out of this world

Archive for the month “August, 2015”




My angelic devil sent to taunt me

With this bitter sweet romance;

You humbly pride yourself in my conquest

I made myself an easy prey.

I hate that I love you so!

Your gentle fury turns me on,

Your piquant wit, my undoing

The caress of your deceitful truth

Fans the embers of my undying affection;

I die each day to live for you

In this hell of a paradise;

You are the end to my beginning,

Your poisonous love, a cure for my withering heart;

Quench my thirst with your flame of love

In you, I want to be found forever lost.





 my dark angel, my perfect game

Your darkness glows like the morning sun

Let me swim the pool of your eyes

Feed me; fill me with your honeyed words

I hunger for a taste of the fountain of your lips

Oh how I hate that I want you so!

This blessed curse of longing for you

This soothing ache of needing you;

You smile, and the shadow lifts

Your laugh is like the gurgling of the water brooks

Your frown ushers in winter, my heart freezes;

Oh I hate what you do to me!

Your beauty is to die for

I am your willing slave,

A prisoner of love forever shackled to you.


Hug me


This heart needs a hug
a warm embrace
To ease the pain
This heart does need a hug


Upon the clouded hill
stood a lamppost new
shining brightly,
calming the treacherous night
Its brilliance
caught her sight
Her weary heart gained strenght,
temporary relief from her plight
The tempestuous wind
thunderously slapped around
Tossing her left and right
as she clambered the summit.
Unwavering, stood the sprite,
the lamp upon the hill.


Lift the barrier.

Hold the thought.

Free the trapped.

Cut the line.

Spread those wings.

Fly so high.

Listen now.

Write it out.

write it now.

Write the words.

Don’t hold back.

Don’t delay.

You might lose it

once its noon.



Romans 8:1 “therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus…”

Broken Bird.

Miniscule Diary


My voice is thin, weak
‘m afraid, today I can’t sing
I limp in the glory
Of yesterday’s fall
And gather my battered wings
around this frailty that’s left of me.

I know
It’s a long road still,
Amidst daunting corridors,
and dark shadowed walls
With blazing windows
Conspiring to keep out the morning sun-

But I will not give in
Because I can’t
There’s a pain within me
That only strain can heal
So i’ll limp on if I must
But there’s no time to mourn
Broken wings don’t make broken birds
I can learn to fly again.


© The Short Black Girl, 2015.

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Love me for me.

I got lost in the crowd.
I lost me in the hustle and bustle.
I tried to find my way home.
But the familiar landmarks
Were no where near.

I tried to blend in with the crowd.
I tried to learn their ways.
Soon I lost touch with me.
I did not fit in well
Twas obvious every one could see.

It hurts so much, I must say
Being neither here nor there.
It hurts more not being me,
Not knowing where I belong
Not finding my way home.

I forgot I was made differently
Fashioned to be weird unique
I was never made to conform.
I was made to stand out
In my complicated simplicity.

Don’t try to shape me
Don’t even try at all
Just love me for me, l pray thee
Do let me find my voice
Do let my pen speak forth.




A sudden change in the tide

Unsettling feathers, that was not an easy glide.

Had it known there would be a change in time,

It would not have taken that flight;

Nor would it have ascended that height.

The only plan is to fly or die.

No alternative, gravity is to be defied.

Then it braced itself for an uneasy ride.

And when it was over, it thumped its chest with pride.

Ruffled feathers, broken wings; but it was worth the try.


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She goes out of her way to make everyone happy.

She cares enough for all but not all to herself.

A magical comfy assurance comes from her touch,

Yet she abhors any touch of reassurance

Embracing total self-denial.

Worries instead of blood flow freely in her veins.

So heavy trying to lift the shoes of her pains.

How do I reach out to her with a succor cup?

Will it quench her scourging thirst?

What amount of comfort would soothe her?

Are there not enough balms to relieve her seething pains?

Her biological clock is so frail

Yet so much will happen in her little time.

I wonder how she ever manage to always pull through

Evoking smiles that suppress underlaid pains.

In anyway, I’m sure I will find a way.

  • Drastevo

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