Back, back, back, it's gone!
I hit a homerun in life.
My sweet family.

I drop four ice cubes into my coke out of habit.
I kiss my sweet love four times for good luck so our team can win the game.
I catch myself counting to four when Im ready to speak up, I don't count to three or even ten I count to four.

It was on my back in big white letters when dad looked through the chain linked fence and said with every ounce of his pride "Take it for a ride lex."
That's the day I got my first homerun.
That's my old man's favorite number and mine too.
Ill never know why I look at him like hes god.

He spelt my name wrong two years back.
The letters said L-e-x-i,
I whispered that's not how you spell my name it's spelled L-e-x-i-e.
I whispered because I didn't want to embarrass him, I thought if I talked quiet enough no one could see my lips break around the words in shock.
I was 5 when me and mom left him.
The number 5 is my most unlucky number it always takes something from me, like my dog, she was in my arms on the fifth of may when heaven called for her to go home.

Dad came the next day to burry her, the hole he dug was to shallow.
Days after her funeral foxes came and
scattered her bones across the field.  

It was a treasure hunt to find all of them, I tried to save her one last time.

I should really give that man a call.
I'll do it tomorrow , or I'll wait for him to call.
I'll count to four before I answer.

Iridium fastball pitches
from Zuni serpent mound,
bottom of the 9th walk-off homerun
over 30ft diving moai.

Slide to home base in volcanic lava
to congratulatory ***** Gatorade bath
from Kubla Kahn forefathers,
chanting psychedelic clubhouse anthems.

Levitate from home plate
and land atop Pyramid of Cholula for victory dinner;
for since we’re all artists in our dreams,
true dreams never come true.

She laughs as I tell her how
The way she devours her stadium dog
Is so *******
I can’t concentrate

Only we are interrupted by
The crack of gunshot over an open plain

It is followed by a hoorah hurricane
So unison I stop trying to make her laugh

Think about the car ride later
And being stuck in traffic
And sliding gently into home

I want to tell her about years from now
Ninth inning deathbed passion
When my red seems finally begin to burst their cotton
About the splinters living inside of my hands
I was living with them inside of my hands

That’s why I was so rough sometimes
How the scotch guard kept the **** off of my knees

I loved to trace the outline of her ***** diamond
Until there were grooves in there
And my initials in her catchers mound

We are so much hoarse voices
Lost in the noise of ***** hands clapping

How I imagine
As I am sliding into home
In our shower
The soft patter of water on the curtain is stadium applause

Let me run grooves in your shapely pattern
Your laughter is a full circle homerun from heartache

Save me again sweet music
Open plain gunshot buildup
And then a noise so booming it is silence

And us
Ninth inning deathbed lovers
Gently sliding into home

The ***** back in play.
The crowd is cheering.
You're under pressure.
You freeze.…………



The pitch is thrown.
You swing and miss.
Strike one.
The ball is thrown....
You let it go.
Strike two.
People in the stands yelling and screaming.
The pitch is thrown.
You swing and you hit it.
Home run.


The first homerun of your life.

Stepping up to the plate,
I knew what was coming next,
Hot and fast,
A little curve at the end,
I could get to first base,
I guessed,
Rounding the corner,
maybe second.
A little hustle in my step,
A slide perhaps,
A double on opening night.
Anxiety as I approached,
Ready to swing away,
'can I do this?'  
I stepped out of the box for a moment,
My turn to shine,
Stepping in,
Choking up,
Relaxing my shoulders as I prepared to follow-through,
Eyes fixed on the pitch,
A homerun would be nice,
Then I realized,
Just getting to first-base would be a home-run for me,
This rookie,
My god,
Dating is sooo hard.

