Today my thoughts confound me.
Hijacked emotions detonated into a familar war zone.
The survivors feel mixed up for another mistaken identity
passport confiscated by newfound enemies.
this queue finally advances
25 letters fated to the gates of uncertainty.
A survivor is stuck in the middle -it’s me -a headless body with a hidden agenda
Skin flushed assimilates bloody shadow a crimson hue mane of the unflinchers –
pale, skeletal, naked, destitute, some even of their robbed of own teeth
a pile-up -bodies all shook
adorned by a hand, ankle, A cold shoulder, one fair nipple, a flaccid penis
Perhaps your inner idealist
can resurrect these lives distorted by final moments -a conscious full of shame.
No burial for those of faith
Souls denied a peaceful resting place.
The faithless blasted out mid breathe energy kinesthetic Life mid beat -legged it
A desperate plight -scientific proof hearts can beat or flee.
My body under constant surveillance
The scourge of self-scrutiny
Double doubt implants enhance all traces of unwanted memories
Should I hide my body
The very essence of my being?
emotions -use tic tactics
Thoughts use unrestrained strategies.
propped up by bare feet
conditioned to protect my diasporic body
Roughly re-examine all once held beliefs.
Displaced her head!
how contrary I would have said
pure insanity I willingly would share.
If I don’t have any thought
or an opinion I’ve sought out myself.
I’ll become a diminutive
No person will ever see me
No person will hear my roar.
This voice will become non-existent -all my declarations are torn from the books of history
uninformed therefore never spoken nor unwritten
My right is to live and be!
My right is to feed peacefully
not between flippant mercenaries abiding by wall division protocol that I can’t see.
disconnected to set a prenup engagement
How is it I feel the pressure of the tummy bloat after the soldiers who gloat
of their lack of familiarity?
No sense die-hard before a sensation penetrates the first bloom of intimacy
They forget how hard they push
enter the orifice
Where I learned how to formulate words.
All I have is words and sound.
They take liberties- jabs & jeers are the echo chamber to my inner core.
These are the spoils of war.
My Emotions are absolute in their conviction
My sentence – A Disempowered daily mantra
I am to be their common whore.
a concubine filled up on spew, chunks of bile flotsam
traces keep me chronically ill.
Medical treatment denied because I’ve forgotten how to express my will
The West states I’m worth it !
the East send out a search party
on wise mind hill
There is no privacy.
My body is presented against my will
These clothes cover up the tight jeans that have become my only woe
Self-growth without a choice in how I present my self
Scratch these newly formed scabs for I have lost my flair
writing words to recover
self-oppression lost out in the talent show of acquired skills
Recovery is heartbreaking.
Hoochie flavoured scent
sniff out trouble keeps me imprisoned
I look up -the window is clear still
Or perhaps my beliefs are outdated.
Murder with intent
disarm these emotions
strangers with a familiar stance
Physical appearance is my only strength?
How Naive a woman can be
One strip away from freedom
I claim a culture of sound
Dance a tango inner peace with an outward serenity.
Silk lined hemmed skirts
embroidered letters spell out a movement of hope.
I’m one dancer
I’m one dissident
a fledgeling feather
& ink well
A pregnant pause followed by a ward filled with the birth of more words
sentences will start to show
the labour of courage pushed out in its full placenta -reborn – free feathered fledgelings take flight
-A yoke is sky born
These are my words -maybe she wrote/ be happy or die trying.
The best way to get through rough times is to be creative. It’s not Saturday and I’m feeling non-conformist. I guess its kind of my way. Haven’t done much this weekend — except nursing bruises, swellings, scrapes and downright painful blisters on the mouth. I’m fuming. The lows of last week found me beaten […]
… shake it baby
unsilence the drama
a happy Russian Soviet bass choir impersona
I can’t rap
But I do
70% water — can’t make this shit up…
Scientists don’t discriminate-
Updated stream filled in
by today’s quantified current
First and foremost a muse of note —
scale down the scratch post
common clouds count in beats
search for a pulse in
no more inches to add to her form
other than to
intro- apple -genuisly feed
worthy for wonderlands flowers to perform ?
‘mo brain mo crane’
Fly to the East
Sigh to the West
side with the South
Hustle with the true north.
Whatever get’s these words out
If this riff sounds willowy
Shucks,Throw in a hillbilly
ain’t apologising for being an invader of my own rythmic space.
ha ha when you cha cha.
Giblets strutting down this street.
Shake a tail feather to those with the Harmonised Harlem shufflers feet.
chiming the bell
Modest mouse slam beatbox a scat cat.
improvise the blues in fluent meow-skies —
Tell her where she lost the plot?
The living aint easy
Where is she at?
doing the wriggle worm , 8 years young
‘ maybe I’m a kid ‘— kidders rights to think
‘maybe I am shit hot.’
Impervious to the nonsense .
Tolerate her apparent nonchalance.
wind down tempo
No more Scratching ideas shape throw your hands in the air
Hit, publish —
have no shame telling people move on to another cloud
Your content is your own style and flair.
Sometimes you gotta groove the ghetto to let up some get up and get some get go.