She didn’t need to see it.
Young eyes aged before the chance to open them to life’s endless possibilities.
Before she could broaden her intellectuality.

Before she coulduse her abilities before it was rendered
with the world’s impurity,
things of seven, she shouldn’t see.

No longer can I shelter what is already strong; to be vulnerable,
regardless if her vulnerability was her closest alli
stolen to the world of deception and death is alive.
Not just living, but staring her, right in the eyes.
But as she stands at four foot nine, shoulders back
and her chin to the skies.
With no choice,
but to take the training wheels off her life and ride,
leaving them behind too young to realize her child had died.
Conceived into a world
of deception and war cries.
But, at four foot nine, she stares at life and death, through the barrel,
in the eyes with more power than him.




Copyright © Simone Byer, 2008

My Last Drip

I refuse to hold on
to what towards my heart, is a loose grip
my fingers in this love glove
could do nothing but let every drop of this love
drip.

Mainly becauseat this point, you didn’t intend for it to be fixed
but chose to risk
everything we could have had
as deep asour daughter calling you dad.
So this is the last drip about you you will see,
writing about days we spent as long poems by Haiti Blues
which have now been minimized to bad Haikus.
You are no longer the man who introduced me to love,
I’m no longer the girl that cries over what was.

It’s time I found another wayto recapture that smile I had yesterday
and that may mean breaking my own heart to escape
how I loved you, regardless of your personality traits,
Regardless how I love you more than anything else
I put you before my fragile state of mental health.

But before I let our ink dry, take my hand and close your eyes,
walk with me to
six months ago
where my heart said yes and your mind said no
nine months ago
when I could never compare you to my ex
ten months
to when you had me spelling your name during sex
a year when you smiled and said
‘hello, can I be your friend’….

Now
Open your eyes
let go of my hand, no more walking
No more talking
No more writing
No more ink
I refuse to let another ounce of my love
Drip