You ignore me
I still try to talk to you
You never answer
I continue to call
You treat me as if I do not exist
I want to be invisible
The film starts at my fingertips, and slowly slides up to my elbows, past my shoulders, and finally covering my entire face.
The liquid begins to glide down the front of my chest, then speeding down past my waist.
By the time it reaches my knees, I have lost all memory and all feelings
I have nothing.
And when it completely covers me from head to toe, I stay frozen, stationary
Distant from being alive
No one can see me
I am invisible

Love
World peace
No hate
Friendship
Greatness
A better life
New days
No stress
Blissful mornings
Cures for diseases
Increased vocabulary
New creations
Imagination
No more sadness
Thoughts
Dancing
Laughter
Light through darkness
Maturity
Equality
Paradise without Hell
Forgiveness instead of grudges
A world where 'beautiful' is
A brighter tomorrow
Hope

You have no idea what you mean to me
Clueless, unaware, completely oblivious.
Dare I open my mouth? Dare do I tell the secret of what I hid beneath my skin for so long?
Secrets and trust can NEVER go hand in hand.
So I spill each letter of secrecy, liquid pouring out of my heart and soul, praying that you will still accept me and (maybe) even love me for who I am.
My secret is out. No more hiding.
I Love You

Make sure breathing is the first thing you do when someone you love enters the room.
Blue looks good on you, but not on your cheeks as a blush.
Inhale.


Exhale.

I feel like I have lost my words.
Once they flowed so easily
Time has ripped my mind from the flow of my mouth.
I fell in love with a someone else's soulmate.
I became selfish and jealous and pushed myself to a point that my words became useless.
When you choose emotions over words instead of bringing the two together
you create a self destructing version of yourself that lives on the outside while the true version of yourself watches on the inside.
Hiding writing is the hardest thing I chose to do with my life
I would look around at creation and say to myself, 'that's nice.'
Only my insides are screaming, 'describe it! write it down!'
Or something dark would encompass my being and instead of fighting with a pen, I cowered, crumbling.
I allowed myself to be swallowed, digested, and even parts left behind, scattered around a crime scene where my words made a difference
Instead I chose a cowards way, pretending I was incompetent
And my words slowly dwindled down as short as I could possibly make them.
One day, I saw a baby chicken have a seizure, and I started to cry. And as my tears flowed, I thought to myself how would that chicken describe me ?
It seems extremely odd I know, but in that moment I couldn't think of a single word. My lungs tightened as I continued to hold this now lifeless creature.

Lifeless
Breathless
Speechless

No one knows the darkness I feel under my skin
How twisted I felt, trapped beneath a weighted cloth
Yet your hands, rough, removed the cloth and inspired my soul to be genuine
To no longer hide beneath a veil of innocence, but to embrace the dark and love deeply within its covers

You walked in as a gentleman
You would leave as a wolf
Making me yearn for memories we had made together to happen again
giving anything to relive the movie of us, the moment I kept staring at your lips wondering what they would taste like

Now I am unable to breathe, feeling a constant choking in my throat, a squeezing in my stomach.
Your cologne rips through my body, makes my mind flash to the night we rubbed against each other, how much passion how felt after I realized I did not kiss you correctly

I am sure I did it all wrong
I am sure you do not feel the same
And since I am treading with my lips barely above the surface of the water
I know you will not extend your hand
Or even offer an assuage for my broken body

And yet you smile, you laugh, knowing how I must feel, being unable to breath around you
You intentionally speak my name with a ragged breath, which again sparks another cluster of memories
Im dying inside, collapsing within leaving nothing more than an empty seashell that rattles because of the broken pieces

Part of my mind wants amnesia, to forget about the way you make me feel
however the other part begs me to keep memories fresh, feeling your flesh against mine
Never stop
Don't let the wounds heal

I know you bite,
I again feel the pressure of your mouth against my throat, my heart racing as I beg for you to rip my innocence open
And allow the weight to flow freely from my veins

Eventually I need to move on
I have to stop looking your way, or driving the same route home that you do
I have to tell myself that you never truly wanted me, that you just used me, and now your memory is simply a poison in my veins that burns and adds more weight to my cloth

if only your venom would stop tasting so sweet

Trying to be perfect
Wake up in precision,
Yet the goal is a precipice.
Scale the wall
Be yourself
Perfection is never the absence of a crack;
Rather it is embracing the cracks as you add a little more glue.

