A lusty wanderer,
from life to life; I am a butterfly,
fragile, but my desires take me from,
flower to flower, in search of new flavors,
I often find, myself  in quandaries, quagmires and coal fires.
And at the end I am left with nothing else, but unfulfilled desires,
the nectar, that used to be my bait, I thought would be the end I seek;
but now it is clear, there is a jewel I want to adorn on my crown: Enlightenment it is.
Now I am aware, a seeker I am first and last, my hungers will vanish when I embrace cosmos.
This butterfly's flight through the mist will end when a flower will  feed me with nectar eternal.

You dirty rat is
tu rattus turpis in Latin, and
tum podem extulit horridulum
means you are talking shit.
And if you want to let it all hang out,
you shout totum dependeat!
Stercus accidit means shit happens,
and I wonder why those gladiators
didn’t give the Emperor the finger sign
instead of saying morituri te salutant.
For those about to die, and full of dread,
there would be nothing absurd
about flipping the bird,
and saying aves conversio instead.

Mike T Minehan

I don’t want the world,
just a mountain and some waterfalls will do,
oh yes, and a tropical hideaway
with a palm tree or two,
an outrigger canoe
and you.

If only I can find you again.

Mike T Minehan

I miss a warm body laying next to mine.
My single bed has never felt so lonely.
I long to wake to you wrapped around me like a cocoon
tight enough for me to know that you are too scared to lose me.
Holding on because you don’t want to fall.
I want to wake to you as if I’m unraveling from my cocoon
A beautiful mess.
Hair sprawled out on the pillow because there’s no room
To on the bed.
I want to see that cheeky little smile.
That magical glint in your eye
That reassures me of what’s to happen next.

I know this story
Two broken toys
Lives miming parody
Cruel tragedy

A girl behind glass
We can't touch our
Hearts live in the past

We could  press up
Against the pain of glass
It doesn't matter what we want
When your broken you just can't

I know how it is
Fate whispers tragedy
It can't be I want to die
Living dead presently

I see the world through glass
A world of people to see
They're mouthing words I can't hear
I scream but they can't touch me

I'm disconnected and distant
Shadow soul ghost echo
Ephermal intangible animal
Easily confused by what's real

Surviving starts this prison feeling
Crying staring at the ceiling
With every fiber of being
Longing to feel anything

I could sleep with you
Never touch soul just body
Fickle fates heart is a tyrant
One of life's little ironies

So you'll always be

The girl behind glass
Pretty snowglobe to stare at
Cold winter dream untouched
Secret hidden heart hurting enough

Find enough snowglobes
You'll learn to let go
We only have what we hold
Was it you we'll never know

But I'll remember you fondly
In your time of winter and trees most
Memories of hope I'll keep close
The last time someone touched my heart
These days I don't have many of those

I pressed my left heel down to get it into the strap of my sparkled sandal--bought from the cheap version of the rich girl store; I got them more than half off.
I'm a fraud.

Sliding my foot into the shoe,
the way I've done so many times before,
I lose my balance.

And there goes the first one.
I knew the nails were coming off;
I'm not all that wealthy.

I have to wait until the last minute to cough up fifteen bucks to get these things re-done.
I thought it just popped the nail straight off,
but it throbs and is begging for me to pay it some attention.

I peer down at where the once perfectly manicured nail (baby blue tips and all) had sat upon my index finger.
It has left a bloody mess--jagged and imperfect.

I can see my real nail drawn up next to my cuticle like a smile.
Placed on top is a half moon of hardened acrylic until it breaks off near the soft doughy point of my freshly exposed fingertip.
Edgy.
Almost.

The blood lines the rim and trickles it's way down
curving its way around the smile;
highlighting the crescent of my own fingernail.
It throbs.

“Fuck.”
I say wanting someone to hear me.
“FUcK.”
a little louder.

I just want to complain lately.
I want a little attention for the suffering I put my own self through.
As I wait it throbs more.

I wipe the blood away just to watch it refill.
I walk down the stairs,
and they take care of me.
They give me my oohs and ahhs and owes,
put some ointment on a paper towel because we don't have bandaids,
wrap it with tape,
and I'm off to sew my dress back together for dinner.

My sister's dress;
my sister's dress that she got from a nearby neighbor
who stuffed it in a trash bag and left it there for us to take.

Maybe I will get a discount.

Please
Stop
Repeating
How much a disappointment I am sometimes.
When I don't get good enough marks,
When I don't get into the board you want me to,
When I fumble in piano recitals.

Because I am,
Equally sad,
Broken,
Confused,
If not more than how anyone feels.

But I know,
It's for my good,
You hope to achieve what you couldn't yourself.

I just wish I could tell you somehow,
I'm working hard,
Very very hard,
To be the best daughter I can.

But please be patient,
I'm getting there.

Behind this little curtain, I hide.
I do not lie, but I do not tell the truth either.
I do not flash it in your face,
but I'm afraid you may know my

secret.

If this happens, everything will turn upside down
and I need to find a paper bag,
where I'll readily stuff my face in and hide under a rock
Until maybe all magically is forgotten.

I am ready to tell you the truth, however,
although my paper is transparent, a see-through glass,
piles of white lies may start to stain it and soon,
it will be so opaque you have to dig deep into there
To finally see the face that's hiding behind.

I am not desperate or a stalker,
or you know,
the one that sends you long text messages
and waits eagerly for a short reply.
Whenever I try to forget you,
you pop into my memory and tempt me into no bounds
of imagination. It's necessary I try not to follow,
but I always end up falling in the same hole.

So please understand, that if I suddenly reveal my identity,
do not be taken aback because this is what I have to do,
for you have caused me to be slightly obsessive and
longing for even a slight bit of communication between
us. The us that I dream of, the us that happened, what of it is left?

To start anew? This is rather painful. I don't want to forget, you see.
You were so lovely and sweet. How can I erase you from my memory?

People come and go, but you stay, longer than I thought you would.
This attachment is detrimental to my being. If any longer your existence influences me,
I will stop living in the present and reality and just dream on about non-existent parallels,
wasting so much time and feelings.

Okay. So this is why I'm being so secret there. You would only talk to me that way.

Because,

you wouldn't want to talk to me.

Thank you, dear, though, for that sweet little message.