The Fiery Red Head

It is time to pay honor to one who doesn’t know it is do I begin from this point as all of us in a sense we
Are doing the same thing for me it is writing my way out yours is different but before I go I will have my
Say I realize I gave all my attention to her mother and father now it is time to shine the light on her
Reveal her inner and outward glory and beauty to do this and to make sense I have to lay a little ground
Work on how we met and ultimately what it meant as brief as possible I had a Simi normal life until I
Was five and my family left church you need paints from hell to paint the rest of my parents life we
Banged and stumbled along and then at twelve they divorced and all of a sudden my dad and I weren’t
A family in the eyes of those we rented from so they kicked us out and we ended up in a mine shack no
Sheet rock on the walls no ceiling no bathroom no heat after about a month the family had a meeting I
Was delivered from hell to heaven I went from sleeping under ten blankets to a sheet and light blanket at
His sister’s house what luxury then my mother bribed me by buying me a television to live with her folks
That where Judy comes in she lived down the street I already knew her because her brother and I was
Best friends but my move put me into a place ruled by two laws Willie’s law and Judy’s law I learned in
School supposedly the wave came about when you met someone long ago it was showing you had no
Weapon and that you were friendly well with Judy there was a different wave you instinctively put your
Hand behind you back feeling to see if anything would impede your escape put it this way you didn’t
Want to whirl around and run head first in to something and then fall back in her arms you heart could
Stop no problem she would scream and it would start in a hurry when you’re young your naturally stupid
Or one time I was told ignorant that means you just haven’t been taught yet anyway it sounds better but
First to show innocent stupid she and her sister Barb were pretty they sing about California girls Illinois
Isn’t full of woofers this isn’t a kennel well I was in the living room and barb goes back to her bedroom
She is back there about an hour she went back there just like always but as fate would have it I was
Moving across the floor and she walks out God she looked like she stepped out of a glamour magazine I
Didn’t know it but I was doing a Gomer impression not the aw shucks degum but I found out my mouth
Had fallen open barb looked at me and laughed and said what’s the matter I was dumbstruck Max
Factor and Barb hit a homerun that day that was good stupid but I followed my uncle in a sense he left
Home at thirteen and worked and lived with the local bootlegger I was basically on my own at fourteen I
Had to make decisions and find my way not always making the smartest moves that’s where Judy comes
In God made her with a sense of justice and what Washington doesn’t have the guts to take action she
Was never mean just for meanness sake but *****-up don’t worry I don’t know the avenging angel but I
Knew his helper people cry God is distant he is close at hand he puts people in your life so you don’t end
Up like my fiend Melvin we would listen to our dad’s story of the antics they pulled when they were
Younger this farmer the next day would try to top them he stole something from the store when the
Manager was looking at him and then chased him of the store each act of defiance made him more
Reckless worse than that it made him meaner I finally cut him loose I heard about him he walked into a
Liquor store pulled out a gun the store owner shot first he died on the operating table I had many helps
Getting to adult hood gentle souls were positioned along the way and tough ones when needed like Rex
Perry’s mom Roxanna she was a red head to but her rule was quiet and powerful midst storms for sure
But I took notice and I never forgot and there was tom’s mother another red head Elsie pretty and sweet
A true charmer I’m bring these folks up to Judy’s mind a little thrill for her special day Friday one
Last addition her neighbor Sara because of this special memory I don’t think Judy saw this I will share it
Now we were out at the end of Sara’s house snow was already falling but all of a sudden and I truly think
That if Heaven ever did disintegrate this would be the first evidence of it the flakes became big as silver
Dollars the sky filled with them they floated so softly and slow you were pulled skyward and you were
Allowed to float down with them a wonderland was forming before our eyes I said I would never forget
And I never have another precious memory from childhood and a great street just right for Christmas
Greeting and a happy birthday for a special friend thanks Jude making my life great have a great
birthday

Girl in a Glass Case
                                                            ­                By John DeVito

