When did I become a joke to you?
When did I become the person you build up and up,
Only to tear down piece by piece by piece?

When did you start thinking it was okay to mess with my mind?
When did you start thinking that I was the perfect person
To break down and humiliate?

First I became your diary,
Then I became your therapist,
Next it was the advice giver
(Even though you never listened),
And now I’ve become the one you pretend to make plans with
Only to cancel at the moment you're supposed to arrive.

What gave you the idea that any of this was okay?
I’m so tired of the drama you bring.
I’m so tired of trying to help when you won’t listen.

I don’t think I can do this anymore
I don’t think I can be your friend;
Not if this is where it leads.

We planned an entire day,
And yet, here I am,
Writing this poem while watching TV
As I sit at home alone.

If you were looking for my breaking point
Then I can congratulate you on finding it,
You’ve finally hit the last straw.
No more!
I’m done!
This isn’t what friends do.

Once you’ve gone
what more is there
to say about leaving

or, for that matter,
the impermanence
of measured words.

All I can do is stand
alone in the backyard
and listen to the wind.

A late frost killed
the magnolia buds

and the forsythia
never materialized.

And so I wait for the worms
to begin their earthy work.

I wait for the pink moon
to rise above the rooftops.

I wait for the smell of mock orange
and the blue of a broken robin’s egg.

But most of all
I wait for your
words to bloom,

to tell me, finally,
that spring is here—

that the gardens we tend to
have something more to say.

I watched her dance across the empty floor for no reason just her own simple pleasures  and to simply show she was alive .
The music loomed heavy and she flowed with it a lover lost in its power.
Often we find solace in moments others dare not to intrude .

I said nothing just stood a viewer to this scene .
A fly to the wall with a ever fading drink.
She made me forget as she seemed to forget all as well.

I thought of the ocean and my times long since past .
The nights I sat by the seawall and viewed the ships like ghosts silent anchored off shore..

Friends whom no longer breathed life and painted my thoughts with stories .
She made me recall how being alone truly felt .

The music faded she was no longer there.

It was the close of a Saturday night  my dreams had long since died .

Maybe we are all fools for trying when the deck is stacked against us.
Letting the time pass and are bodies go.

But then sometimes when in the moment with that music
you just have to allow yourself to flow.

I never could recall her name the dream never allows you the grace of
understanding.
For once I slept well through the night .
A vision of my desires kept me warm.

As the sunrise and reality soon brought me back.
One day I did hope it would  
just allow me to go.

through words,
I heal my wounds
by completely exposing them

On a distant summer
a girl walked four miles
to sell fruits at the haat
and mowed by the May heat
fell asleep on a patch of concrete.

The noon dusts played around her
sleep little girl rest your feet
the winds will play you a song
refresh you with dreams so sweet
the walk back home won't be long.

The sun had slid the shadows grown
when opened her dream dazed eyes
there she was at the haat all alone
her fruits in the basket had dried.

She had dreamed a round dime
clutched in her palm
colored gold with her wish

she had slept thru the time
and when the winds calmed
held nothing to buy home a fish.

Time has flown those dusts far away
years have grown her wise
yet when the winds blow lonely in May
her tears she cannot disguise.