Mama Said 

she told me to “let it out,”

“it’s okay to cry,” she adds.

all these years, i held it in.

all of it.

a great big ocean swam inside my eyes,

churned and spun in my stomach,

mixing with ugly truth and resentment.

so i let it out.

and it was ugly at first.

my sobs took over my body,

turbulent 

and 

true.

but then,

it was beautiful.

now i understand why a rainbow paints the sky after a dreadful storm.

a smile crept up on me and the pain floated                a w a y.

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Thoughts Don’t Rhyme

i hardly have a rhyme scheme

for my poetry

because i feel like it

pushes thoughts into superficial forms.

it may sound good to the reader,

but it’s no longer flesh from my bones.

it’s neatly put into a row or stacked into a pattern

but skeletons don’t put themselves together,

they fall into a random, scrambled, beautiful, mess. 

“boys will be boys”

i always walk swiftly passed your

watchful eyes.

i can’t stand to be evaluated by those

puny pupils

darting between my face and my body,

lingering too long.

something tells me you’re not interested in my intellect.

you never speak,

you just watch and then continue with whatever had your attention before

i walked swiftly by.

i remember your face;

disinterest.

burn.