Katherine Green probably had it more together than most of the girls I knew in high school. She was a star on the track team, she continuously made the honor roll and she was involved in more than a few extracurriculars. She was energetic, open and always quick to joke. She was also a die-hard feminist and any pseudo-negative remark made against women, in her presence, never went unpunished. She’d stab with her tongue and, more than a few times, kick an unsuspecting guy in the *****. She was a little crazy, maybe, but she never denied it.
I met her in a journalism class. While I was preoccupied with researching my favorite directors and writing movie reviews, she’d be researching women’s rights and the latest new clippings concerned with Hillary Clinton, wronged wives and successful female business owners. We both had our obsessions, and quietly respected each other for them. Since we would sit next to each other every day, we started talking. We laughed, joked and enjoyed each other’s company to the point that the teacher took notice and would say things like, “When’s the wedding?” And, “Get a room already.” We’d just laugh it off.
Soon enough, we actually started dating. Being my first girlfriend, I treasured her. Every time my thoughts drifted her way, a grin would take over my face and my body would feel like it was floating. I loved her, if only for the way she made me feel, and I would’ve done anything for her. And I did. I’d walk through the heat, the rain, the cold, sickness and sleeplessness to her house whenever she’d call and ask me to come over. Whenever I would get there, I was greeted either by her mother or her father. Her mother was a German immigrant. She was short, but stern and rigid, both physically and mentally. She’d always tell Katherine not to “make him bad” and say that I was a “good boy”. It made me wonder what kind of past Katherine had with other boys, but I’d quickly let the thoughts leave my head. Katherine made me feel like I was worth something and that I was special, and that was enough for me… But I digress.
Her father was New York City detective. He also had the capability of being quite stern, like his wife, but had a more playful disposition. He was nicer to me than I ever imagined a girl’s father to be to her new boyfriend, and for that I was thankful. Most of the times I came over, he’d either be watching the Jets game, the Knicks game or some type of criminal investigation show (usually Law & Order). He seemed like a pretty normal and cool dad to me, and I respected him not only because he was a cop but because he seemed like genuinely nice human being.

Only three days after our first “official” date (we went to the movies and to get ice cream), Katherine and I had ***. I was a ******, and she wasn’t. She made it clear to me beforehand that she had had *** with two other boys before me and then asked me if I had ever had ***. I lied and said, “yeah, of course, last summer at camp”, which was a lie because I didn’t go to camp the summer before and my contact with the opposite *** ended at staring awkwardly at them from across a classroom (until I met Katherine, course). So, we had ***, right there, on my bed in my bedroom on the second floor of my house. My mom and dad were home and watching TV just downstairs, but I didn’t care. I was getting to do the one thing that every boy dreams about from the moment the hormones start flooding his body and brain and makes him think of *** more times a day than food, sleep and funny things combined. When it was over, I felt like I never had before. I felt like Neil Armstrong when he first stepped foot on the moon, like Steven Spielberg after Jaws became the first Blockbuster ever, like Hank Aaron after breaking Babe Ruth’s long-standing homerun record. In short, I was on top of the world and after Katherine went home I made a point to texting all of my friends about the encounter. I had to, it was a modern reflex, I suppose.
Things went great from then on. Katherine and I went on more movie dates, laughed, texted, hung out at each others’ houses, met each others’ parents and friends and had more ***. It was like a dream, come to think of it. Things seemed too… Cohesive. They seemed too perfect to actually be happening to me. One day, after watching a movie on TV, we decided to go for a little walk. We left my house and hooked around the block toward the elementary school when Katherine said, “Do you ever cut?”
I stopped.
“What?” I narrowed my brow and removed my hand from hers.
“It was just a question.”
“Why? Do you?”
“No,” she said quietly, her eyes trailing toward my shoes. “I was just thinking.”
“Thinking what?”
“What would you say if I suggested that we cut. Together. During ***.”
“Whoa… Uh…” I had no idea where this was coming from. I never even knew Katherine ever even thought about such things. I know I never had before. I had heard of kids cutting themselves but always thought it was a juvenile and mindless thing to do. I didn’t get it.
“Forget it,” she said, and started walking again toward the school.
“No,” I yelped. “Stop.”
She stopped and looked back at me.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“I don’t know,” her eyes were innocent. “I read an article about Angelina Jolie and she said it was something that made her feel closer to her fiancé.”
“Oh.” I looked down, then back up at her and started walking.
“I don’t know about that,” I said after a block or two of trying to piece together my thoughts. “I don’t think I would like that.”
“OK,” she replied without a second’s hesitation. And that was that.

