No patron saint

It hasn’t taken away everything

there is still me inside.

Don’t forget I rise, fall stumble, then I suppose cos I’m here, I rise.

See even grey lizards can be

Newborn from cinders.

Her number is definitely not over

mother’s nature to beta blocks a seizure on Kronos’s clock.

merely an earthling

In my mortal dregs tried

to take my heartbeat, crush it in my hands

so many times,

yet here I still am.

Instead, I Pulverised the very heart of my soul.

This beaten path

Led to a southern state in need of heart donors

Many lived as secluded slaves

pieces pulled apart.

I may be flawed but you’re no patron saint

for you have a blood hue lusting for the Big Easy.

See there it is!

blemished if only so faint.

self-hatred became queasy & took it out on my star crossed lover.

Call it, resting bitch face syndrome.

True

My love can be seen -it hovers.

Moments of Rapture are fleeting

Take time to bask in your lover’s latest sunshades.

Who’s to say we’ll never meet up with

a black dog?

– a self-made state of oppression.

Posted on 2019-06-12, in POETRY-FREESTYLE/IN YER FACE/EXPERIMENTAL and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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