I am shattered, being pieced together

I start to embrace myself--to be confident every day--without anxiety, overthinking, or the crude part of myself that says I will never scale the wall.
Piece by piece
One step at a time

One day I will release myself from choosing what I know rather than what lies on the other side

alarm goes off
Wake up
Breathe
Step

I thought I could walk away from writing by falling in love.
I have not touched a piece of paper in so long, I forgot how it felt between my fingers, and even what it smelled like.
Now my heart is hurting and I run to the paper. A lover that simply sat and waited on a desk, collecting dust.
I could be rejected from paper, but He opens up to me.
'I have missed you,' He says.
His perfect lines as straight as before I left.
'Ive been gone too long. May I.....?' I pull out my wooden ink pen.
The paper suddenly sticks to the desk.
'Of course. Always for you.'
I lightly touch the paper with the tip, and my mind is already flowing out the hurt and pain. All my feelings have pulsed through my bloodstream, into my fingertips and to the end point of the writing utensil.
My pen scratches, and I can already feel the two of us sighing, releasing against one another

I is such a selfish letter.
Always I
Do this
Can
Will
Know
Only it is never just "I"
When you discover that two halves of 'eyes'
Make a vision
When they come together

I don't understand why I am breathing.
You are dead, and yet I am alive.  
Why?  
Even better. Could we trade?  
Could I see the beautiful place you are now and you, return here, with the family?
It would not have to be long, or I can schedule a swap once a day.
I know there is a balance,
I just have not found it yet.  
I am looking for the place of solace
Where bugs are gone and sunlight lasts forever.
The place where the grass is softer than and feather, and apples need no skin as they grow.

H e always knew she would be
E xactly as he saw dreaming of her body,
A nna was the name of his 1985
R olls Royce's of cars, a
T hunderbird
B lack, shiny,  with chrome size 18
R ims, sleek black tires
E asy money he made working
A ll stopped-- he wrecked, she went to junk
K icking himself wishing he had stopped at
                                               the stoplight

Breathe
Feel your heartbeat
Call someone you know
Email someone from the past
Let your hair down
Look at yourself, and say,  "Beautiful"
Tell someone they look awesome
Play a video game with your sibling
(or a buddy)
Read a book
Meditate
Go for a walk
Dance
Anything that you enjoy--
Singing
Eating pizza
Spaghetti
--that tells you that your existence is important
Blow your own mind
with trivia
random acts of kindness
travel
See a new country
Exercise
Buy a candy bar
Put a puzzle together
Draw

Find who you really are in any way,
not because it is a person telling you
what you should be, where you go, what clothes look good,  what makes you great
Make your own path
Make your own happiness
It is so you can smile
Create your own joy
And then stick your finger to the person that is trying to force you to conform!

I couldn't smile today, of all days.
I felt so mad,  angry,  at the routine of everyone.
Hating someone then pretending to love them irritates me.
Christmas is supposed to be joyous, a time of smiles and joy with memories.
Getting mad when you don't get the gift you wanted?  Grow up.  
I watched someone I love not be able to stand up to hug his family at Christmas!
Angry because someone took your ***** Santa gift and you had to pick another one?  
Grow up.  
I had to pick up my hearts pieces--for falling in love with a drug addict--and now that I have chosen someone else, I am having to learn how to love all over again.
Unwrapping presents is a subculture beneath the societal continuation of "Christmas"
We don't know the true meaning,
All we know is there are gifts involved.
What if you truly sat back and watched everyone else open their presents?
Watch their faces and reactions to something you made instead of something you bought

I surprised him on Christmas Eve.
I made him think I had to work all evening,
Only I pulled in his driveway, called his parents to let them know I made it, and then I asked him to Skype with me via text.
He obliged, and as the camera turned on I saw his eyes twinkle,
You look beautiful
So do you
What are you doing?
Sitting in my car, you?
In a sun room,  waiting for family
Well, could you do me a favor?
Yea,  sure,  what? *
(stepping out of my car)
Could you turn behind you and look out the sun room glass and add one more person that can wait with you?