After that I seriously began to contemplate our relationship. Everything Katherine would do or say I would consider three times over, trying to analyze the deeper meaning behind her words and actions. She seemed like an enigma to me now. I felt like I had no idea who she really was, what she was really thinking. And that kind of scared me. Weeks later, we were laying on her bed and watching YouTube videos on her laptop. She was laughing at some guy falling off a park bench and I just smiled silently, my eyes drifting toward her fingers as she typed something into the search bar. And then I noticed them. Katherine was wearing short sleeves, leaving her forearms exposed, and I noticed something. There were three bruises on her left forearm, a deep blue one, an almost purple one and a fading yellowish one. I looked up at her face and then back down to her forearm.
“What happened to you,” I asked.
“What?”
“Your arm,” I said, grabbing it and turning it over so the bruises were looking at the ceiling.
“Oh, those.”
“Yeah. What are they from?”
Katherine sighed and touched her face. “Nothing, I just… Slammed my arm.”
“Slammed your arm? How? On what?”
She pursed her lips and sighed again. “At the track meet. I fell and hit the dirt hard. There were rocks and…”
“Really,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yeah, really.”
“Well, I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me, Peter.”
“What really happened, Katherine?”
“Peter, just shut up. I’m telling you the truth,” her eyes started to harden. Her face got a little red, as it usually did when
she was defending a point.
“No, you’re not, Katherine.”
“Fine, Peter, I’ll tell you the truth.”
A second passed. I was staring blankly into her eyes, waiting for her mouth to open again. She shook her head.
“The track meet…”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“I didn’t make it into the top ten. I tripped a couple of times.”
“I thought you were going to tell me the truth,” I breathed out, lifting myself off the bed.
“I am telling you the truth! Just listen to me,” she reached out, grabbed my arm this time and pulled me back onto the bed.
“I didn’t make it into the top ten. On the car ride home… My dad was… Really mad.”
“He was mad at you for doing your best?”
I couldn’t believe it. I had never seen Mr. Green mad, or even upset, in my life. Granted, I knew him only for a few months, but this revelation was still shocking to me.
“He’s a very competitive man, Peter.”
“Yeah, but… You’re his daughter.”
“I am. I am his… Daughter.”
And the way she said that kind of… Really did irk me. She said with an odd combination of disdain and love. I’d never seen her speak this way before. After a few moments, she told me that she thought it was time for me to leave. I didn’t fight her, I knew this was probably the time for me to just go and let her be alone. I mean, I needed alone time after that conversation. I was an emotional wreck, if there ever was one, and I wasn’t even directly affected by this man. Her father became a mystery, one that I felt obligated to bring to light but couldn’t really bring myself to actually pursue. My hands were tied, her family wasn’t mine, her life wasn’t mine. After all, I had only known her for about five or six months when she told me what she did that day. Who was I to go pushing buttons and beating around bushes that were, frankly, none of my rightful business?


Eventually, Katherine and I broke up. It wasn’t too long after that incident that we decided to go our separate ways. Now, it’s been about three and a half years since our relationship took it’s last proverbial breaths and I still can’t get her out of my head. I regret that I didn’t push, and I regret that I didn’t try harder to get to the bottom of the matter. We’re no longer friends, so I feel like the time to do that has come and gone, but still. Something inside of me aches every time I hear her name or see a status posted by her on Facebook. I can’t help feeling like I could have… Should have done more.

be your own light of encouragement,against the darkness of failure and discord.keep swing until  a homerun is hit.victory is a mighty tide to overcome  crashing  limbs of defeat,belief wins out when all else fails.know who you are in the world, wise beautiful  victorious great informed,not ignorant nor intolerant,you are awesome daily.all of these are seeds within to use.

aka... to those who crave limelight


There seems to be this growing
social stigma
for individuals to need to
acquire the attention of others
and hit a homerun.

This very desire can lead one to ruin.

You see,
if you want to stand out so much
it will only be a matter of time before you do, one way or another.  
And to stand out is to separate one's self, and eventually enough separation
leads to...

...isolation...

...and then you're alone,
amongst your own,
and you will have put yourself there!

The trick to winning within the tribe,
is to become one of the tribe,
and be one with the tribe.

