not use it, but

she'll go toe to toe

with gale -- the wind &

convince her to take

these letters up to the moon,

her lover

that doesn't even know of it's title

 or signifigance to her.

 

Pixie

She had convinced you she could be magic. Her kisses sweeter than sugar plums. Her arms are the gateway to world's beyond the moon and Galaxy. Her arms a safe place. Her eyes the tell all friends with no filter, but warning be told do not look into her eyes. If you are not ready, those eyes could be daunting and are not for the faintest of hearts. Those eyes, that body, will allow you to intercept secrets that her mouth will never tell. Beware. She is a writer, she knows how it fits. Those to keep her words tucked away for pages to know.

Old Her Failed so the Her Now Could Succeed

 I failed as a Disney Princess, I'm a Dragon now (PoemspormX)

She is not a princess.

She is not to be saved.

She was not a damsel

She was the girl whom

someone thought they 

could keep her down or

keep her hidden.

She is someone who

swallowed the fire

breathing by the dragon that held

her captive, devoured

the flames & it melted

away any damsel that

she had left in her

from the inside out

turning her body into

her armor & shield,

she took those 

powers as her own,

became a fire-breathing maiden & 

burning down the tower

she told the dragon

that it was hers now,

the scares fell off &

it ended up being her

a perfect match - a reflection

she had never seen before

she kissed her reflection &

they got married.

She's not a princess

She's not a prince.

She puts the general

stereotyped outline of

both of the characters

to shame, balling up

blueprints & started

from scratch. She's

the villain, who is

not the villain. She's

the one with a

background story that

She'll never share with you,

because you won't let her.

She's the kind of person

who'll want to share

it with you, but you won't

let her. She's the

medusa the monster

she's the person whose

toughened exterior

that'll scare people

away. She's the person

that you won't stay around

long enough for

her to tell you her tale or anything at all.

Mutt

People ask me what I am with their eyes long before they mutter the words to finally ask me. People who doesn't ask me just assume that I'm some hybrid, a mutt of sorts. They assume that either my mother or my father has to be white has to be mixed some way somehow. I've had a member screamed the question at the top of his lungs at me “What are you?”

What am I has only been answered by my beliefs and what I do know of myself. But the assumptions keep rolling in,”oh you must be this…Chrissy “

Delivery

You put the order in like saying a prayer crossing everything off your list with just a click. You put in an order like saying a prayer you have to wait for the package like you have to prepare yourself and be ready for the blessing. God is the delivery person but sometimes the package that I ordered the prayer that I prayed for doesn't come in the form I had expected sometimes I never received a package the blessing cuz I never see it as if I did sometimes I'm just too blind or just not ready at all.

Little

Teeny tiny, microscopic, takes up no space at all, could disappear before you're very eyes if I ever let you see me. This is not a disappearing act, there is no hidden door, I did not pull a curtain over your eyes. No, I've just gotten used to this, have convinced myself that this way of existence is less painful. How can you miss someone who's probably wouldn't even notice that you're gone? And how can someone miss you if they never got to know who you were beyond the palm of their hand?--Little

Tag

'Tag you're it’

She says as her fingertip gently touches your shoulder and she's off. Running full speed ahead. She does not expect to be caught again. She was too weak the first time, cried about it- the first time, learned her lesson from it- the first time, made sure it was going to be the last time- the first time. You think you are going to catch up to her and she knows this she sees your confidence and remembers what it felt like- to have confidence. She doesn't want yours to be snatched away as as easily as hers was so she slows.

Flood

And the crying never stopped. Even when she was okay, her heart still cried - out to her. It was okay, that even in the midst of the happiest moments the storm was still there. See her heart was always where the debris was. Her body was where the storm reached land. Her eyes were where the tropics, the atmosphere that never showed a single raincloud. She knew how to silence the storm and hide it from everyone around her with just a smile, that's great or is that knowing the best way to silence the storm is to become it.

River

I stay up and think of not you, of not us, but of this labyrinth of time that's convinced me that I must become a part of an "us" become a "we". Listen I toss and turn but no good comes of it, lessons has only battered me it was just slowly, but surely yet silence first-handedly lonely with no you, no us, just me to console me so what is the point of me digging this up crossing these Rivers scaling these mountains to end up half of a pair of me without you but not without you.

Coinpurse

I'm a coin purse get to know me a little more dig deeper inside me you'll find loose change of my past, pennies worth of all the “I used to be(s)”, you'll find dust bunnies like pocket tumbleweeds of all my “what ifs”all along with my “I wish I wouldn't have(s)”. This coin purse is full of everything that is of no value to you, full of habits that you'll have to clean off just to see what they really are, coping mechanisms or whatever have you, trying to find out what coin you got there. Linty purse candy or Uber compensations..

Scrap

I can not fuck around like this; my body some form of toy-- an outlit; my mind, the thoughts that run through it some kind of the mistreater in the player of the toy -- the plug. I can't loose my virginity to panic attacks or malfunction meltdowns. This abnormal scrap of love, a type of compost that my type of being will not let settle enough to deep into my soul awakening this hopeless romantic from her grave allowing her to step foot on this land that never loved her. I denounce that in the name of my own sanity and her well -- what's left of it.

She said Get Over it

She said it was somehow easy to press rewind.

I pressed forward -- backward was not an option.

An obstacle, which was my heart didn't want to.

It didn't want to 'Succeed" again at overcoming the odds.

She didn't want to disturb that tome, unravel that mummy

she was all familiar with that type of haunted house,

that reflection of the living dead that still

has the audacity to try & match her, or

overcast the shade of her red lips; the red that doesn't remind her

of how "alive" she is.

What Comes Next?

I really can't think of

what's to come if

you were to come.

Time has passed life

has passed & neither of

they really did as much

as bat an eye after

our last goodbye.

I had to be okay with that,

move one from mourning all that,

push that past me.

That's okay.

That was that.

That was something that 

I was able to get over

when you were a person

I assumed wasn't even thinking of me,

when I thought that life only

continued the further past it the further I went.

That was something

I just wanted to

stop thinking about it.