He rolls his chair around, where I am standing in his backyard facing the sun room,  all dressed up for him.
His eyes water,  and he starts heading out the door towards me
Kat,  I thought you had to work
I had you fooled,  didn't I?
I wanted to surprise you for Christmas
You did Kat

He wraps me in a deep hug,  
Kisses my cheek,
And softly whispers in my ear,
Best. Present. Ever.*
That makes two of us.

Life to me is never about what you get from others but what you give to others.

Tobias.
A handsome, broad-shouldered man with soft earth-brown eyes,  that lived in 18th century England, who then came to America with his mother and father plus his eight brothers.
He would die of fever at the age of 23.
After he died,  he did not move on to the afterlife, instead he was chosen by a group of elders called The Guard.
As a Guardian, he was tasked a keeper of human lives selected  by The Guards' standards as 'changers,' or humans that change the course of history.
Tobias rejected his forced calling and attempted to abandon his task.
The oldest of The Guard, Helten, a man thousands of years old (only looking 40), approached him and asked a simple question, "Why do you want to truly die?"
Tobias was silent,  until Helton added,
"There is a Shift after your changer."
Shifters, or Shifts,  are the enemies of the Guardians and their mission is to destroy all changers so that Shifts can take their place and change the world to their liking.
Tobias added gruffly,  "Which one?"
"Daniel."
Tobias' hand squeezed into a fist. He hated Daniel ever since the 1920's. He wanted a rematch since that idiot tried to **** his charge for a cigarette.
Tobias wanted to punch him.  Hard.
His eyes flashed crimson,  and his fists turned blue flame.
"Where is he?!" Daniel growled.
Helton smirked,
"Pennslyvania."

'Bounce my face off the floor,  maybe then you will recognize me'
Burn my skin so you will remember my scream
Pull my hair to feel colors slide between your fingers
Punch me
Make me feel something
Other than a lie you built during the day
Making people believe you are charming and handsome
When the true you is conniving and distasteful
Your teeth are never white,  
Rotting yellow behind your pale lips
Your hair is thin, and in places on your scalp disappearing
(like I wish I could)
I dream of knocking you down
And breaking your bones harder than you ever snapped mine
And knocking your teeth out
While I pack my bags and watch you bleed on that new tan carpet you just installed
And even adding an extra kick in the head
Just for laughs.
If I am lucky you will be brain dead,
But alive just enough to where you can watch me live my life fully,  loving heartily, And most importantly,
Speak my mind without fear, or your voice replacing mine anymore

I hate my body
I walk five miles with my dog so that I can feel
confident one day,  to walk out in a bikini and NOT have the urge to run and hide.  
To look at myself in the mirror without judging
what needs to be changed
quit telling myself that I have to be in love to be loved
And for once, I could throw on a outfit and not change forty different times
I stretch, walk, push, lift
working on it
So that I can have the courage to take a picture of myself without editing or changing it,  
And actually keeping it
Instead of throwing it away

You ask a question as if you already believe I am guilty.
I would never take something that doesn't belong to me,  and if I did,  I would ASK FIRST.
I especially do not take poetry.
I don't copy anyone else's work or imagination.
We are all family; each of us have a marvelous ability to delve beneath layers of ourselves by writing each section on paper.
Why would I borrow your layers when I have my own?  
Inspiration is not something a thief can steal
There is the ability to grasp what is around you and feel emotions intensely, or you have a mind that moves with waves of thought and logical calculations.
Borrowing someone's poetry and pretending it is yours reminds me of borrowing jewelry from friends.
You make think it makes you look good,  but trust me,  people can tell that it doesn't belong to you

