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Rene Reyes

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Member Since: Jul, 2007


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by Rene Reyes

Friday, May 23, 2008
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Rene Reyes
•  Breathing Peace
•  Making Peace With It on a Moon Bounce ( Dedicated to my Nephew)
•  sunrise wishes
•  On The Other Side (RIP Whitney Houston)
•  From Pain to Paradise (RIP Jessica Joy Rees)
           >> View all 43

An original emotional freestyle flow written a few years ago, by Rene Reyes. This is about one a neice of that really went through more than she needed to because of her circumstances. Im proud to say on today she survived the madness and is a remarkable young woman now.








For me;

Twenty-two felt like faberge eggs,
3 inch corvette-red nails and gucci attire.

She makes it look like corner yard sales,
where the sweaters carry


the stench of moth balls/

the forecast is sunny,

yet a heavy black rain
proves again that

life is created on lying principles.

If I recall correctly, it really was quite simple,
if I discount the truth of tragedies,

the pungent pain
and the ghost of Christmas past.

But I look at her, and my first reaction is
to steal her from her momma,
                                   bring her here

let her taste

the other side

of a wooden spoon.

How can I do that? I mean, she is grown and I,
well, I am the example

she despises on the inside.
Sure, she loves me, because Auntie me

always brings a sweet surprise;

she just wishes I was still cool
and able to hang like she does.

Somewhere over the years,
in her eyes,
  I grew up and messed up;

I broke a silent code that

left her to make up life daily;

afraid and alone.

When I peer deeply,

I still see this beautiful baby,

in a dirty diaper,

which never stayed fastened

on the right side.

A living babydoll

is what I use to call her.

But on the surface,

I see a child

forced into womanhood,

branded a bud head,


from the tremors,

I would guess
she's taken a fancy towards

primo filled blunts.
I see her mothers errors


her fathers faults.
I see a woman

who lives with real ticking,
until one day

she either crosses over or
takes her own life.

What can I do?

What the hell can I do?

She's like my child,


she's a mute to common sense


I can't speak her language,
so I shall be pushed

to share her mothers tears
if we get that call one day.









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Reviewed by Carol Grace 8/2/2009
Very well written--thank God your niece had such a strong aunt.
Reviewed by Edwin Hurdle 6/30/2009
A well written and powerful poem.

Reviewed by 000 000 10/6/2008
This powerful write..tears me apart
Reviewed by Gene Williamson 5/23/2008
Your poem poses a tough one, Rene, one that can
only be answered, I suppose, by professional counsel.
In a situation not too dissimilar I decided to love
until it hurt. And it did. I hope the call never comes.
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