I don’t write poems for poets Flowery language, indulge us I break it down With a simpler sound And anything more would be less

I like your spots I like your dots The things that make you different You’re not like them Pure specimen

I choose to be The Most Unclean So you can see The God in thee

I have no tricks. I have no sleeves. I have only me. And that’s enough.

Walked a labyrinth And wrote a poem Then suddenly It all exploded

I want the weird one The one that everyone says is not… That one has created a Self That one I can love

If we would just ask Mother Nature for answers We might find our truths

You’re nineteen You can choose who to be Nineteen Maybe fancy and free Nineteen

Ain’t no mountain high Ain’t no valley nigh When you’re in my sights

Your thought forms beauty and beas… Your word produces joy and despair… Your movement brings life and deat… Your power creates your present.

What if we stopped fearing and started loving? Loving the unique. Loving the different. Loving them.

Face down in gutter again Seems to be my closest friend Where I land time and again Nothing new except the end

I am a Libra, can’t you see The meaning of dichotomy The this and that, the you and me The balance and disparity

If they push you Push back And go for the throat

I wanna kiss your scars I wanna smell your stank I wanna taste your tears I wanna lick your taint I wanna hold you close