Grandmama I miss your silver hair. You'd sit on the door steps of your grey trailer. I'd watch you watching the road as cars rolled by.

Quietly you'd sit in the sunshine of the day chewing ham bones to shreds with those tough gums. One tooth was all I saw.

I was fresh out of high school, home alone. I stayed with you till mama came to get me. I'd wander off into the woods to pick flowers, tinkle or take a dump.

You always embarrassed me when my menstrual came on because you notice I didn't tinkle or dumped on those days.

Trim Package Option on a Late Model

That's all there is
I found the end of the line
the end of me
the end and the limit
of everyone's patience.

I found the end of fear,
and it's a bittersweet place;
I'm not sure I like it much.

To be yourself,
scratch that,
to be myself
I learned a lot
has to be given up.
I had to ask myself
"is it worth it?"

A really long time ago
I gave up me.
And so, when I took "me" back up
I did it at the cost of everything else.

MOMENTS
I have no sense of the everyday:
the minutes melt one into another,
and so slowly do my hours pass quickly by.
I measure time with each agonizing decline,
and one other part of me that dies…
there are no new beginnings, only sudden ends,
one last breath and it is magically done….
again

I bet you think you won
with me locked up in this cage
and perhaps you did...
in your own fucked up way
but this isn't about you anymore
you are just going to have to learn
hatred is a strong word
far stronger
than you will ever be

They say, let the blacks
mingle with blacks
as if the color of skin
defines a life of sin
but they forget,
the redness they shared
in the blood that flow
yesterday, now and tomorrow.

They say the whites are arrogance,
untrustworthy, unreliable.
In life, they are walking poison.
As if the heart is readable
from the looks of one's race.
All I see is foolish enmity
accompanied with disgrace.

Another story and this is how it goes...

I'm a stranger in a strange land
I feel a million miles away not recognizing my own hand.

My hell is not...sin,
Darkness, or air so thin

Wandering this place
Without a memorable face.

No horizon to head for
Always feeling like a fucking, whore.

Dealing with all the damn lies.
May be time to cut ties...

I don't need this knife in my back
I have time to keep track.

Everyone tries to stop me,
These days you fight to be free....

the spring clear air
sips through the portal
the air conditioner door
half broken leans
thinking like a verse
unended
the quiet harmonies of
voices behind the
Motel hallway
have their say
on worn carpet
of Wurlitzer Days
and cobalt blue