I'm not normal.
I find new words to say,  most are made up
Or I borrow a word or two from a different language
Dash it all,  forbearance, absotively (combo of absolutely and positively) or posilutely
I laugh in public, out loud, of things I say in my mind
Sometimes I talk to myself
I daydream--a world that I would fit in
For now I have made my own,
And maybe one day He will have the courage to pass by
and ask for my address
"Where do you live? "
And I can say
Myself

Just friends.
I don't really grasp the understanding of how you can simply place a heart on a pedestal and never look at it again.
Never mind the dust it may collect or the possibility of malfunction from not being used in so long--that is not the point;
that heart belonged to someone--me.
I stood in front of you, bearing my all, and I told you that I would never walk away no matter what, as long as you carried me with you always.
I would never walk away unless you commanded me
I was your dog, begging for an ounce of love as if it were a shriveled, discarded chunk of pizza crust.  
Truth be told you thought that if you didn't feel the same that you had to pretend so that "I would stay"
"Maybe one day we can be together"
"You are sso special to me"
"I care for you so deeply"
"More than you'll ever know"
"I'm grateful that you are always here for me"
I was always here--until you lied.
Lying to me as you slowly put my heart on a shelf to decay
A heart so ***** and dusty,  who will ever love an unclean heart?  
I loved yours didn't I?
Only now I can't hold on to what was never there, and I have to walk away.
Leave you and your lies to brush up the mess you made,  while I take my heart off the rotting shelf it's sitting on,  get in my car, and drive to an empty restaurant miles away so that I can order a new dish I have never tried,  and start over

I beg inside my soul to have you.
I don't love you.  
I want to feel passion, desire,  and the warmth of another body pressing against me
I could grab any man I wanted, but I want you.
I see your brown hair
let me run my fingers through, just once
Your eyes
soft earth
Your lips
pink lilacs
And all I want is your body
Which is very saddening.
To only want to use someone, then toss them aside like trash
How can you?
And still fall asleep at night without thinking about a face wet with tears
your fault
I simply want to do to you
What you have done
To All the women before me,

The same song as a trickery

I want you to fall in love with me
an instrument meets the music
I want you to hold me close and kiss me, as you share your fears and truths.
a melody plays softly
I want you to believe in love because of me
Think of me,  breathe me,  and miss me when we are not together
accelerato tempo

Until one day you meet me in a corner booth at our favorite restaurant, and I rip your heart to shreds

Look,  I never loved you. I lied.
I used you to get what I want.
You are a pathetic, self-serving dung heap that only thinks about himself. You wooed me, I pretended to like you, so I could dig under your thick facade of masculinity, and discover your sensitive side. I know what you are--man *****--and I enjoyed using you. You can lie to everyone, every woman from this point on, but ten years from now,  when you are married to wife number four and you are waiting for her to come home and she never does,  I want you to crawl into the bed you made and bawl like the whining,  sniveling baby you truly become at night when no one else is around you.  I hope 'lonely' presses you down so hard it hurts to breathe. And maybe then you might turn into a different man or at least your miniscule brain will have an inkling of true heartbreak. Doubtful though--I win.  You lose

Then I get up and walk away from you,  ignoring any pleas and ****** slurs.

