Smoke filled hair

"They Went Home" by Maya Angelou

They went home and told their wives,

that never once in all their lives,

had they known a girl like me,

But... They went home.

They said my house was licking clean,

no word I spoke was ever mean,

I had an air of mystery,

But... They went home.

My praises were on all men's lips,

they liked my smile, my wit, my hips,

they'd spend one night, or two or three.

But...

You didnt.

They tells us of the good and the bad in the world. These people who do right and wrong. They shoved these grains of knowledge down our throats, until we can eat no more, then send us into the darkening world to digest our feast on our own. Grains of righteousness and guilt seeping into stomachs of dispair and tainting sinners' minds. But people are not black or white. Colors with juxtaposistions for meanings. Backstories lead the lives of each of us. Souls are a patchwork of multi-shaded pasts. Hidden stories overlap in eyes full of tales and tears. Stories revealed around campfires at night. People don't choose to be bad. They are forced into their choices, like the last pair of jeans in the wall-mart. We walk the paths of many. No right and wrong exists.

Fingernails of Laughter

This is a poem for the people who would tear their hearts awake and dash away the insecurities within.
This is a poem for the girls who lay alone at night- the brokenhearted and the rundown.
This is a poem for the ones with emotion that comes in waves and threatens to eclipse the soul. The ones who want to crack open their insides and steal away the pain.
This is a poem for the hell-bound and the weary, travellers seeking rest from the world.
This poem relieves and forgives, and takes away the earth.
This is a poem that massages time from the shoulders of life and wears away nostalgia to the core. It takes and gives an ebb and flow.
This a poem that heals.

World behind walls

I saw a man with a crest-fallen smile, pack slung wide across his back. Carrying his mountains of burden, tin-sketched lines told stories on his forehead. But his eyes were kind. His face told of stories far away, shadowed fantasys and foreign lands. His rough, grief-laden hands were made of smoke. Smouldering with ancient legends, trembling words to be given as a gift. His footsteps told a tale, and the present of his presence slipped by.

My darling baby with deep southern roots

You with the big brown eyes, kind and sweet forever. You with the soft curling hair, and beauty even aged. You with the old soul, and youth that stays with you. I love you. You with your sass, and your strength and grace. You with your boldness and wonderful stories.
A southern belle.
They say i have your love of books, and your old soul. I'm proud. You are my hero, my grandmother, my friend, my role-model. I want to do you good. My beautiful smile lights up for you.

I love you Nana. <3

I dunno but its heading this way

A boy sits, foresaken at the fire. Crackling pops tell you need not bother. Warmth of the glow and juxtaposition of the tears falling from the cracks in young hearts. Youth wears away as time grows still. Ticking clocks smash to pieces in battered memories. And winter winds wash away the ancient pains, leaving only scars of what once. Alone now lost he carries on, and sands shift softly through the hourglass.

Top of show girl

Tremulous whispers slide past the air at your smile. Subtext within the conversation. I wonder, silently, do you feel the lightning magic? or is it an illusion in the dusk to be gone as light approaches. I see the glimmer dash between your eyes as my heart pounds rythems as it threatens to burst. I have to know is it real.

Ick

An illusion a trick, nothing more. But still I fell for it. My heart looked for comfort and all it got were sores. Your pathetic attempts at hiding fell and I saw. Spiteful words crawl from my tounge- bitch. Jerk. Mysogynist. Yet none seems vile enough to capture this torn veil. Ripped at the seems, you must have known it was coming, I too. But your games hurt. And so I think I'll go. You don't want me fine- but you could've just asked instead.