That's all

Easy.  ;^)

He’s sitting there, Beats on music bumping
Losing himself in the rhythm letting the flow
Psych him up, his coach walks over and yells
At him GET YOUR *** OUT THERE. He takes
Off his headphones the final beat bringing
Back a memory

He was sitting there, the coach told him to
Take the bench, the other starter was out
There, where he should be. Gym class picked
Last again told he ***** no one wants him.
He’s tired of not being good enough he vows
To never let it happen again. And so he dedicates
Himself, pushing, driving, putting in the work
Needed to be a star, almost giving up
He never did

The ref looks at him and tells him to step up.
He steps up to the mat, he skates to the line,
He breaks from the huddle, toes the invisible
Line, steps up to the plate, steps  Up next to his
teammate, steps up to the foul Line
The whistle blows

He shoots for the legs, he passes the puck
He throws the spiral, he throws his hands up
He swings his bat, passes the ball, takes the
Shot…..
He pins him in 30 secs and wins the championship,
He puts the puck in the back of the net for
The win, He throws another touchdown
Pass, He pulls down the most amazing catch
He crushes the ball for a homerun,
He kicks the ball into the net, he swishes
The ball, nothing but net

They call him the legend, champion
The monster, invincible, hall of famer
They ask how he done it?
He never gave up on that vow and he
Step up

Silence comes
  from bones
that rot in the Earth
beneath a wet stone
with a carved name
   white as good teeth
in a hard jaw.

Silence is
  a homerun some kid
hit in Tennessee
in 1973 and a father
remembering the ball
  going like a bullet
deep into left center.

Silence is
  a brother grimacing
whispering your name,
through salt
  and tears on his cheeks,
one last time.

Silence, it just is...
  quiet, like pain.

preemptive strike
batting zero

i don’t want to walk
this one

i want a homerun
covered in dirt and
sweat because i
slid on home

yeah that’s where
my mind goes
when i dream about you

i’ve already picked
out our anthem

and i haven’t even
kissed you yet

girl
let’s take over
the world

right now
come on

what’re we waiting
for

and you got me
thinking that

maybe we just might
it isn’t a promise

it’s a threat

it may not be
forever but at
least it’s a start

i’m swinging
with my eyes closed

hoping just
hoping i’ll
hear that

crack
smack
connect

like a firework
point to the sky
and maybe with
you

i’ll hit it out of the park

Hair in a pony tail, ball cap on.
Wearin’ my team colors, ready to rock on.
Husband agitated cause I’m makin’ him wait.
Hey, gotta have my face on, I gotta look great!
Finally at the ballpark, game already rockin’.
Peanut shells crunchin’ quickly walkin’.
“Excuse me, Pardon me”.  Finally to our seats.
Hot dog and a beer.  This is hard to beat.
Into the first inning and our team at the plate.
Ooh, it’s my favorite player and he is lookin’ great!
Strike one.  Ball one.  Strike two and then,
A crack as wood meets leather and that ball is gone forever.
As one, the crowd roars and on our feet we stand and grin,
We watch our hero round the bases and bring that first run in.
Back and forth the score goes; it’s the bottom of the ninth inning.
Two outs already, bases loaded, our last chance at winning.
Crowd silent, on our feet as my hero takes his stance.
Only down by one, we know this is his chance.
They’ve brought the “closer” in, the one with all the skills.
He’s throwin’ heat, he’s throwin’ low, he’s going for the ****.
A nasty strike zooms o’er the plate and a collective gasp is heard.
My guy steps back, deep breath in, and not a single word.
Ball one is what the next pitch is and the crowd begins to whisper,
My batter glares toward the mound, “That all you got there, Mister?”
The pitcher shakes off two signals from the catcher,
Checks the runners on the bases, winds up the widow maker.
Like lightning that ball leaves his hand, and with a mighty swing,
He hits the best grand slam homerun that we have ever seen.
Our team has won, the crowd goes wild, the stadium is rockin’!
Our boys are roundin’ those bases and not a one of them is walkin’!
Hand slappin’ our seat mates and huggin on each other.
A long night of baseball ended.  Don’t you just love those boys of summer?