*Caesura

Struggling to make ends meet
Not making enough money.
I borrow to pay--pay to borrow again.
Yet I cannot stand people that try to help me, which is ludicrous because we should feel great when one person out of an entire society of rude, disrespectful cretins chooses to offer a hand.
I'm working on it.
So when I scowl when you pay,  or when I don't have enough gas to get back to my house you fill up my tank, it is not because I am a better-than-you woman.
It is because my mother was a single mom raising three kids.  
She busted her behind making ends meet for us so we could stay in the house we grew up in.
I had no TV until I was ten,  and I think I turned out alright thus far....
My mom is my role model.
I try to reach the level she was at making ends meet,  only I never get there,  and I find myself having to rely on a system that I indeed truly hate
I want to be able to pick up the tab when I go out once in a while
It would be marvelous to be able to say, "I got this, " when in reality the only things I really have is cobwebs in my wallet.
I want to be independent and adequate to provide for myself financially
"A gentleman always pays regardless of a date, be it with a friend,  lover,  or family." You smirk.  
I scowl again,  as you again reach for the tab.
This is going to drive me crazy

It's 3am and I am wide awake
I have vicious nightmares at times,
Not horror movie types,
Just ones that I fear the most.
Being buried alive is bad--when it is the one you love it is even worse.
I hear him scooping the dirt in the shovel,  and pouring it on me.
"You really fell for it. All I had to do was pretend that I liked you,  and you fell right in."
He chuckles, as another pile of dirt is added.
Im begging him
"Please,  what do you want?  I'll do whatever you want,  just let me out! "
He chuckles again,  "You say that....they always say that... But you know what?  You lie,  all you women just lie your way into jobs, relationships,  and hell, even in marriage! You think I'm going to suddenly believe you out of all of them?! "
The casket is slightly sinking from all the dirt that is piled on now.
I'm sobbing uncontrollably as I realize my fate.
"I'm different, you said it yourself. When I met you,  you said--"
"Well I lied.  I'm getting pretty good at it.  Practice makes perfect."
I continue to cry, and my one last attempt at freedom--
"I love you. "
He stops shoveling, and with a raggedy breath,
"...What? "
I open my heart for my last plea,
"I give my heart fully to anyone that accepts my quirks and even the weird parts about me.  In the brief time we knew each other,  you laughed at my corny jokes,  smiled at me,  and even wanted to know about me.  So even as I am about to die,  
Why would I lie with my last words?  I might as well say what I truly feel because that is what I do. I fall headfirst in love with someone I barely know,  and that is why I always get heart broken no matter what.  So what I just said I meant it. "
He paused,  then he tosses the shovel down beside the hole,  and he jumps down into my grave,
"Well,  I--
My eyes snap open.
It's 3am and I'm wide awake.

My brother doesn't see what he is doing
Only calling when he wants something
So needy,  when I need you more than as a convenience.
I cannot give you more than I have.
I gave you my support when you joined the military
When they discharged you for hearing loss
I held your head as you cried and told me that you had no worth.
I remember when you were small before your growth spurt,  when people picked on you--when I picked on you.
I am truly sorry,  maybe it is my fault you are this way....
You are a gentle giant some days,  helping disabled children ride horses or help with large workloads.
Yet you treat others so badly on most days
You bully our mother
Cuss the man that stepped in
As our own father left us
I hope this is simply a phase to grow out of.
You act as though you are a freak,
And you must fight anyone and everyone to prove your worth.
You proved to me the night that I was ***** that you can be a man.
You were only ten back then,  but you slung your fist at him so hard I heard bones crack.
I want that man as my brother, the man I know that you are capable of being.
Why are you so arrogant?
Why do your friends treat you as a god because you are abnormally tall?  
Does it make you feel good to put others down?  
I hope you see the error of your ways,  before you look around at all the bridges you've burned,  and you suddenly realize you are on an island completely alone.

