Poems continued

See all this inspiration, love?
See all this ambition, love?
I flew from you, a broken dove
Bleeding dry from lack of love.
My darling Lucifer,
this if for you.
Your fur was made of scales,
that reflected each one of your
twisted tales.
And then when the princess became witness,
she came to the conclusion that his love to her was all an
i l l u s i o n.
Never to become reality; as she became ready to slay the commodity of her wild past.
So the princess slayed her dragon, gaining the strength,
to take on anything.
The rips in her gown were worse than the attempted blows to her iron heart.
For in her mind she knew he was poison;
and now she was finally
in on a happy ending.
Built, written and slayed all by herself.
The sea of shadows is a place no person wants to swim.
Welcome to her head,
welcome to her hell.
Mesmerizing. Chastising. Glisten, Gleam and Glow.
Listen. How far will she go?
Can you hear her demons play on her dendrites?
Crystallizing a broken branch; attempting
perceiving for her perseverance to push to a different major.
When she just wants her natural gifts to be appreciated.
Who is this kid?
Trying to kid herself she could be a science major just like her father, and supposed to be her brother,
but she is the genius prodigal daughter who was gifted a pen.
Who almost didn’t allow her to become who she is.
Eminem once sang it perfectly,
“…he goes home and barely knows his own daughter.”
Daddy, your girl is turning into a lady,
who needs to accomplish a few lists before she can come back and commit to comfortably sitting in your lap, like when I was little. Remember?
My angel.
My angle for a majority of inspiration I put out into the world.
I never forget about you- even though the image of me is blurred like the pee in the carpet;
contribution to the cats as well.
I’m sorry it’s not better for you. And I wish it was.
But that involves bank.
That I will soon have after I submit one essay,
just wait a sec- hey.
Time to close that laptop now.
I’m sorry there is always at least one deadline I always seem to miss,
like how I was once a mistress,
to a mind so in distress,
he held me captive in his kiss.
But I remember better now that I stay away from white lines.
That every day is another day to woman the fuck up.
Beautiful girl don’t let anyone destroy your,
including you.
Cause you have a tract record of getting a head of yourself.
And that beaker boy,
who you see the sunrise in his eyes,
doesn’t belong to you.
But the disappointment in his when
when you visualize doing an activity from your past life,
is not worth it to me.
Though this sober celebration was started by me,
continued by me,
flourished by me,
the rose petals that reside on the my book-shelf remind me of the closest thing to red he and I can both see.