PRICELESS PRINCESS

She’s screaming inside to be worthy

of the dreams she reads in books

and images she perceives on TV

her reality sets her thoughts

straight - she who is worthy

would not have succumb

to anyone not likely

to love her

A home once cherished

in closeness and sincerity

no longer has clarity

home’s clouded

by her heart’s mellowed beat

but rage in her eyes

and pain outside the walls

of her beating heart

scurries nowhere free

she’s now screaming on the outside

to be relevant where relevance

came to never exist

worth is nothing she can

be without blindness

let me digress

this is no fairy-tale

there’s no prince

and she was never royalty

and therefore

never his princess.

His Little One

so innocent and deserving

of everything I never had

I hold her hand delicately

so she knows how deep

my love goes for her dad

so precious and a blessing

in the shaping and molding

of grown up lives

so attached I have become

to a little one

I cannot understand

in hopes of her growing

unafraid to hold my hand.

To My Little Girl

Daddy ran in another direction

thinking you were the oops of

an untamed erection

knowing you’d grow to long

a male connection, whom you’d

struggle to find in a companion,

but this was not the plan for your creation.

So mommy walked away

with much of nothing herself

to say knowing you’d grow to have

questions.

Daddy walked away

with little to say and left

Mommy angry;

Knowing hugs and kisses

you’d grow up missing

wasn’t their number one

priority.

So mommy lashed out

what she couldn’t out her mouth

only to fill your heart with doubt

and a lifetime of sadness

your heart can’t stop shouting.

To my little girl, your daddy and mommy

are flaking, yearning what wasn’t

is pricey and costing, and waiting

for an apology is time wasted.

Stand to love and not live to fall in love

This message was written with your conception.

- Julie F.

EVERYONE DIES

Lost on a stage

with an obscene notion

leading him to believe

he’s heterosexual

his urges found him chasing

skirts plagued

with drugs, sex, and alcohol

he once had the balls

to fight for our country

until Uncle Sam felt disgrace

for honesty in sexuality

Money knew little of him

so he cheated whenever he could

in the name of Charity

good he was creating laughter

with the truth of his life

his turmoil didn’t matter

he’d become the epitome

of being in love with a stripper

not guilty in speech free,

a Cocksucker

forced into bankruptcy

with no key securing his door

he’s dead on the bathroom floor

naked with narcotic paraphernalia

it’s almost certain

this is his last

"F**K YOU"

© April 18, 2012

Julie F.

STILL

she cries on the outside

when inside is breaking

‘way

her heart knows

the best man has

just walked away  

she screams inside

when the outside is sneering

silence

her heart will

remain broken

where her ego

commenced

she cries on the outside

cause inside she’s broken

and she’s lost

still stuck on Déjà vu

she knows she still loves

but no longer has you 

Love Knows

Where a heart scorned

lingered confused and tainted,

abused and wasted,

his eyes opened

a space she could feel safe in.

Love knows when it sees truth reflecting.

Where a mind boggled

with the uncertainties

of a past conflicted,

pessimistic, and unrested,

his eyes lay paths

to a future filled with perspective.

Love knows when it feels truth penetrating.

Where her soul delayed

in idolatry, baffled, and unwanted,

his eyes founded ideologies  

she could believe in.

Love knows when it hears truth revealing.

Where her body once stood

in denial, naked, and bruised,

his eyes patched a cloak

from the chamber of his heart

and affirmed it to her so only she could use.

Love knows when truth is presenting.

Where perspective comes as a surprise,

a blessing in disguise,

his eyes stay open

so she knows his heart is home.

She never needed to love alone.

Love knows when the heart speaking has built its home.

Ode to My Brother

for years we have been kin;

separate but still living

in a notion that DNA will thicken

a bond that our circumstances

have given, but manipulation

keeps bending;

she’s tired of being the big sister

to the only big brother

she’s known;

God damn it

we’re grown,

your mistakes can no longer

be mine to own;

for days they've gone

not speaking;

her niece’s birthday

she’s been missing;

there’s no connection

to the family he’s created;

she’s  exhausted being the big sister

to the only blood she’s known;

God damned it;

You’re grown,

your mistakes are

yours and only yours

to own.

Spontaneity

There it goes

far away from the identity

she has grown to call familiar

gone with the wind

it blows captured

wrapped

in what was

once recognized

thrown from a balcony

off the edge of sarcasm

she finds herself jumping

from the ledge

of his reality

dreams are where

her thoughts live freely

in the dormant ideology

of finding a prince of

honesty

in fidelity

there it goes

further away from sanity

his heart is somewhere

she may never reach

still she holds on

to her pen and pad

so she may coddle her

certainty in all that is

simply her poem…

Life.

Empty Promises

Promises are empty
      without actions to pave
      the way towards trusting.


Are we not
      what we say, how we say it,
      and who we speak it to?


Worth is valued
      at zero in a repeating cycle
      of worthlessness


Just to be
    born again in a web
     that cannot be undone


As we lay
    witness to the pollution
    ability is not the solution


Much praise given
    to what we cannot see
    with listening hearts


As actions pave
    without a sense of purpose
    the mission has lost focus


Words are wasted
    on an audience not listening
    to any promises equating to…


NOTHING...

- 08172011

Why People Write Poems

Your expression is unique: no one
will ever be as close to you as you
are to yourself, therefore you thrive
in this mental purgatory.

A satisfaction achieved: deep emotions
revealed focuses a gift like you’d never
believe in a reservation found in
arbitration.

Your addiction to diction is not a curse,
but a cure for the silence others
make us endure.

An urge to place thoughts anywhere
they will stick on a page, on a canvas,
on napkins, or even the skin.

The rush to be through with the feelings
tormenting you is where your words
constantly debut…

 - 08172011