Everybody says so.
Nobody knows though.
Some just think so.
But what the hell do they know?

Breathing deeply; stretching, fencing, and the writing inkpen
Breathing outward; shoveling, climbing, and the driving wheel
Breathing inward; directing, leading, and the staffing meeting
Collapse the boundaries and calm, our young one
Few survivors feed the light to a maze of mirrors
Breathe deeply; shining, reflecting, and giving light
Breathe outward; being, becoming, and joining union
Breathe inward; en masse, en masse, en masse!

We would all be better dancers,
  if we tried not to step on ants.

    We would all be better singers,
      if we spoke about what matters.

        We would all be better painters,
          if we held hands with a gentle grip.

            We would all be better poets,
              if we put our souls on paper.

a trip across Europe
we would sit
on a train
taking us
                                      far
away.
my head would lean against your shoulder
as we
listen to music
until I
fall asleep

the train goes faster
through the fields and the marsh and the mist and the cities and the sky
it takes us
                                 far
across this corner of the world
as you
read me stories of the empires that once traversed these lands
how they came to be
how they fell
socio economics
and all the things that tickle you pink as the sweet pea flowers growing
                              far
as you can see throughout the meadow.  

our fingertips rest against on top of each other
the train goes faster
the train goes faster
the train goes faster
and

I wake up
I have not seen Europe from the window of a train
and  I have not seen you, lately
you are
after all
quite
                         far
away.

I met a man.. that I believe..I have dreamt into existence.
He spoke life into my dreams, dried my tears, when I cried from my ever healing soul, planted lavender below my window sills, surfed the ups and downs of my complicated moods and patiently waits..

He's the constant, I never knew was real, the strength that keeps my back from bowing, the gentle...that soothes every doubt.

He's the description of what Love..is truly meant to be.

I don't need to prove to him
Who and what I truly am
I don't need to prove to you
All that I know I can do

And yet,
I still want to

Long ago
the story began
One ***** in a vein
spun out rhymes
Of the insane

A sweet girl gone
She will not go far
The tip of a needle
Will curse who you are

His hands choked her blue
Voices drove him mad
The addiction won
He lost all he had

Behind bars
he waits for letters
His poems got a few 
So many unsent
Now no place to go
Letters lacking a recipent

She wanted it to pass by quick
The time without him
The last letter she stamped and addressed
She wonders if he got it
Or did her words shatter his reason to live
Is it why his neck was slit

She wants to know if he opened it before committing to suicide

Two blue roses on his grave
Nothing went right
No happily ever after
To end the night

Now which way to go? I sit and ponder
It no longer matters
After all, I'm destined to forever wonder.


The needle left its curse, on and on she goes, reaching no farther than her toes.

Society has people thinking they must,
people find it hard to trust,
teens build sadness until they combust,
and "perfect" is just a few flaws away...
A world so puzzling with nowhere to fit,
narrow minds thinking this is it,
cold souls and fire we spit,
and we find cons in all of our days.
Keeping one eye on the clock,
no patterns yet we hate to be shocked,
to subtle addictions we flock,
and we wonder why we're in dismay...
Adjusting for a fulfilling life,
getting ****** and kissing knives,
but we're always so surprised,
when we come to our leaving day.