IF I could have stopped you.
I would have jumped in my car, raced to Hohenwald,  and slung gravel as I sped down your driveway, braked fiercely to stop inches from that guest house,  and fly out  from the inside of my car,  screaming, "Don't do it!  I'm here,   Uncle Brandon!  I love you! We all love you! "
I would have ran up the cedar steps, kicked the door in with my foot,  and yelled as loud as I could until you answered me.
No matter how many times I yell at your headstone, you never answer me.
You were a cowboy, traveling all over the country,  and seeing sights that many would never witness in their lifetime.
You had broken every bone in your body twice
you had a sense of humor
intelligent (two degrees), both in English and Teaching.
You had dreams of being a lawyer and
a college professor.
Only you were a cowboy first.
You loved to ride,  and you loved with a heart bigger than Montana sky.
I wish you had not left.
I miss seeing your dark brown matted hair, peeking from beneath your torn,  curved cowboy hat as you tipped it at me, with a wink,  adding, "See you when the wind changes"
You were a poet.
I think of you when I write,  and part of me still blames myself for not telling anyone about seeing you at my work that night.  You looked awful and I knew something was wrong,  but I didn't say anything--I have no clue why.  
You loved life,  why did you leave?
You had love,  why did you look?
We were your family,  why did you leave?  
I shouldn't be typing this
You are dead.
The world lost a true cowboy.
A man that lived by the sweat of his brow,  and the dirt on his clothes.
I would have stopped you.  I would have grabbed that gun,  and hugged you for the longest time,  and then I would have saddled up your horse and one for me.
Then the four of us would trot along to the highest hill we could find,  and I would watch the sun move across the sky, and tell you that every sunset of every day is always different, so you don't need to miss a single one.

Uncle Brandons last poem
   Im riding. Riding this way is like playing a finely tuned instrument, at times delicate, at other times powerful... The true artist can play with equal dexterity a soft ballad or a crashing march.

There is never a moment that I cease to breathe you.  
You smell like pine,  a forest full of nature's wonders.
I smell asphalt, a thousand roads traveled together.
My nose picks up musty, brittle letters between the two of us.
Pieces of leaves and grass pressed, from thickets around footprints.
I travel through many worlds because of my nose.
It leads me,  guides me, and at times, controls me.  
I let go slowly, as I return all of our memories back to the small keepsake, and I close the sock drawer.

Snip
Cut
Bang
Simmer

I want a transit,  a travel against my skin, that keeps going until I command it to stop.
My mouth begged for light, to feel warmth on my face

Heat oven to 450

You laughed and tossed me,  a rag,  away from the mahogany scent of your chest to the cold,  hard floor that I am stuck to.
I miss you
I try to imagine you so that I can delude myself into continuing, but my mind strangely has already forgotten you.
I cannot remember your eyes,  or even your favorite color anymore.
Some wish for that type of amnesia, but I am solemn.
I wanted a piece of you to carry with me always.

Cook for fifteen minutes or until dark

I hear my other side in my head; She is the evil within me.
I am brunbrunette, she is red.
I wear flats--her long legs are attracted to heels.
She smiles and with a curvy, smooth voice,  much like a fiery dame from 1920:
"He has a piece of you though; you gave him your whole heart, and he only took a bite! That's alright, you don't need him or anything like him! You are a woman.... "
I drown her out with recipes,
4 cups of music and 1 cup chardonnay
(okay maybe MORE than one)--
therapy that I have made many appointments for.
Adding bits and pieces of me that I share,  and some I don't
One thing I know,  if a new one comes along,  he is going to have to be patient,
I learned my lesson from burning out on the first batch

Take out--let cool
Don't eat all at once--savor.
Enjoy a slice at a time.

If you ever fall in love with someone who is in a wheelchair remember this:
I am in love with you and the chair is not you;
Loving someone in a wheelchair is not about the chair at all.
It is about changing their perspective, from always looking down and straight ahead,  to around and up.
Holding their hand when they think they are not normal
Take them to the movies
dinner
Travel and go places
Laugh
Talk
Cry
And when the two of you fight,  don't treat him/her as a fragile piece of glass.
Say what is on your mind
And mean it.
Apologize afterwards regardless.

