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Color Wheel

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I met this man recently He was a vibrant red Spicy like Fra Diavolo  I foolishly still wonder  Why I was left burnt Ashed out of his existence  One time I loved a yellow A man so bright I had to squint my eyes He folded me Into the most exquisite  Self assured version of myself I am the most purple Of anyone I have ever known Royally resilient  With just a touch Of violet violence  Napoli blue His deceit so true Abandonment  Nearly ruined me The worst example from The red white and green Her aura was brown Plain and nondescript  My best friend That left me behind To deal with all of Her own shit Black was the color  Of his brutal energy  Dripping of deeds Done in the dark A man whose compass Only points to hell She’s a green goddess Planting purposeful seeds  To cultivate her own beauty Her flowers transcend  Bringing patience and peace To last long after she is gone At one point or another I have fumbled Every color of this world Maybe I need to find the clear people The see through a
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Threat

I have over $100,000 in medical bills every year. That figure is just for my medication alone, it doesn’t count any hospitalizations, procedures or scans that I may need. That’s at least $100,000 a year, on a single persons wages and as the sole provider to three children, for the rest of my life.  This gelatinous mutant of a human being wants to take my insurance away just because it has Obama’s name attached to it. It has always been one of his top priorities. He has no replacement plan, and even if he did, it would only benefit himself. There are people that I love that will RUN to the polls to vote for this guy, even though everyone in the entire goddamned world knows what a crap human being he is in every way imaginable. This man is an absolute threat to my health and livelihood. At this point, if you’re still voting for a known r@pist facing 91 felonies, you are also a threat to me. And I don’t take kindly to threats around these parts.
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Eternal Burn

My worst times are when I have a troublesome day and there is no one to talk to about it. I have no one to share mine or my kids everyday accomplishments or problems with. I can not give these burdens to my children. It’s just us. They will have enough of their own trauma to deal with as they get older but I hope they won’t ever experience this type of loneliness.  The man I made these children with, tattooed their names on his skin before leaving the country three years ago. I wonder if he wants to dig the letters of their names from his skin like he did from his life. So I just swallow my bad days. They leave my guts eternally burning. I cover my trauma in flowers. At least it’s more pleasing to the eye. And I write, because I am the loudest on paper. My ink can be an ear piercing screech into the void. I know how to make you listen.
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“What’s his name again?”

This evening before bed, my daughter and I were talking in her room. Somehow we got on the topic of her father, who she hasn’t seen or heard from since June of 2021.  She asked me, “What was his name again?” I don’t know who to feel more sorry for. The man that doesn’t know how amazing his daughter is, or my baby, who doesn’t even know her own daddy’s name at the age of 9. I hope that you see this. I hope you feel what you’ve done, every day for the rest of your miserable life. His name was Pierluigi Scotto di Carlo. I wish that I could forget it too.
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I Warm Myself

I warm my face With the flames Of the bridges I burn  The brightness of the fire Squints my eyes  Into double vision  Until I can see clearly again The ashes of passion Float off on a cold breeze Until my brain scorches  And the embers start to Taste like self love again And I remember  I am The only One For me
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From Damsel to Dragon

I will always be the villain Not the damsel  That begs to be saved But the dragon That needs to be slayed Don’t bother to ask Why I belly roar And breathe fire You don’t want To hear that story  So slit my throat With your lies  Because dragons  Don’t deserve respect  You can treat them  However you like Isn’t that  Such a convenience?
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Dead Butterflies

The butterflies in my stomach Always make me vomit You crushed their wings After I spilled my guts If I give you a piece of my heart  And you are careless enough To drop it on the floor There are no replacements  It only creates a scar That makes it excessively harder For my heart to beat again For the next person My love always ends in wrath Writhing and convulsing  A worm on the summer pavement Desperate for a droplet of relief 
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