# addiction #hurt #betrayal # disappointment# life # heart # truth # suffering # sadness # pain # happiness # empty # mistakes # fate # time # difference # madness # theone # learninglove #dreams # poetry # longing #prison # chained # renewal # survivo

Those Who Do Not Shine

I am a



Born into a world 

of freaks 


I can see 

I can hear 

What is wrong with this



I see those who 

do not shine 

Trapped in the Spiders



I know my enemies

I know the darkness


Eyes are the window to the soul

and some are dead


But can they be brought back to 



Can they shine









Author's Notes/Comments: 

Ephesians 5:11-15 New International Version (NIV)

11 Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. 12 It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. 13 But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light. 14 This is why it is said:

“Wake up, sleeper,
    rise from the dead,
    and Christ will shine on you.”

15 Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise,

Belmont: The Vampire Slayer


heres your stake


Time to die

you snake


In your heart so 



End of a miserable



Face the light

face the truth


Look into the sun

feel the heat burn the flesh


You cannot evade

your fate


Not this time

you snake


Time to die

and go to hell


Where you belong

Virus of Vampires

Science Fiction

Polluted with incompatible



Another race

has been invented


To take over

like a virus


Light they can't



They retreat into

caves like bats


Night their



Evil for 



Death their



Dead souls


Insanity wreaks its

havoc in their minds


Downward spiral into



Eyes that do not see

ears that do not hear


The truth not found

in their hearts


No love,

hate pure


worshipping their



Broken stones

of idols


Temples of desolation


Abomination by choice


No fruit to bear,

No eyes to see


Ears can only recieve

the lies they speak


Sensory deprivation

of facts


Denial and ignorance

of God


Desolate of the 

holy spirit


Devoid of truth


Worshipping the animal

dying like dogs


Rotting in the grave

Sealed beneath the earth


Worms retreat below

to their new home


Worms cannot








Spiritual Suicide

Being weak and not being

able to handle the truth


You find comfort in lies instead,

turning to the darkness;

committing spiritual suicide


Becoming an agent of evil,

spreading the agenda of lies,

swarming rotten meat iikes flies,


There is no good left,

no sign of light,

wrongs for right


Clock is ticking,

Reaper is coming

to collect


Anxiety of death,

prolong the inevitable

but all in vain


Already dead,

already buried in the tomb,

your soul ripped from your corpse


Tormented by your "friends",

voices take over your mind,

possessed by your "Friends"


You will never see the light,

eyes blinded;

tomb opened,


Sealed in the walls,

sealed in the book,

stamped like a tramp.


A bitch,

a dog,

a coward,

a slave.


Too old

Too old..


No wrinkles just sagging skin. Loose strands of black hair shuffle between my thighs why? Because I’m too old. Elbow skin tough, rugged soul like wrangler jeans but with impromptu feelings of unsatisfactory thoughts as I scan my teacher I realize, I ain’t shit my ass is too old. Start over and get your life is a scream of tantrum of my inner Tamar who is holding up a force field shield to protect my heart. My heart, why is it so fragile with feelings and emotions because my ass is old!. My gut is not as strong so I can’t tolerate too much ignorance at one time why? Because my ass is old. 


Trying to figure out what the hell Maya Angelou be talking about in her poems was as baffling as to watch a slain gang member funeral on live tv. Praise and acknowledge me now, not when I can’t see you coming because my ass is old. Old is a proxy label of degrading your youth to a uncertainty of confusion and accepting the demise to understand and accept your time is dwindling.  


iPad in hand with numb fingertips trying to get your point across to a room of undeveloped ovaries is a procrastination of post it’s googling life but not understanding it. Demonstrating your true self within your herd community protects you until a virus of negativity slowly creeps in and infects us all. I can’t live your world, I can’t wait for you to formulate the confusion that sits in the palm of your hand I am too old and set in my ways. 


Waist training spirits with a Herbalife spark is motivation to some but it’s my enemy. Why because I’m old. I’m so old that my cursive writing is reverting to pre school chicken scratch before my fingertips. My oldness have taken over my spirt and is arguing me down that Air Jordan’s at my age is a reach for acceptance within my urban playground. 