I have been struck;  falling in love with him.
He is always there for me and we are the best of friends.
He doesn't know that I love him
Even though I tell him as often as I can that he is my hero.
He has always stood up for me--
He is my superhero

The pain he feels every  moment makes me want to trade places with him so he can walk
Dance at his wedding
Even if it is not with me
To actually stand up to hug his family
To be more active
(Let's go out)
Happy
(I'm alive)
But he makes sacrifices because of his body

If I could take away your pain
I'd trade your sorrows for a day
That you can walk in joy and life
A single day without your strife
And if I could trade longer, I would
So that you can live
A life with two legs and arms

Have you ever felt your soul break?  
Ever had to watch one shred slowly,
Hearing tthe rrrrriiiippp of each piece?
Have you torn one yourself?
Felt the weight of each section crumbling under your fingertips?
Taking the love out of someone does not **** them right away,  it simply drains the light from their eyes.
What once was joy and love, turns to despair and hatred,  all because of  "giving in to a temptation"
You plus him equals love
You plus another man minus him equals ******.
I have murdered before, only once, and the look on his face was enough to make the tearing echo last for months.
He was my soulmate, a partner, and when we first met I realized I would follow him anywhere.
Only I destroyed that chance for a decoy desire, and accept the haunting that is to come.
I will see him everywhere,  hear him in each room of this house, and at night the bed will sink from my guilt.
As the morning sun rises I will look over to his side that will be empty
I made my bed; I will lie in it.
My soul will alone accept the punishment, bear it,  and carry it until my heart gives out.
I love you--everything physically from head to toe, and mentally by the words you have given me(encouragement)-all of what makes you the man I fell in love with, and the soul I'd die for.
Again I love you, and I am so sorry for what I have done.

Not all love stories get the 'happily ever after.'
Some leave you breathless
Or crying
A few may have you scratching your head
'Really? All that for what?'
Love between two people can even have all of that combined.
There is a single flame inside every human being on this entire planet.
It flickers inside ourselves,  randomly choosing to be on or off throughout our lifetime, only it never brightens--
lacking the spark that increases the radiance of the fire.
When two people have a spark, their souls for a moment connect as an invisible whispering,  twirling as a dance of lovers.
There are those that never see it.
Some try to use the flicker as real love.
Yet incompleteness is inevitable!
There is a hole in the soul left by the one your soul danced with, or your fire longs for.
Live as though your fire is lit, and sooner or later it will be

"A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle"-James Keller

If ever there was a time to stop breathing I chose a clearing at dawn.
A deer appeared right as the gleam of the sun touched the top of the forest line.  
I heard a chipmunk scurrying across the oak roots rising from the ground.
A cardinal group begins to sing in the distance--as their sounds reaches me,  I realized I have been distracted and turn my attention back to the fourteen point, white-tailed buck in the clearing.
I slowly lift my weapon.
I set my aim,  positioning the cross (in the scope) at the shoulder of this magnificent creature, and I catch my breath.
The situation itself is far beyond a man simply taking the life of an animal--exceeds   the thrill of a firing pin striking, creating an explosion that builds pressure, sending a six centimeter long,  one and a half centimeter wide copper-coated bullet through the rifling pattern and into a target one hundred and fifty yards away.
I believe that Destiny brought us together based on the choices we both made.
I can only guess the animal's intentions (running away from a predator, looking for a mate, etc)
Myself?  I am here because I argued with my wife of 25 years.
The deer drops to the ground.
We all make choices.

The small Asian child ran through the street to her home in a box.  
The only world she has ever known,  inside the walls of cardboard.
Yet still she smiles and giggles
to her imaginary friends curled up with a stained teddy bear for a pillow and newspapers for a blanket.
Her parents do not know where she lives--both are too busy arguing.
She escapes from what she is told is home and flees to her box mansion on the edge of a field four blocks away.
Home is where the glue is--holding the sides--with an opening at the top showing a view of the stars.
She lies down inside, enjoying the peace and quiet (taking in the cool air and crickets chirping).
She does not worry about tomorrow, no cares for tonight, not even a thought of having to go back to noise and hate the next morning.
She sighs with love for what she has made as she closes her eyes.....
then dreams of adding  an extra room