Copyright, 9/8/09 Peggy Montgomery

I feel both God and man alive
Death and valleys
Lows and mountains cresting high into the sky
A mere extension of this mortal coil
An unwinding of the intensive human mind
Combusts on thirty three inches of imperfect maple
And explodes like thunder into joyous cries
And for a moment I am king of the dust
For about three hundred and sixty feet of it, I am alive

(I swear that last one is still going)

Sometimes it's best to just let the words flow,
Out of your mind and from your soul.
Human communication has evolved in a way,
Millennium, after millennium, into what it is today.
Does it not seem odd in strange and quirky way,
That even us people sometimes don't know what to say?
We speak.
We listen.
We know.
We learn.
Yet often, we are left speechless without a word in mind.
Like when you witness a fight.
Or watch someone hit a homerun.
You see your dad cry.
Trying something you love for the first time.
A loved one dies.
Hearing an unbelievable secret.
Having *** for the first time.
Falling in love.
Getting your heart broken.


It's one thing to know what to say.
It's another to know *how you feel.

you know that feeling you get when you wake up
right before the alarm clock goes off?
that is us.

we are as carefully constructed as sand castles...

always one grain away from the hour.
just one inch too short of making the rollercoaster,
and tippy-toes now just won't cut it.

we are a missed flight.
i ran my fastest, carrying along our bags, bulky and heavy.

my palms keep getting blistered,
and i know for sure its not the monkey bars
or that baseball bat,
i kept swinging.
one homerun for every hundred fouls.

we are one mile short of the marathon.
a violin strung too tight to symphonize.
a micrometer short of the ratio--the golden
green of nature. but Frost knows best
that nothing gold can stay.

we are the silver medal,
and never could i settle for second best.

we are tired, weighted eyes
longing for closure,
and peaceful slumber.
but our lids are taped wide open
and we have stared too deeply,
too certainly and stubbornly,
into the past that
like an orphan on his birthday,
there never came a present.

we are that feeling.

we are the breaking point,
that moment right before you lean in
for a kiss you'll never get to steal.

the longing after lightning
for the thunder,
only ever finding silence.

and no law of physics can explain
this hole now.

we are a dead and ancient language,
a star that burned out just one century too early
to ever shoot into a wish.
a wave lost in the ocean,
a tree fallen in a forest so vast,
so pure, so untouched,
it didn't even deserve to make a sound.

we are two figments of one imagination.
a dream we are both too afraid to wake up from,
a grip so tight that everything just slipped...

...away into the wind that caught
your hair
and mine
and the wing of a seagull,
soaring steady above the coast
into a sunrise
we will never arrive in time to catch.

At the time
Only a sing-song of words
A small poem
By a grandma

Could not have been more loved
By a young girl who got a ribee

‘A ribee
A ribee
Melissa got a ribee’

The poem chanted from the stands
Of the small softball field
A fleck in the eye of nature
And the world in the eye
of a young girl

A young girl who had the love that
Middle aged men wake up
In the middle of the night
Crying out
For

But all Melissa knew
Was that she had
a ribee
And a few verses to praise such a small feat
Which watered it into a moment of glory

In this way
Life’s moments of glory
Are only so
Because of great strokes of love
Painted on their grain

So a few years later
And a few moments wiser
And a few words more thoughtful

A young girl thanks you
For your great stokes of love
Which have turned her life from a ribee
Into a homerun

For I hope you know
How your soft curls and kind blue eyes
Tell the story of a self-less love

The kind of love
So gentle that it sneaks up behind you
And warms you up

Like socks after ice skating
and laughter after dinner
and holding hands after a long day
and a poem after a ribee

the kind of love that tingles
not burns
and is steady
not infrequent

For you, my lovely grandma,
Are fluent in a language
That breathes in every country

A language many labor for lifetimes to comprehend
And for centuries to speak

But, you speak this language
In natural whispers
A stream to a pond
A horse to a field
A chime to a summer’s afternoon

You speak this language through
Small actions and fluid motions
Easing the stress of the world
With yet another moment of love

For even in a hospital bed
You ask about my bed
And my adventures

My foolish problems of a young heart
Running around the world
Running into pretend issues
Running into new nouns

And wanting so much to run into your arms
So you can welcome me home

And so I can thank you
For your thousands of moments
With one small moment

And I think of that moment

A kiss on the cheek
An ear for your words
A moment with your love

Because I love you
And because I want to love
Like you do

A shield --
That's what the alcohol is for me
While I force a smile
As she jostles you
While soaking up the place with her laugh.

