Her Poetry

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Brutally clean pages forced with dirty pens.
Obsessed with death she is.
Pen as her knife ---her victim paper.
Words make their quick exit from mind to voice box.
Anger sweeps from fist first to bloody hands.
Slashing the spaces that once stand---for what they believe in.
Now there’s only words where lines were
No time for spaces as she eliminates them.
Planning how to destroy and manipulate them.
Confuse and control it.
Contort and distort it.

Lyrical weapons firing through rhyme and alliteration.
She learns that this is the one art that doesn’t need much patience.
Writing how church and state once had play dates but someone said the word God made them feel
uncomfortable so they stopped.
Writing how honest mistakes make love hurt the worst.
Versus flowing into notebooks
past the waste bin.
No room for error because every word is not a mistake.
Consonants and vowels forming new relationships.
Nuclear families turn to extended
As love turns to hate & discriminate turns to equal.
How she found love in a back alley with paper and pencils.
She loved to annihilate the system by using words to destroy her victims.
That her is me. Dangerous I am when I put a sick spin on what you say to me.
Next time you have the audacity to step to me.
You might find yourself stepping back.





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