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IN A VALLEY CALLED DEATH

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As she walks among the shadows of a valley called death

She secretly longs to take her last breath

So tired of hearing religious men preach,

“Believe in our God, trust what we teach!”

So she reaches out to lonely men who worship her pleasures

with praises of, “Oh God!” as they lay.

She’s found a religion of service for pay.

As she sucks dry their souls she feeds her power,

Momentary satisfaction, getting paid by the hour

They don’t ask for much, just her time for a day

Leaving their money when they go on their way

She satisfies their lust and desires,

Then sends them home to their wives,

Where they feel no guilt over living as liars

So called “good Christian” parishioners call her a whore,

Citing Gods loving forgiveness, as they sneer then slam their doors.

All of them lending their hands to her hurt and her pain

Nobody bothering to ask from where it came

Inside her cold stare and empty glare

There’s a story of a “good Christian” woman who once lived there.

Night after night, day after day

Parishioners come and reward her with pay

Then one lonely day her silent wish comes true,

She draws her last breath

Succumbing to death

Nobody comes, nobody mourns

She’s known only as, the woman who loved an angel with horns.

The men who once came pretend she never existed

When they give their confessions she’s not even listed

Now, she’s a shadow in the valley called death,

Waiting for the next whore who takes her last breath.

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First blog post

This is the post excerpt.

I’ve started this blog in order to display my work, share my heart, and hopefully get people talking, thinking, and opening  up to the perspective of others.

If u feel anything when you read one of my poems, it means you’re alive, if you’re spurred to comment, it means I’ve gotten you to think, and if you change the way you think, see, and/or feel about anything in anyway, then I’ve accomplished something great.

So please feel free to read, comment, contact, and enjoy. 💕😊💕

Blessings

Prophetes

Love Is.,.


Love is not being afraid to share the fear
Knowing the one you love is near

Love is letting yourself be weak
Finding in love the strength you seek

Love is wanting to do what’s best
Making a home out of the smallest of nests

Love is not caring who’s right or who’s wrong
Finding the beauty in the most off beat song

Love is not having to run away
Staying around to see better days

Love is knowing that in the end
You’re living life with your best friend

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY

A mother is a mother no matter the kind
A mother’s love is a love hard to find

It doesn’t matter if she’s the one who gave birth
Her love will stay with you all your days on this earth

Her love will last even after she’s gone
In her eyes you’re perfect, you can do no wrong

She’s the one who kisses the tears away
And gives you the confidence to get through each day

She tells you you’re doing everything right
And gives you the strength to continue the fight

You stand tall and proud
Never follow the crowd
When you think of her smile
Her cunning and guile
You’re glad she’s your mom
And you feel the calm

It doesn’t matter if she’s the one who gave birth
Her love will stay with you all your days on this earth

WHORES OF THE U. S. A.

With soulless eyes and care less hearts they fuck without emotion
With promises, propositions, and false dreams for the future
They prey upon the needy and the hopeful
 
Through bondage and domination words become the whips and chains
Used to empty the pockets of men and women seeking satisfaction
Not caring about the families destroyed by their deceitful acts and misleading propaganda
Looking only to gather power from the souls they devour and line their pockets with money
Gathered from the blood, sweat, and tears, of the greedy
Fabricating fantasies to ease the fear, instinctively knowing what they want to hear
 
They sell themselves to the highest bidder
Giving away blowjobs to keep the minds of their meal tickets
Unaware and clouded in a false euphoria
They ass fuck the weak who are afraid to speak
And finger the petty til the juices begin to flow
Then back away until again they beg to pay
 
These are the Whores of the U.S of A.

The predator

He watches through eyes as cold as steel
Harboring a soul filled with malice, encased in the body of a beautiful demon; tall, dark, slim, and hard. Inviting and seductive to the trusting and unsuspecting.
He smiles mimicking kindness, silently wondering who will be his next meal.

He watches through eyes as cold as steel
waiting with steady patience, senses alive, phallus hard with the anticipation of the chase.
Speaking words of mystical ways, enticing the lost with his sensual stories of sex, and pain, and power.
He lures in the curious with his knowledge of spirituality and sexuality.
His words so powerful and strong, such passion, and confidence, they must surely be real.

He watches through eyes as cold as steel
searching hearts, invading thoughts, surfing technology’s wonders for prey.
He feeds on the seemingly pure of heart, exposing  weaknesses in the
so called good of women.

Satisfiying his hunger with the destruction of innocence.
He sits, he writes, he waits, silently, patiently, with a soul full of malice, for his next meal.
Watching with eyes as cold as steel

The Room

The door was closed and the room was dark
The light, shining underneath the door
from out in the hallway, insisting on being seen.

The muffled murmurs from people downstairs,
the music drifting up through the night,
the clinking of glass against glass.
Toasts to the New Year

The dull thud of footsteps coming up the stairs,
the racing of my heart, sweat, my mind wanting to escape,
but nowhere to go

The sound of the door knob turning,
the creak of it opening slowly, cautiously
The silhouette of a man standing at the threshold.
His form looms against the light, hesitating.

His breath uneven.
The smells of tobacco and alcohol drift into the room,
a step, and then two.

The door was closed and the room was dark.
The sense of him moving closer,
the room becoming smaller.

His weight on the edge of the bed,
I’m trying not to move, maybe he’ll leave.

A touch, gentle, shaking with anticipation,
the air, filled with fear
A sound, laughter from the hallway,
a jolt of reality.

He stands, he turns,
a step, and then two.

The sound of the door knob turning,
the creak of the door opening slowly,
cautiously.

The silhouette of a man standing at the threshold.
His form looms against the light,
hesitating.

His breath uneven.
The smell of tobacco and alcohol is being sucked out of the room.
The door closed and the room was once again dark

I just had to ask, why?

Dear Mom , why…

Why did you have me if you didn’t want kids?
Did you want the attention?
Did you need to feel loved?
 
Why did you hit me,
make me feel shame
then turn around and tell me I was to blame?
 
What in your life made you so mean,
kicking me out at the age of fifteen.
I didn’t know how to be alone,
and even started seeing my name
on tombstones.
 
You played with my mind,
so I played with men’s souls,
using them, to fill up the holes
 
I turned to the streets
became addicted to drugs,
getting my love from
the ones you called thugs.
 
Now that you’re gone
I just want to know why?
Did you enjoy the power
when you made me cry?
 
I have no more tears,
they’ve dried through the years
I’m broken and tarnished,
but refuse to be sad,
and won’t waste my time
continuing to be mad.
 
I wont let you take the
strength I’ve gained
my life is alright
just a little bit stained.
 
I just wanted, to ask you why…
I guess I’ll ask you again when I die.