Pinocchio

Bear with me
while
I bare myself
splinters
and all

See him?
the guy in these poems
in my eyes
in my heart
my heart string
my Gepetto

I love this guy
in these poems

Does he love me?
I wonder...
How much longer,
do I let him
toy with me?
can't he see,
I can never lie to him?

Made of wood
would he
love me
enough
to make me
a real girl
cause I have a real heart
I know

his blood pumps it
sometimes
his feet stomps it
thank heavens
the rest of me
is made of wood

©Tia L. Clarke 2009

It Is Mine

I will not cry for you:
these eyes belong to me
though
my heart longs for you
I will not cry

I will not lose sleep for you:
this mind belongs to me
though
my body is restless for you
I will not lose sleep

I will keep my sanity
Though I am crazy over you
I will remain sane

Or at least try to...

©Tia L. Clarke 2009

Shift In Momentum

You
switch on me
my tears were dry
before I cried them
why men
so senseless?

bitch on me
clap on clap off
quickly
swiftly
worried about
my hormones
but is your
period on today?

after the chase
change of pace
forget I'm beautiful
remember
your an ass
shameless
you hurt me
I'm making you
my past

you're not backwards
you're upside down
you have nuts for a head
and act like a clown

I
switch
tired
of being treated
like I'm your bitch

©Tia L. Clarke 2009

Jerk Chicken

inspired by R.A.M

bitter
sweet
tasty treat
thick savory
slab of meat

spicy
attack
brings tears
to my eyes
how can I love
what makes me
cry

slide
from
side to side
saucy
secrets
hid inside
you

chicken
yellow bellied
afraid
that I love you
too much
warmth
from your touch
to my lips

fatty
to my hips
fills me
but you
can not
sustain me
warp me
too heavy
for my heart

hurt me
pain
in my chest
must be
a clog
in the artery
can not
digest you
confess you
make me
a mess

name
never
so fitting
for a human
you are purely
a jerk
a chicken

and I love you

©Tia L. Clarke 2009
(I was just really hurting)

Still

Words escape me
Nothing to say,
Breaks me

Passion
never used to
be this way

It flowed
from
the thick
of my tongue
to the tip
of my finger

But now
Writing is just
A stranger

©Tia L. Clarke 2009