Poem: Street of Blades


The light shines bright only on dark nights,
When you are trying to find your way,
Tip toeing thru alleys littered with blades,
That are cutting at your soles,
While your soul bleeds.
And With every step you make,
It seems like you’re just closer to death,
As each blade divides flesh from bone,
Sending only shock to your nerves,
As the pain dissipates into palpitations,
Causing heavy breathing,
Causing you to sit down, and attempt to get control,
Of your balance,
But the ground grabs at your ankles.
So the earth,
Can remind you of its presence,
It sprouts Lillie’s in between your toes,
And their stems remind you of the tenderness,
In the world,
But the dirt is hard,
And it’s texture is rough,
It’s there for you to walk on,
But your body is the only payment that’s enough,
To satisfy its beautiful appetite.

(c)Copyright by Wordplay


Poem: Touched with Her Broken Fingers


Her mind wondered in curiosity, once she discovered it was there,
She was never to reveal it for another to stare,
She was taught to cross her legs, when sitting in a chair,
She was taught about under garments, that she should always have on a pair,
She was taught to never kiss boys even it was a dare,
She was educated to be blind, by the overly religious glare,
She was mesmerized when it began to develop a growth of hair,
She was taught it’s only used for breeding purposes, like a heated mare,
She was scolded if she was discovered in her room bare,
She was taught never to explore, because forgiveness would be very rare,
So for most of her adolescence she was forced to wear,
——- a veil of secrecy and guilt, until it was necessary to remove it to wash away its grime,
It’s only then that she realized the solid lies, were vaporized into an icy confusion that was sublime,
She began to find her self-esteem in a numeric scale of being called a Ten or a dime,
She never had that talk, and does not know why her excitement produces a silky slime,
She cringes with a sour expression at the talk of it, like she bit a tart lime,
Her immaturity only allows the boys disguised as men, to touch her with no words like a mime,
She allows them to write chapters of her life, with grammatical erred love through rhyme,
She was told never to touch it unless it was to be cleansed at bath time,
She never experienced, even with penetration that bedroom walls were meant to climb,
Her ears got so used to hearing the clanging of her legs like a wind chime,
That she didn’t realize she was robbed by so many,
for many,
years of her life and never reported it as a crime,
—– Because she didn’t know what pleasure, was meant to feel like,
So she was easily lured onto a mountain trail with no bike,
Easily confused of whether she wants a man or that understanding dyke,
She bowls with her emotions, and wonders why the gutter never produces a strike,
She settles for a love where the value is less than a pair of Nikes’,
—– But she can’t Just Do it herself, because she can’t touch herself with broken fingers

© Copyright by Wordplay