His season o' sorrows had seceded;
- the joy crept in reluctant an' slow, though,
- because he was aware the cycle'll be repeated.
Yay- t'was one thing that he did, certainly, know:
- that - with the blustery an' bone chilling snow
- will be brought along another season o' sorrow.
For now, though, he'll enjoy the golden suns glow.

What is a teacher?

Is it someone who gives wings
To those who are eager to fly?
Or is it someone who helps us
To write our own story?

Is it someone who understands
the fears of being a student?
Or maybe the wave of kindness
that washes into the classroom?

Is it to push and challenge
a student to the next level?
Or perhaps the positivity
that is an on-going smile?

A teacher can help so much
I never knew that, I doubted, but now I see
They opened my eyes and showed me

Maybe this is too much, but then again
a teacher will always be a teacher to me

But most importantly: what is a teacher to you?

"To burn with desire and keep quiet about it
Is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves."
                                            Frederico Garcia Lorca

Unquestionably difficult,
Bordering on dispair,
To non-project boundless feelings of fondness
Whence found something so rare
As love....
Immeasurable disallusion, disappointment,
Excruciatingly frustrating experiencing
The blatant non-recognition.
I need a bloodletting...an explosive
Immediate relief
Of a deeply personal need to voice an anguish
That is perhaps greater than the anguish itself.

I write along the walls of my mind.

I'm going insane? I don't know. Why?

Depression grips tight in a strangling hold.

I'd rather die young than see me get old.

Working my bones eight hours a day;
far too much stress for too little pay.

Real life doesn't rhyme or ebb or flow.

Work never stops and the clock goes tick-tock.

I'll look in the mirror, what do I see?

Old eyes. Sun-scarred misery.

I've got nothing to show for myself. Sure, there are some diplomas up on a shelf—

And far too many stories I have yet to think about:

Get them out of my brain and onto the page; I'll fall into a rage sooner or later.

These thoughts of violence and nonsensical anxieties race around and around in my head. A wheel that never stops. Oh, pure OCD.

Pure. A shot of water that I swallow down and pretend that it's *****.

No, mother, I'm not alright and it's about time that you stop telling me to try harder.

I can't pull my bootstraps up any higher or else I may strangle myself with them!

This is my last breath before drowning.

Oh, dear friend, if I don't find my salvation soon, I'll hit the bottom of the swimming pool.

I make me crazy, and I was never taught how to swim.

Subtle rhymes
are my forte,
raised on Pound
& Belafonte,

succoured on Yates
& then Bukowski,
slept with earphones
tuned to Count Brodski,

the other kids
they loved me so,
for all the places
my rhymin'
dared to go,

taunting teachers,
mocking dads,
laughing at those
silly fads,

& in the playground
I would rap,
my friend Nigel
doing taps,

& as I stepped down
from the bus,
boys would cheer
& shout & fuss,

Rhyme us!
Hit us!
1, 2, 3 ...

Martin's here
all fancy free.

Can it be true that the world is cold
Cold? meaning a freezing subject
Or feelings of people when they are rude
Neverminding the fact that some are nice

See I live in a era were people can make you feel so good inside
Then crumble your feelings from the inside

Make you feel like you're the brightest star
And then shoot like falling one

Post you up like an important date
But they promise to make it up to you

Treat you like a brand new car
But the garage is already full

Make you smile and laugh
Tell you, "You're beautiful"
But put makeup​ on you

Its not even April Fools Day
And people already laughing at you

Look your feelings are important
Maybe not to everybody but truly some
Open your eyes and choose friends slowly
Keep your heart close until the right one shows
Especially your legs....
.....Well you grown ups know

dear god your voice

i have sat here for the past hour, on the ground, ruminating on my own ****** lack of emotional understanding
i sit here
my stomach infested with moths
my mind becoming entangled with vines of restlessness
confusion
infatuation
angst
more infatuation bordering on fascination
my mind is being enveloped by the somber shadows cast by the incessant, demanding, creeping leafy limbs

i no longer know how to feel

another human has seen past your facade!!
broke the davinci code!!
never once failed to be the voice of reason when you can’t even understand your own voice!!

i love your voice