Tell it to the Bogeyman
He slouches down our street,
his thin, shagging hair
swaying to and fro on his
The street lights flicker
in fear before him as he pauses,
sniffs the air, and he looks for
squirming, naughty Little Things.
But they don’t hear him
as his nose leads him to our yard.
The moon above shrinks
behind the clouds as he adjusts
the sack on his back, waiting impatiently
to sate himself with squirming, naughty Little Things,
but they don’t hear him
as he makes his way to our porch.
My prior warnings to be good little boys
have been met with lopped ears
and the house continues to quake
with their war cries ringing through the air.
The family room, now their playground,
Is littered with carcasses of their toys,
Clothes and books rotting on the carpet.
Dinner had been laid to waste, waiting
to be saved as tomorrow’s breakfast.
And now they’re vowing to blind themselves
standing before the TV, watching
their cartoon favorites instead of going to bed.
But it’s already too late, because there’s someone
knocking on the door.
He has come to fetch his dinner.
He’s come for my squirming, naughty Little Things.
To you, we are filth.
But we carve our own world
like free roaming mustangs.
We ride along the highway
in our second home with
the sun at our backs.
White parsed lines
guide our way home
like a true friend.
Dreaming of a warm bed,
waiting to welcome
my indents, I ignore
the clock and stretch
my legs, turning deaf
to my screaming knees.
I hunt through the beats
for any remnants of your legacy
and still I can’t find you.
My heart thumps in tune
to the heavy bass, dredging up
the past: me scoffing at your tales
of ‘he’s just my baby daddy,’
‘he’s just a friend,’ your crazy Uncle Ricky’s
children’s story and your 99 problems,
Only to miss your teachings to walk this way.
And how your swagger and roll broke
down barriers, swigging back
some gin and juice, and declaring
yourself as a one man army Ason,
screaming, if I ruled the world!
Now who’s gonna show me how
to make some noise or boogie to the
rhythm of the boogie, the beat?
Must I believe that everything was all a dream?
Even now, your beat and melody whispers
across the grave, telling me keep your head up.
Yet sometimes I wonder if my hopes,
in the splintered version of you, is enough.
I aint mad at you. It wasn't your fault.
But Hip Hop, why did you leave so soon?
Then and Now
From a painted on, robin's egg blue, tube top dress
to a fluffy, black and white, cotton pajama set.
From hovering in black, four inch platforms
to snuggling in leopard, fuzzy slippers.
From shots and wining to a feverish heat
to tucking kiddies to bed, before my own down time.
From standing underneath blazing sparklers
to bedding my Chromebook watching Asian dramas.
From coming home at dawn, ripe with sweat and alcohol
to squealing over my favorite One True Pairing at night.
From then to now, the same cover, a different book
to the bone, embracing the night and what may come.
Though these legs
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Charlotte Perkins Gilman Poems
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William Blake Poems
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