Loose Rap.

I wrote you a four page letter,
we've been back, back, and forth, and forth,
I really needed somebody,
and you showed me my worth.

We rocked the boat like
we were one in a million,
and you made me feel like
I was more than a woman.

Hot like fire, when we started,
and our love's still off the charts,
we might need a resolution,
if we can't reach the stars.

You're the one I gave my heart to,
so you better not let me down,
if you can't be the one I can give my all to,
you've got to tell me now so I can bounce.

Are you feelin' me still,
or do we dust ourselves off, and let it go?
Were you just another one hit wonder,
or are you feelin' me, yo?

I can be your babygirl,
you know I'll hold you down,
but if you can't be straight with me,
I've gotta get back on steady ground.

Spectre.

Losing you left me weightless,
now I float through life, a spectre;
a phantom made the day I woke
to find you'd slipped away.

Fairground.

Read between the lines—

the words often left unsaid.

Worries that weaken the warrior,

exclamations of love that go 

unheard because they begin 

as quickly as they end.

It is a shouted sermon of silence—

like bated breath in a flute, 

it hardly makes a sound.

These memories were melodies,

but now they're the ghosts 

that haunt the carousel 

of our unfamiliar fairground. 

Cycles.

Set ablaze by an array of greys,

that grazed my grace like the gaze

of glazed, but gloomy, Sundays.

Every memory had a melody,

albeit one that made me muddy,

then melted away my better moods.

Trauma so toxic, it got sick,

then terrorized me ten times a week, 

just to teach me about adversity.

Until one vibrant dawn when I screamed,

"ENOUGH!" And shed the soiled skin 

society sentenced me to keep.

My spirit rose anew, reborn, again,

rapt in raging red, unyielding yellows,

and emancipating orange flames.

I suppose I should've shared that I am

still the same cyclical phoenix who strives to stay alive, to survive, to thrive, who's surely 

soared in every timeline yet.