I feel really good about this thing
my self
I’m going to run it all over town
with sparkly flashing gear
and cool kicks

sometimes i wonder what it's like
to be a star
to look down on the world
while it's asleep
to watch the lost souls
wander outside at night
and look up at the sky
and smile
i wish i could be a star

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Helping a friend

Uneasy in her silence
Vulnerable and bare
His words cut so deep
She struggled not to care

Pensive for a moment  
She felt inadequate, yet free
Taking time to reflect  
On the woman, she’d come to be

The strength she'd sought so desperately
Showed up a little too late
Devoid of any resolve
Perhaps she'd met her fate

Dear me,
Don't just sit
Rise, and pursue greatness.

Don't just watch
Go after what you want.

Don't just exist
Strive and start living.

Don't just dream
Work hard and aim for success.

Don't get tired
Keep hiking until you get to the peak.

the heart is the fragilest of things
said she
yes, indeed, like a tea cup
said he

and when you think about love
you need not worry
to speak your language
for that someone could simply
understand you
no translations needed

It’s time to cut the strings of you, I think.
I get tangled up and I’m tired now.
Just let me rest for a minute,
to ease my eyes and
stop my spinning mind.
But then I’ll get to cutting.
Snip.
Snip.
I can’t wait for my first breath.

I am the deep, the sky in reverse
I have what you seek, for better or worse

I am the blue of infinite depth
I've swallowed the crews and cleared the decks

You are afraid or maybe intrigued
Of the place where you played and also was freed

Kiss me now like you did before
Give me your vow and the ocean is yours.

I swear I’m not “crazy”
My pain is real
Not in my head

I swear I’m not
Suffering from “anxiety”
As I’m laying in this hospital bed

They’d waited too long to say

“I love you”.

3 words. 3 syllables.

Yet they held millions of emotions unspoken.

and now that they’d done it, they wouldn’t,
couldn’t, stop

they told each other all the time. In the end of the argument and before the good news.

In the middle of the storm, even though it was hard to see, and after, when the raging winds had settled on a breeze

before the rising sun turned the sky pretty colors and after it flickered out and faded away into the dark

Underneath the stars that their love had been etched into

There was no love until death for them. Because it would never stop. Their love was beyond. It rose above any border that would dare to try and stop it. There was no finish line

because they were each other’s end game.  
-L.R

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

I'd like to cut my heart open
to take you out
or maybe
to see you one more time

To this day,
your name
still hurts my tongue
but I still say it anyway.
Sometimes I like to
hear my soul
gently tear itself
apart.

Dallas, November 1963
Fifty-seven years since they shot Kennedy
Everyone saw then live on T.V.
what happens when you challenge
secret society

Some say the mob or the CIA
Either black or white, but the truth is gray
and long since buried 'neath Texas clay
right next to good ol' LBJ

I ask not what my country can do for me
Blood on her hands, Lady Liberty
Let sleeping dogs lie, leave history be
The truth died in Dallas, 1963

Poetry runs through our veins. Meant for cold hearted people, whose hearts are covered up with stains.
Until pure love is the only thing on this planet that rains.

the soft ''i love you''
we whispered as you left,
will forever be burned
into my memory

tomorrow, darling,
you say to me ,
as you walk out the door,
and I drift back into sea

In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.

I will never judge you with hatred or disdain,
I will never cause you strife that you may in peace
remain.
God forbid anyone insult you or clip your angel wings ,
I will stand in awe of you and the wonder that you bring.
I will knock down all the walls and break the lock on the door
I will help you take the leap and watch your spirit soar
for you I wrote this insignificant poem to tell you of your worth
you will have your portion and your cup , you will be my friend
secure.

Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife,
drag race in the background,
my Samantha doll by my side.
This isn't loneliness anymore.
This is just life now.

I'm not very good with words anymore,
maybe I never was.
So little has changed and yet everything has.
I still long for love.
I still want to be wanted.
That might never change.

Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept,
come to love.
I may be my only friend here,
but that's one more than last year.

Nothing I create is good,
but I'm learning to create anyway.
I'm learning to share my bad art,
at least it's art.
Right?

I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door.
Someone outta shut him up.
I used to think that was an evil thought,
now I know there's no such thing.

I turn 21 in 2 days.
Math. Yuck.
I'm old,
getting older every second.
Whatever.
I will grow into this skin,
I'm sure of it.
Maybe.

I'm grateful.
More than anything I am grateful for it all.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the guilt,
the anger.

Pills,
family,
friends,
dolls.

No one reads these except me.
So this one is for her.
For you.
Anne,
my love,
my villain,
my biggest fear.

May this year be kind to you,
may you be kind to it.
May you listen to your spirit guides,
may you accept what you never could.

Growth is sticky and wet,
Knowledge is thick and grey.
May you be the light and the darkness,
the cut and the band aid.

More than anything,
be okay.
You're gross,
in a sort of beautiful way.
May you be okay with that.
Truly.




Bad art is still art.
Right?
I think so.
For now.

she woke up screaming
windows and china tea cups shattered
she blinked
another nightmare, she recalls

when was the last time she dreamed?

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you