I smirk and jest and guffaw
While we besiege you
With relentless questions and merciless teasing
Like how they used to do to me
In Seoul.

Now I'm right here
Where they used to be
Bleeding behind bravado and brofists
Interrogating you
With half-meant jokes.

'Have you gone to third base yet?'
'How about a homerun?'

Sorry.
What we are
Are just ghosts
Of yesterday.

Cheering you on,
Laughing and shrugging,
Tasting the sweetness of the past
And sharing that look of,
'I know that feel, bro.'
Now it's your turn.

And it's just a matter of time
Before you come to us
With tears in your eyes
Shards in your heart
A ready spiel of
'You'll never guess what happened,
you guys,'
All set to go.

Yeah, we've been there
Done that.
Me being the latest addition to their ranks,
Yep,
We do know.
And we do understand.

So trust us
When we say
When the time comes
Just wait and see.
A delay is not a denial.

I really hope this works out for you, though.
If not,
Well,
You'll see.
Three days is nothing.
I've been there.

All those wasted hopes and plans
For nothing.
It's fine.
You're fine.
All good in the hood.

My heart is in confusion and as torn up as it is its feeling love
The only thing I can see is the rose petals dropping and a sky full of doves
I really want to get back in the game but I'm afraid I'll drop out again
I'd rather love and be in the skies than touch the ground and let my feet descend
My heart is nothing more than broken glass waiting to be restored
But now I see it, someone who's worth drawing my sword
I want to her to plug into my lifeless outlet to bring back the electricity
Because then I'll know the depths of her authenticity
There was a mistake in the past but there's still hope for a new beginning
If it were a baseball match I'd want this homerun to last more than nine innings
I don't think I can express my words until I tell her who's inside
But now that their here these are the feelings I just can't hide
I'll just have to tell her up front and hope she feels the same too
Because I need to take action and stop asking myself What Do I Do

A question for my future self:
Am I happy?
Do I have insurmountable wealth?
A concern from my past self:
Do I still use my body to show the boys I’m pretty?
Is my potential for the future just collecting dust on a shelf?
I wrote a letter in seventh grade to my tenth grade self
I asked, blatantly, “pourquoi est-ce que to habites?”
That means “why do you live?”
And I sat and wondered while reading that in twelfth grade:
“What can I possibly give? Five years ago I didn’t know why I live and still I falter with the thought.”
I’ve been told time and time again that I’m wasting what I have
Not my materials or rights
My ability to stab through the thickest situations and rise to the top
I’ve been told that my potential has been wasted
I’m worried that me right now will be the same in ten years as though it has just been copied and pasted
Life goes on in a conveyor belt fashion
You step off when you get where you need to go
But some of us stand still and go in the same circle never taking action or developing a passion to get from point A to point B
I fear I may never step off my conveyor
It’s hard to see the world objectively when clearly everything is subjective
I’m conveying to you, future self, that I think your belt is broken and you’re stuck in one place
You physically stand still
While your mind wanders space
And you think you’re advancing and in life moving forward
But you’re stationary and you can’t see it now, but take my word for it
I want you to open your eyes and see past your useless tears
You’ve had all the time in the world to make changes, you’ve had so many years!
So why is it that you have yet to adjust the system?
Future self, are you listening? Get off the conveyor and start walking, because no one is there to fix them!
Don’t expect help from anyone in your circle
They stick around for a little but are ultimately a hurdle
There is no one to trust but you, future friend
If you need to reach out to anyone
Ask yourself, a hand I’m sure you’ll lend
I doubt you want to see yourself fail
You might as well then get your coffin and count each nail
Because everything in life is different in perspective
Can you see now that you somewhat feel respected?
I worry about you more than I should
But I worry just enough
To the point where it’s good
Hey, can we strike a deal, future me?
Give it four years
And if by then you can’t see,
Then the world doesn’t need you and you’re better off alone,
But if you see what I mean then enjoy your new home
Your body is the dwelling that you seek shelter in
I hope that day comes when you love your own skin
When your eyes shimmer with glee at the sight of your image
Not at all like Narcissus, but you understand the little pilgrimage I’m talking about
So one last comment to you, my soon to be friend
Always trust yourself and your judgement, don’t bend
Don’t let others walk over you like a doormat
Command your presence like a homerun swinging bat
Silence the room when you walk in to speak
Understand your self worth and the benefits, you’ll reap
I’m happy to have the pleasure of meeting you one day
I’ll likely be nervous and not know what to say
Because for how powerful and wonderful and mystifying you’ll be
God I hope one day what I want to see will be me

