Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

I thank you God, for creating me female, for showing me that Strength doesn't always come from muscle.
I thank you God, for creating me a preacher's daughter, aware From my earliest days about what you have done for me.
I thank you God, for creating my red hair, making me unique Among my friends and peers.
I thank you God, for giving me great friends growing up, allowing Me to see the beauty of friendship from a young age.
I thank you God, for my smarts and intelligence that help me Excel in school, and my ability to help others who are struggling.
I thank you God, for my ability to make new friends easily, and Talk well with kids and adults alike.
I thank you God, for giving me my writing, soccer, and Photography talents, which I can use to praise Your holy name.
I thank you God, for giving me my way with children, and Allowing me love them and help them see you.
I thank you God, for those minutes of solace you give me in the Middle of the night, when I can't sleep and I don't know why.
I thank you God, for allowing me to love; my boyfriend, my Family and friends, animals, the majestic world you have created.
Thank you for the reassurance of your forgiveness, and all the Little things you do for me that I don't even recognize.
This list could go on and on, but you know my heart.
Thank you, God.

I believe in myths.

Every naturel blonde was first someone else.  By that I mean, she was known as Norma Jean, maybe Katy, in high school (see reincarnation below).

My teenage glory days, when I was the king of cool,
will revisit when I am 75 years old, the man-in-demand (wink), wearing his lucky wide cord corduroys and letting my man-bun,
all the way down, at the prom in the senior citizen home, getting lucky, say once a month...

God, yup, after all, he/she cometh to me regular-like,
when he needs a poet~father to take his confession,
and pays me most excellently for refusing him forgiveness,
with the most excellent poem suggestions or lesser valuable things.

Love at first sight, of course, happens to me all the time,
twenty, thirty times when I am walking home.  I tell ya, it's exhausting, the stress of living in the big city

Not only will I win the lottery someday,
will take down both,  Powerball and MegaMillions,
in the very same week the odds for which
there ain't enough zeroes in HP's servers. (See God, above).

Reincarnation. One time they Hale(d) and then hanged me (my "namesake") and I said: " I only regret, that I have but one life to lose for my country."  Well, the selfies all show oh-boy-o-boy, was I ever grinning and winking.

Only boys are bullies, girls get off easy, by getting called
just mean.

One day my city's teams will win the World Series, the Stanley Cup, the NBA Finals and the Superbowl all in the same year but only after I die and me, well, only after they will have buried me in Wyoming or France, just for spite, and nobody will hear me screaming.

My children will speak fondly of me even after they find out I died broke, well maybe not fondly, but they will most definitely call out my name, regularly.

After my demise, all the typoes in my poems will magically disappear.

All these good things will come to fruition, because I am a believer, and walked the humble path. The autopsy will also show that my tongue was permanently stuck to my cheek.