Woman of Colour (The Bar 1.5)

In a washed out world of black and white where
People are one thing and that thing only,
Comes a woman with a million hues. A
Rainbow of rainbows. The unicorn who
Runs with horses. Never to be ridden.
Never to be fully revealed if seen
Only through a filter of your own thoughts
And emotions. She is the Blindfold of
Justice. The Arbiter between Good and
Evil. The Voice of Reason. Divider
Of Right and Wrong. Moral Compass. She holds
Your thoughts in her womb, where they hold court and
When roused she tumbles them against the walls
Of her belly, echoing to you their
Intirinsic value before her salient
Parturition. The Mother of Society.
She is Black, She is Brown and She is White.

Hectic

Written by Seashell and I.
* * *
Starry night, balmy breeze,
The wind caresses your skin
And its susurration whispers of pleasures unknown.

Let the down feathers kiss your face
As they flutter everywhere.

The bed holds your body in an embrace
And your soul finally settles in your skin.

It has been a long day .

Love Is Hardcore

I say love is something that he cannot
Afford. He said riches and gems he has
Aplenty, Diamonds to build an empty
Heart, Rubies as corpuscles and Silk to
Contain this flow of material wealth. He
Claimed this the greatest seducer of men
And women; see how readily they shed
Their clothes like onion skin. I said although
He buys their bodies, their flesh, he never
Would be rich enough to own their love with
His heart of Precious gems and Silken skin.

I say love is sweet and hardcore like the
Fruits of the date palm dipped in honey.
He said to love a woman is soft and
Hustled for by the weak and the needy
But he is none of those. He named himself
The man who kills lions barehanded and
Proceeds to lay with lionesses. His
Strength a thing of legend and his name a
Metaphor for bravery. What is love to
A man like him but a burden unneeded?
I name him a coward. He who’d rather
Desecrate, plunder, but is too weak for
Surrender and love is nothing but that.
The Greatest form of sacrifice there is.

The Last Straw

No man is an island of himself
Because no man
Admits that everybody else is the sea.
Because we can’t all be islands
Somebody must be the sea
Somebody must
Be able to hold us in her depth
And no one person is that deep.
I have unwittingly burned bridges
Thinking the fire looked inviting
Yet there was no one to share with.
Today I decided
To drown the sea in a haystack
This epitaph of my social graces
Is the last straw.