The Catcher In the Rye reboot trilogy; sequels comprise Pitcher In the Rye and part 3: Batter In the Rye. The love story of a ball and a glove, whom a bat tried to separate. Stay tuned for the spicy novel 50 Shades of Homerun, where the characters go through all the bases, all the way to the home...

You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take  
Regret
The feeling that makes your stomach ache
Regret
There’s no way to shake
Regret
You can try to change until you’re blue in the face
Regret
No steps back in time
No second chances
Regret
Go with your gut
No regrets

Take that shot
No regrets
  Be yourself
No regrets
Stand out proudly
No regrets
No hesitation no second-guessing go for it all
No BS’ing
Climb the mountain
Take that homerun swing
Just remember this one little thing
No regrets

Go big or go home   In whatever you do
Don’t let that feeling overcome you
Because once you do it will hold on tightly  
It will weaken us all even the strong and mighty
And so I leave you with this please don’t forget  
Live life to the fullest
No regrets

You ******* started it.
I told you once to stop and
You refused to quit.
I drew a line in the sand
You stepped up to the plate
I took a homerun swing when
You reached out and grabbed me
I hope you ******* regret it
You got what you deserved and
I will not feel sorry for it

“you have reached the voicemail box of 773…”
i remember hearing this almost every time i called
it got to the point where i would leave a message

a slow, long, sad, message because i knew You wouldn't hear it
i cried myself to sleep often
my pillows were the only ones that knew my pain

it's been 9 years now mom
have You forgotten your baby girl?
or has she been replaced with a new colt 45?

i've grown up so much mommy.
i had my fair share of heartbreak and my fair share of loss in only 9 years
but where have You been?
have You even thought of me?


have You replaced me with a new brand of cancer sticks?
or just a simple plain crooked yellow smile?

do You think of me on my birthday?
...because i often find myself wondering where is she?
pleading to my pillows

that i am still that little girl you once upon a time loved so much
...just not so little anymore.

You never saw me when i hit the winning homerun on my high school softball team
or when i got the villager role in Beauty and The Beast
did you know i played softball?
or is it always about your empty bottles?

You never even knew i wrote poetry
let alone it being about...You!

you’ve done it for 9 years now
what’s 9 more gonna change?

there's so much I don't know about you anymore.
but i know one thing...Your life seems to be pretty good without me
so that's ok, i think my life is better off without You
and Your various new hobbies and addictions

so go back to that old rusty liquor store
keep living a life without me
because i will see You in Hell

not because i will be there too
but because i will be looking down on You
with a bottle in your left hand
and a death wish between your teeth

Baseball
's funnern heck,
even when you hear
the umpire shout
at you, "You're out!"
The game
by any other name
would be as fun.
Tryna hit a ball
into the sun,
getna homerun
(or a run home)
where the buffalo roam
(God bless America!)
never gets old.
I've been told
that, in Heaven,
the game is always tied 7-7,
both teams win,
and stealing a base isn't a sin.

My mind is a maze. A never ending maze, consisting of dead ends and hidden secrets, but most of all my insecurities.


My heart is a drum beat. A steady drum beat that reflects my feelings and makes me quicken my pace when I see you. Because I get so nervous about how you think I look.


My stomach is a cave. Empty.


My fingertips are my maps and compasses. Guiding my hands down the floor length mirror.


My ribs aren't moving, yet every day they become more visible.


My lips are sewn together by the needle in your hand.


My ears are the harbor for your critiques


My eyes are a dam waiting to spill.


My anorexia is a ballbat hitting a homerun into the side of my head.