meu coração partido
Broken Families
little generational differences
laughing a little in the dream i had a roasted turnip with paprika for breakfast maybe that’s it it’s noon on Alpha Omega how does that work for you there is loneliness in her jeer but she keeps at me i’m not beautiful like a spring breeze i’m not delicate like a feather i cannot be a ballerina with two stone feet i am nothing and i cannot write pretty words like the zenith is your eyes i write rusted words like hurt me with your tongue knife and my ideas weigh like mercury on mars but she the Venus does not mind when i do her bidding our way of seeing life is very different i smitten with the downtown proletariat she with uptown well to do’s i can’t believe you are my daughter i know i say that i agree with you it’s too late momma i’m half way gone it’s best this way no hard feelins’ right i know punctuation and the grammar rules real fine but my lips shoot out the poisons thought of in my heart perhaps if reincarnation does abide the cosmic rules she’s supposed to follow i will come back as a super model just for you but now you’re gone and i see you in the clouds above in periwinkle linen and jewels the color of God’s eyes i heard you mother all of our unhappy life together and while on earth your words did bite me i also learned to use their teeth to cut my noose i ran away and did it my way it nearly killed me too but rest assured that in your way as a mother that you were your raising helped me through
traumatic stress post disorder
the part that is peace within myself is a
tiny girl humming bird
here and there can’t stop for air
i’m not prepared to answer why
i can only sing at the bottom of my lungs
so high so high that no one can hear
the sky and the flowers don’t deserve another
song of sorrow and hurt to add to the menu
of those souls who are caged in their own
stories of struggle torture and pain
nor do i know when i will stop fluttering about
looking for somewhere to rest my thoughts and calm
my fears of getting caught in the nets
of monsters
204 months
stars
and
peace magic
the Tip O’Neil
years latch key cutie big
eyed wild eurotrash bastard child in the days
of secret punk band shows underage law breaking a menace to the lawns
the paint on my tiny nails chewed down to the stubs scratching like a cat on the urban totem hey ho
no go not tonight the breeze cooled by something in my heart the hocus pocus speaks in tongues the snakes charm themselves to the crowds and through my throat i swallow 10 inch nails
smokey cries old men die but come again tomorrow with light bulbs in their hands of poison from the gods made with resin from the Tree of Life and so we are like them only for a while until the mercenaries come asking for our ransom in the faces who just won’t give a fuck
our communal star doesn’t point to the north but rather to a place that’s nowhere we could have been babies in the manger with the beasts to keep us warm but my momma was no virgin and your old man joe the drunkard rolling stone left to follow an alice cooper homage band i miss the days of after school of which i hardly went and a chance to interpret Shakespeare at our leisure the stars we caught when we swung high are still there and we beneath them
words less spoken 