There’s a little boy on the inside of me.

He cries often

especially when he sees

self-love and self-esteem

lying in a coffin.

Silent whimpers slice through the night.
In the crevice of darkness is where he dwells crouching between loneliness and pain still bearing the scarlet marks of a molestation stain.

Eagerly peeking through a window of liberty wanting to go outside and get wet in the rain.



The summer’s hot, in fact,

it’s hotter than hell’s flame in the midst of acid rain.

My nostrils burn from the stench of hostility in the atmosphere

while blood drenched streets are washed clean from falling tears.

When tear drops fall

they silently invade desolate caves

of mental slaves sleeping in urban graves.

Lazarus wake up and be loosed!

From your 16th century designer noose.


You are a tender rose among jagged thorns yet your root keeps you nourished as your velvet petals continue to flourish.

The morning dew overlays your frame with a comely glisten as love birds serenade your grand entrance I quietly listen.

I’m held hostage by divine rapture as your beauty clothes me like a celestial coat while savoring the soft fragrance of your ransom note.



on the


When a man is silent it doesn’t mean that his bedroom covers conceal the motion picture of a secret lover. 
His silence becomes a blanket of security protecting himself from mental thoughts of immaturity.
Sisters if you only knew how difficult some thoughts are to communicate
In fear that you can’t relate behind walls we deeply meditate.
Besides, love is better felt than heard especially when daily stress of urban warfare murders your words.


a man

is silent

Looking Through Black Ice

My pen speaks as my tears leak. 
With every detailed jot and titTle of prophetic facts reveals your feign for macks and a hot name of pornographic fame from lying on your back.
Can you see your true value beyond a worthless price?
A Queen trapped in chains of low self-esteem while looking through black ice