Twofer Tuesday Poetry: Severed & The Yellow Bird

Severed

I know a woman
The Woman – 
She sees her family
Once a week
She makes time for them
Always – 

I envy her because
I’ve never known this
My family is scattered
Broken – 
We don’t even call
On birthdays –

The Yellow Bird

I came upon a yellow bird
            Chirping as he played

He led me towards adventures
            But I felt pulled away

I thought he tried to hide something
            What could this bird know
Does he shield me or protect me
            From some unknown horror

This yellow bird made me happy
            That’s all that mattered

One day my little friend was gone
            I saw what he saw
Nothing protected me from these
            Nightmares forgotten

I saw my little yellow friend
            With another child
Leading him away from the pain
            Of abusive parents

The yellow bird helps those in need
            He helps you survive

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.

Poetry Monday: Don't Call Me Macho

I know I strut
When I walk
Keep my head up
And make eye contact
I raise my voice 
And get louder
To get your attention
I hold my head high
And take command
Of the room
I know these are
All the things you see
But please don’t call me macho

You don’t see me
Open doors for women
And men
And the people still deciding
You don’t hear me say
Please and thank you
Or ask a friend for help
Or cry on someone’s shoulder
When my pet dies
You don’t see the panic attacks
The self-doubt, the depression
The terminal aloneness
Please don’t call me macho

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.

Flashback Friday Poetry: Family Life

as time goes by
i start to see
why my life
was so empty

in the past
when it all began
my parent’s marriage
had been a sham
my mother cared more
for strangers she met
than she did for my father
when they went to bed

as years went by
my family grew apart
my sisters had left
and my mother was gone
my father had found
a new woman to be with
for a short time
she was also his mistress
for a few years
we moved around
it seemed she had played him for a fool
my father had found

we got passed the hell
that had the form of a woman
and after a while
my father was opposite of a Mormon

in all these experiences
i had no one to share
i was all alone
but even more so scared
scared of the fact
that i could die this way
tired and alone
for the rest of my days

Early poetry from James. From the poetry collection Pariah Bound: The Lonesome Poetry.