The Minutes pass me by
showing disgust at my wails.
They don't bother helping;
they don't stick around for that matter.
With only sixty seconds to exist,
I must be of no concern to them.

The Hours' fists crash into my skull
creating a constant clangor resonating through my brain
exciting my ego
electrifying regrets

The Days...
Oh those god-damned Days.
They see me confused and so seize their chance;
they pull out my feet
right from under my frame,
and helpless, hurt,
I collapse to the earth.
Now begins their fun!

The Months form gangs called 'The Years'
and The Years take their turn
breaking my joints, my fingers, my knees,
all my snappable, crackable points.
Curved, crippled,  and creaking,  
I languish in fantasies of supposed to be.

Time makes things worse.

A dark shadow moves over me.
I look up  as far as I can lift my heavy head
and like a fat man resting his rump on an ant's back,
I see The Decades with their massive, soul crushing weight
squatting their hindquarters;
oppressively,
down upon my twig-like spine.

This is a merciless beating!
This is the beat of time.

And throughout the abuse,
I crawl, cringe, cower
as safe as can be in a low lying state on the ground,
(which is still six feet too high for all that time cares!)
I hear from somewhere afar
an unfaltering decree
from my maker to me
"Stand up straight! For Heaven's sake!"

I want to be appreciated
I want to be adored
I want to know that when I speak
My words are not ignored

I'm sick of how I'm treated
I'm sick of being put down
I'm sick of working hard all day
For nothing but a frown

I need to feel important
Maybe just this once
I need to know in someone's head
I'm more than just a dunce.

I know that I deserve more
I know I'm treated wrong
But I know no matter what they do
I'll continue to play along

I wish I could be better
I wish that they could see
All the things that I have worked for
And earned the right to be

Why can't it ever be enough
Why can't I just win
Why can't I feel like just this once
It was worth it to begin

Maybe things will never change
Maybe you just are what you are
It might just be my fate to know
That I will never be a star.

crampon cleats tickle her bedrock
far below the frosty powder dusting;
released where her majestic peak
parted yester night’s obstinate clouds.

the alpine atmosphere
first chilled and then plummeted
as the starlight glistened;
illuminated ice crystals sparkled
like diamonds in the rough.

I am overwhelmed
by the peaceful aura
surrounding me.

watching how
"these"
footprints
mark the snow
...arousing
a lucid,
stirring awareness
of my existence;

...inciting
a conscious moment,  
extraordinarily deepening
the realization of being.

Corruption is like a ghost-
intangible but eerily solid, there but untouchable.
Like smoke, it dissipates into the air around us-
weaving itself into our breath faster than we can
inhale and exhale the lies that thicken and pollute
the oxygen that blackens our lungs with thick, black vines of tar
like poison ivy vines that creep across cracks onto ancient buildings,
forming a web that represents the false truths that have come to define our history-
triumphs and tragedies morphed so inconsistently by the victors.
And we lie to ourselves as we say we find beauty in this-
in a society so fed by falsehood that we're bloated by it-
dragged down by it.
Carrying this extra weight with a smile
living in a world that sees blinders
as a euphemism for freedom.

Eleven Weeks. Is that all it took?
To take us from strangers, to
lovers, to strangers again? I knew
you for eleven weeks yet it felt
like a life time of memories.

Eleven Weeks. Is that all it took?
For me to break every rule of
love for you? To let down my guard
and make you the exception?

Only Eleven Weeks. For you to
become the most important person
in the world to me. For me to become
so co-dependent on you that the
thought of you not being near made me ill.

Eleven Weeks to go from a strong, independent woman to a love sick fool.
Eleven Weeks to sell my soul and give you everything you wanted from me.
Eleven Weeks to lose who I was because I thought you were so great.
Eleven Weeks to rethink my previous notions about love and affection.
Eleven Weeks to become the loneliest I've ever been.

It's not a lot of time and the simple fact that
Eleven
Measly
Weeks
Can change who I am at the core of my being is not okay with me.

Twenty one years being who I was.
Eleven Weeks to tear it all apart.

Legs shiver,
eyes hurt,
brain screams.
Hands ache when I write,
but I do.
I cling to the screen.
Like a brain dead body,
no soul,
only jealousy.
Then desperateness kicks in.
My Parvati is dead,
like Siva was slowly disappearing.
Can I hold on?
For how long?
Will this longing drive me mad,
or is it planning on sparing me?
Tick tock tick tock,
the clock goes,
blick block, blick,block.
Tv sounds are jarring,
the commentary is blasphemy,
often with misleading sounds.
I can feel my brain dying.
So it has,my darlings.
Good night.

Like rosemary twigs, and lavender leaves,
The loss that tore my heart open today,
Chews at my body and mind.
In my stomach I feel an aching from the emptiness therein.
Excitement is low, and I can’t hear the beating of my heart.
That organ seems so quiet and careful,
That I wonder if it’s my heart keeping me alive
Or just some force of the universe or my will.
At times my mind seems like rice paper,
An empty sheet of white with no words written on to tell a story.
At others, my thoughts drift backwards in time,
Wishing that all the moments before would still be alive for later.

I always thought mouths were for kissing, smiling, and laughing.
Isn’t that a beautiful fiction?
But it is not a hundred miles close to the truth.
Yes, mouths do kiss, and smile, and evoke laughter,
But the movements of the lips are also quick,
Like the strike of a snake.
These mouths spread talk and venomous gossip,
One to another,
Like an apocalyptic plague that brings to all fever and vomiting.

Wouldn't the world be as perfect as an ivory-bell-flower?
If there was no heart break, gossip, or endings.  

Here I sit now,
Sitting on my knees with my hands resting on my legs,
And my back arched forward,
Like a monk in meditation.
The rosemary and lavender is growing all over me,
Transforming my body into a scented orb of green.

when you try your best
but it isn't enough
and you start thinking
you are no longer better than the rest

that's when the demons
they enter your head
you can't get them out
your mind is dead

everything's your fault
why aren't you clever
why aren't you pretty
why aren't you skinny

now I am telling you
to never think like this
and if you already are
you're better than this

My year's been like a rainy day
Full of sadness and gloom
Just dragging on forever
With a hope that flowers will bloom

This month has been a storm
Full of anger, aggression, and hate
With thundering people all around me
That make me feel second-rate

I vaguely remember a time though
When the sun was always out
A time when I could do anything
My head wasn't filled with this doubt

Last week my life was a tornado
Pushing me every-which-way
Spinning, rising, and falling
Quickly leading me astray

Yesterday I could almost see the sun
And the weather was almost warm
Light was peaking from behind some clouds
A calm before another storm....

Today my life was a blizzard
And it chilled me to the bone
Leaving me feeling numb
So numb and so alone...

I miss those summer days...
Before life became so gray
I'm sick of feeling cold and numb
Just wishing for a warm sunny day

Everything I touch turns to flies.
He called me Magic Eyes,
but didn't hesitate to forget
and get scared like all the rest I've met.
Who wants to be a fly anyway?

Everything I touch feels like gun metal.
Cold and deadly
This expensive paint brush
is a trigger I crush
everyday:
A sharp accessory medley.

Everything I touch enters my blood stream
and feels only like a dream
where you made me scream  
and drive away.
My cells thrive on bribes anyway.