Biography of Lisa Silk
Bellingham, born. Lummi rez, raised. There really is not much to say. To you, I am a novice writer, a seventeen year old, a kid. I attend Ferndale High, a place of hell and hella good memories. I live with my mother, that thing on the couch she calls a boyfriend, my little sister and three nephews. It's a crowded life but hey as long as they're there (and they stay out of my room) its all good.
Lisa Silk Poems
Life is a glass of water is it half empty? or is it half full? could it be both?
Chew a banana
I Am My Own.
Who am I? shoot... I'm still tryin' to figure that out...
My Asian Angel
My life is bleak without Tsu-yin and Jordan I feel weak
Why Can'T I Love Him?
Ever since she left All I did was weep and cry Ever since I met him All I do is swoon and sigh
I have chosen him, Him, over my desires. Those big silver eyes.
A Blissful Wound...
Man, my step brother has hot little friends. I ain't talkin about the guys either. But they are ditzyer than I intend But the girls; I need a breather
Torn In Two.
I sit here in this class thinking of her, My regret is so huge I cannot think. It has been months since she married her sir. Without her to brighten my day, life stinks.
She Is Forever Out Of My Reach...
A photo of her wedding in my hand. Parrot Bay in the other, makes a switch. An arranged marriage to this asian man. I'm so bitter for he is so rich.
The Green Monster. (Not Jealousy)
I hear a snort of substance through the nose. It is an epidemic of the pill. This little green pill, all their money goes, Synthetic form of heroin, be still.
I Never Had A Chance...
My ideal date would have to have good weed Happiness lies within a single toke I am fullfilled, so I fulfill his need. The least I can do, it's his weed I choked.
I am very fond of a womans touch That's right, I am a full blown lesbion My desire runs like blood from a cut. Each girl in my game is only a pawn.
The gateway... Its sweet, bitter ambrosia... numbs my pain
There is an ink that never erases... A recorder that never stops writing.
There is an ink
that never erases...
A recorder that
never stops writing.
Life's pen is cruel.
We use it everyday.
But once its words