The foot on my mother’s forehead that pushed her nose under water, Had planted her feet into the bottom of the pond, While water lilies intertwined her hair that doth stay afloat. Now that the Drought has come, she comes out with a Trident of Mercy, And my eyes can only be Drowned with Awe.

Machiavelian Mist

I’m so fragile today You raise your voice just a decibel And my throat chokes up And my eyes grow murky. You may think it is highly Machiavelian of me To show you this “facade” But it was always real Because if I wanted to manipulate you, I’d be reborn as your mother. Couldn’t you…