My youth left me at the age of 21 when I birthed my first son. I knew I was gonna be old like right now. I cried at the sight of my abdomen looking like a balled up trash bag,I screamed when my breast looked beat up, I yelled when my hair was shedding and my teeth was hurting due to this oversized cocoon I just hatched. 


Now that’s old ass hell, when you consider your uterus as an cocoon. 



Sometimes when I'm lonely I like to go through my old journals.

I have a nasty habit of starting one when they're still one beside my bed only half finished. I like to read the half-completed thoughts and the half articulated ideas. I like the still sleep torn dreams that I haven't gotten around to editing yet.

They read like novels with no conclusion. Sometimes I get the urge to finish them. Sometimes there seems to be no proper way to end them.
I was going through an old Journal that had gotten on my 18th birthday. I had forgotten that my mother used this journal as a guest book at my party. At first it was uplifting reading all these messages that my family had given me years ago and knowing that at least most of them were still in my life.

Then I came across one that I probably should not have read. This message talked about a love that we shared, a friendship like no other. He talks like he was home, like it was comfortable casual. Like his words had no more weight to them then discussing your day at the dinner table.

I, however, took these words to Heart more than words written by politicians are lawyers that have effect on the world. They hit me with more meaning than any decree or speech. And at the bottom almost like an afterthought he wrote "you're my favorite". You're my favorite.

Those words hit me like a sledgehammer to my gut making everything in my body clench as if waited for an attack. He said it as though it meant nothing, it was just a term of endearment. Favorite. Those words hit my skin like acid burning their terrible disgusting design into me.
I Was not his only, I was not his first, I was not his last. I was his favorite.

All the pain that he caused me all the sleepless nights years of self-hatred he gave to me with as much love and tenderness as he was capable. I meant more to him, I was his favorite. The worst by far was the realization that while I'm glad a motherfuker is dead, well I'm glad that I was not there for his last week's and not there to bury his corpse, I still felt the love and tenderness that he honestly meant.

No matter how much pain he caused me no matter how he distorted my view of my own self, I was still glad that he held me in such favor. I felt loved even as I did not love myself anymore. I had a friendship even though I despised him.

I hated myself, but I was his favorite

My Struggle

I have done and said many

things I am ashamed of


I struggle everyday with coping

with being alone


Rather than go on medication and seek

out therapy like others


These past 2 years I began to use alcohol

to cope with some events which devistated me


It started with beer in college and eventually

evolved into liquor


I don't drink everyday and go many days and weeks

without drinking


But when I do drink it is in absolute excess


I work in a job that makes it hard to have a normal life


Sometimes I work upwards to 18 hours a day

and work in dangerous conditions around dangerous ppl


Having to constantly be at work takes it toll on my mind

and so I use alcohol  to help he decompress on my rare days off


I don't hate my job,

but hate how it effects my well being and health


I hate how it robs me of having a good social life

and having good work/life balance


I have had much desire to date,

however I simply don't have much motivation to start from scratch


I have a lot of self esteem issues

and so approaching women is very hard for me


Everyday is monotonous;


It is hard to break out and do 

stuff I enjoy


These days because I am tired of my life


I would rather just be at work all the time

then face my internal demons


Having that distraction keeps the floogates from



But when i'm off all my trauma and pain

is easy to feel


The lonliness creeps up on me and

is suffocating


Having a drink helps me to feel less

alone and more connected











Author's Notes/Comments: 

Please refrain from judging me.

These are my own personal thoughts which I have made open.


Another cut

Slit, slit, cut, cut

Another day called a slut

Cut, cut, slit, slit

All she gets is another hit


The abuse doesn't stop

Clear the blood with a mop

Cut again

Hit again

Hit again

Cut again


Devastation is all she's ever known

The place she lives, she cannot call home

All she really wants is help

Another cut, another yelp






Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my favourite out of the two I've written so far.


Wig split with these fists;

no more bills to pay

because your done talking smack;

i'll see you at your funeral

ya dumb ass.