“something inside me is energy, and it was not created, so it cannot be destroyed….” from the girls by Lori Lansens

we stood in front
of my childhood closet
fighting about
the course that i was on
she was positive i would
never make it
into the kingdom of her god
and to tell you the truth
to this day,
i am ever thankful
i will not..

“i will never die!”
i remember yelling at her,
knowing full well
that my physical body
would someday expire..
but i knew then
with the clarity
of an epiphany,
that the force
that i called “i”
would never die,
but just move on..

to date,
i have received
no further revelation.
no moments of insight,
no visions in the night..
yet, each time i recall
that single apparition
of teenage clarity,
it rings with a truth
i have never found
in any god…


you will
never know
the scent of
baby powder
transports me back
to the first moment
i held you in my arms


in an instant
i am once again
breathing in the scent
of the waxy white vernix
that protected
your fragile foetal flesh
from the waters
of my womb..

and reminded,
that you should never
have had to protect
yourself like that
from me

Posted for Chelsea Ann Owens’ Terrible Poetry Contest. This week we could the subject was open, so I found this rather absurd subject in my …why paisley?? archives and decided to go with it.


He was a mountain of a man, storming around the room, blood lust in his eyes, retaliation in his gait, “Where is it you stupid bitch- you know you stole my dope- where is it??”


“Would you stop thinking about what you are going to do to me, and start thinking about where you put it?” she could think of nothing else to say.

What if he had beat her to death before he remembered he hid it in the tissue box holder that was built into the bathroom wall?

But he hadn’t, he had found it- and she lived to steal his dope another day.

Posted for Girlie on the Edge’s Blog Six Sentence Story, prompt: Mountain.


a jealousy green as winter grass
grows succulent, lush, and full
on the long dead, barren
jagged cliffs, of my aching, envious, soul.

i watch you live, your chalice full-
as in emptiness i am bound
crackled leaf and bitter root,
the thistles with which i am crowned.

desires incandescence burns-
fever squelched, paralyzed with fear
sweet aria sung, life’s siren song
so weak, i strain-  but cannot hear.

in this theater of my own parched soul
shut out all, but temptations moan
i watch you glide among the living
while stained, i stumble on, alone…..

true dat

Gangsta by wise kctus on deviant art

-If you have an aversion to raw street language, run while there is still time-

so you be thinkin’ you all gangsta
you fuckin’ straight up thug
always one uppin’ yo homies
got da sweetest drugs

got all da bestest bitches
you run da sikest hos
ain’t nobody gon’fuckin’ wit chew
cuz you cap a bitch, yo!

well brutha let me clue ya
i was once like you
smoothest playa in da ‘hood
had all da ill crazy moves

one night dis punk ass poser
start to fuck wit’ my shit
mutha fucka didn’t realize
who he was fuckin’ wit’

dood, i whipped out my gat
i went all al capone
and widout a moment’s notice
both our lives was gone

ten years ago dey buried him
but life, was my decree
yo, even if dey let me out,
i can’t never be free

all dat fuckin’ attitude
all dat pent up strife
don’t mean fuckin’ shit to no one
when you take a nigga’s life….

true dat….

Posted for Chelsea Ann Owens Terrible Poetry Contest’s call for Cliche Rap. This was last weeks prompt, but since I didn’t write one to enter in this weeks competition, and had this one ready before I moved, i thought I would post it today.