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 Bopape Jessica 






It be not the dark out

Nor insomnia as he holds me to my mind

As he seeks for that last breath

He feels I owe


It be neither the wet noise that

I allowed that night to drown

The house along with me

It may be the hope for hope


Be it the voices?

Voices I fear to listen to,

They that cause me to befriend her,

Insomnia and they, they that drown me all night till dawn,

And night again.

They that try to steal from me that which I would willingly

Give away with my last breath, for they all fail.


It be the voices that I fear in the silence of the night

And not its dark, making me fall for he that

Helps me keep wake at night,

And they that drown the voices in my head,

Along with me.

For I would fall for all the evil in the world

To keep the evil inside of me in silence.






My mistress


Fickle image he began being

Fickle until real enough to be real

No longer born from his mother that bore him,

The mind and his father that took pride in

All that he did for as long as it were him,

The imagination.


Blessed cursed wishes by the parented

Soon it dawned on them

How ungrateful they were

Full of pride they made him and

Full of pride he became, not their pride as hoped


Image of an imagination

And mind he ceased to be

But faded memory he now was

As real as he prided

He drove her to insanity

Believing he was but a soulmate of her.

As well as he a mistress to her world


Is as well as he forgot he be only

From an imagination, making her forget

Beckoning her, now to find him.






Black growing


I never knew how commonly common

How common was I

Dusty, cracked gravel roads

Bringing about my playful imagination

Coupled with tiny rocks stomping

Softly through my tales

May I be one with them

As dusty as we want to

Growing, growing, growing

Unaware of how poor

How grey, how black

Black growing

Seemingly to the others poor

Little would they ever know

How richly happy were

We really were

Now that we grown black

Rich even to them

But poor now that we lack

That which we had

Took it for granted while black growing

How happy we were









Her small mountain stood gracefully

Two villages away from her

with stars that stare at you at night,

She breathes dusty brown through the winds

That love feeling her flaws

Her green oasis stretched long

As the only fresh streams

That keep cool her bosom


Nurturing beautifully her children

That call to her by her name


Scorching her tough love

Her field feeding they

They that reap that which they sowed


Her intentional corner earth

To make hard for her children to leave,

Forget her, their roots

That stood deep in her heart

Being the very life that she has.

A mother’s love for her children

Nurturing them through life and

Holding them tight to her bosom in death.




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