A cute one

Birthday Cake

Each bite a new treat

The hurdles only Be maya’s dance

this hard candy may hurt my teeth so suck it slow and savory every morsal

the boston creme center is my favorite delight

it’s my birthday

shouldi feel guilty about the sugar sweet

maybe today and a tummy rub tomorrow

prize in the cracker jack box

worth the wait. worth the weight.

as good as sex

with a scoop of chocolate ice cream and rainbow sprinkles

candles lit

wish come true……….

A man who listens is an ear delight

he smiles

nods

and has thoughtful in his sight

The contrast of which is now known to me

from the nest of blind

I do appreciate thee

that listen man

from memory

is loving exposed

without any fee.

how they try to taint my name staining my character with smirk and a sarcastic story about how they survived the war wounds of a woman gone off and not suited to the pedestal her trophy sits on.

Victim ashes to dust on the bookshelf moldy writers looking upon the textbook not finished and frames slightly crooked.

Siblings and sisters in law thrown under the bus labeled bi-polar and do it all better master. The dinner party guest will be offended if they see your diary out on the table. let me just peek at the pages and punish you for taking out the trash without permission.

Skipping the recycling this week to tend to the rat race in downtown danbury to prove I can record my story to a faithful believer. Scammed repeat pride of my flock of Hitchcock birds attaching security cameras at the front door with voice activation to take away my right to complain of injustice.

The block party still goes on each wednesday at the center green where the rich folk entertain the poor landscape with a folksy concert that we all get to escape each other and tell the tail to the seasons.

• 

• 

• 

Lion hearted show no pain

bottled inside a mystery fame

scope kalide

a dark black hole detachted

born a dude

slip

slide

see me daddy how I swing

girls begone

just a fling

destroy

destruct

construct

go work

boys gone cukoo

he turns his head with a jerk

down the chimney he goes

to repair all the leaks

spy from afar

hiding the geeks

stuffed in the books made mighty for man

a black boy

be serious

no be a ham

Scam

don’t no more give a dam

a man’s world

not for me

tight lipped in agony

for sipping the tea

to girly for me this delight that I taste

back to work can’t make haste

sorry ladies no time for you

I have no clue

on how to boo hoooooo

stop getting me to feel

see

or heal

daddy’s gone, got work

and to bring home the meal

to seal the art of the deal.

a guilt that aches at even the barren labeled sisters and aunts.

The teachers, nanny’s all pair up together for a collective burden that fate can’t escape.

The belly button

belly up 2 belly jelly

2belly is the ping pong of a yin yang destiny.

We run but never hide

the chromosomes merging a polarity of I have to rely on him for nothing. He is not dependable anyway to take care of the screaming youngster that I created

and force you to babysit dad.

The great negotiation shared with the very flesh of your thighs

pried open by the smiling nurse and a bright overhead light.

First to see you dad

in the waiting room passing out cigars and dreading

the loss of the bat cave but solid in the architecture of the SheShed….

oh man oh man… I should wait to call him?

Two three days by the phone wondering why on mars they don’t know how to dial it up when the hyena cawls…

Chained and blue balled playing poker with the only dudes who give a scoobie dooo…

Sick and tired of the cartoons and video games in the background of shitting the pants.

Cradle to grave inescapable village

whether the seed sprout sacral sacred pains in the kneck. A massage is in order that the stingy ones can’t afford

and the barista dares to put out a tip jar. Gotta get the bugs out using my raised voice cuz they had it coming.

My house.

get thee to thy own sand pile

that fills every inch of the great outdoors.

There lies your serenity and sanctuary from the fraid knot play that you were in fond remembrance that fourth of july,

when we had the whole family over. Including mother…. eekkkk.

she cutsin line to get the last piece of blueberry pie to ease the lack of a family of hunger and addiction.

Absorbed and observed by spirits long dead

but forgotten in the web of ancestory.com. A community of witdraw my sword before bleedin gives me another task to do

before it is time to hit the hay.

Counting sheep that she longs to impress with a clever antidote to superficial desires

born of shame accepted in the wrestling ring.

Pray

pray

that my narcissistic need for individuality makes me the good one to fall

pray to

holding onto stunted growth that my choices decide to nurture or abandon.

Anger at the

of her rope and

within me the whole time.

Guilt number one,

shame number two,

anger number three,

apathy number four and fear number five. Six of us deluded and distorted thought process to bring me back to the relationship in which I was wounded by.

A wheel set just beyond belief and desperate to catch a mistake before the spelling bee and pta parade.

Every so often mother gleams a magic thought that something is different and some

how a change will break up

or down to be the possibility of capable caring. The possibility of life.

The possibility of baby eyes showering off the manipulative problem solve.

Training pants and theories taken from the fray to reach a practical stage of information solutions.

Deeper and deeper to relate it all

to another person and be seen as worth a dam without exposing any vulnerability, therefore diminishing mine.

The new birth giggle joy opportunity to reset.

Relift. Recommit and resubmit

to a higher power

and the lower power left out of the equation yet runs the show.

Sun Mom. Moon Dad.

Reflecting the same light eclipsed by the spark in their eyes and burning the house to the ground.

Don’t believe your own feeling.

Feelings gaslit bad ta da all your flaws exposed to my trust. Feelings ba humm bug.. Feeling no doubt. Doubt.

Wrong with you not me taking your feelings out of the mix.

Feelings don’t matter when I appear in control and isolate you before you discover the tingling in your fingertip.

Feelings be gone when I wear the pants and the shoes are made for walking.

Feelings be drag when interfere with our trauma bond to make me redemptive.

I brought you in, I can take you out.

God has no place here.

Goddess happy, papa happy.

No Jesus Merry or joseph on planet earth. Only me as mother.

Fending for myself. lost and forgotten and

barely a teenager just stepped foot into adult and

given all the co=dependencies to not

kill the kids and the marriage in the biggest fight to

save my own

life

cradle and all.