The moon can be a friend
In a world so dull,
So dim
When you're feeling lonely
Seek the man on the moon and just talk to him
When your path is too dark to see, he will light your way
And he's always a good listener no matter what you need to say
Greet him like an old friend
He's known you since you were a babe
Now if only people talked to God like that
The world might be a better place

dandelions are beautiful
yet my dad is stuck on the premise of it being a ****

mow it down
rip it to shreds

a beautiful nuisance

Never put your heart in the hands of anyone who treats it common.  They will never see the treasure you are!

I may not be gifted.

But I have this insatiable urge to be great, magnificent, and talented.

I want to inspire awe.

I want to impress not only my peers,

but most importantly myself.




I was given an amazing opportunity

to attend a superb university.

While I believe I lucked out in my admission,

I believe a blessed epoch in my life

has just begun.



I write this poem as a promise for the future.

This goal I have

is not an easy task.

It will require years

of incredibly hard work and dedication.



I will work to achieve this.

Even if I need to stay up all night and day

testing the limits of my mind,

it will all be worth it when I can look back and say:


I did it.

Boy:      You love me back...
              you do, don’t you?
Girl:      I can’t be so bold,
              neither can I sling a single ‘not’,
              nor hurl to you a hurting bolt.

Boy:      Won’t we meet again by the grace of Luck?
              Won’t these ticks of Luck tock us a tittle knock?
Girl:      My time for you won’t tick that tock,
              nor shall yours be the tickles you sought.

Boy:      Don't let tiny ticks clip love with cutting clicks.
              Every scented rose sure has its piercing ******
              though love's tricks shall, too, mull soul's briny creeks
              for a rainbow glow on your rain swept cheeks.

Girl:      Don't you see we're buffed in baffling bricks
              and Time has caged us in her muffling ribs?

Boy:      But, I guess you know of poems of want,
              lines love-wrought which Defiance sought?
Girl:      That, too, I can tell you not
              whether I can read a single word love wrote.

Boy:      Love’s capriciously wrought in this plot.
              You can’t be of the same selfish sort!
Girl:     .....

Boy:     No, a shimmering story bestowed
             from the gone old days of gold...
Girl:     : ))

Boy:     Why! Shouldn’t smiles bend Time’s knee
             and in glee thus be free?
             Could love only ever be a wee old fantasy?
Girl:   .....

Boy:     We can speak of it not.
             All the same, can deny it not.

             Longingly locked in Luck’s ill-fitting frock!
Girl:   .....

Boy:     My heart is bold; can’t tame it, I fought.
             And, without it, would I be the man I sought?
Girl:   .....

Boy:     With or without you I’m not.
             Blind a barbed knot!
             How I wish I cared not a single jot.
Girl:     That’s a terrible knot.
             You must curl to it not.

Boy:     Yes, no;
             if you here shall ever be not,
             and Time’s silver I sought
             in your hair be forgot,
             I’ll upon thee more love allot.
Girl:     ?!

Boy:     The stars in thine eyes I’ll never be.
             Nor the silver in your hair shall I stay ‘n see.
             But,
             there’s this in me Time is green with envy:
             this deity on the knee who loves loving thee.
             This heart for thee shall heed no decree;
             that which makes this sorry boy you see
             the very divine friend that he will ever be.
Girl:      : ))))))

I’m buried in a cocoon of stories
From poetry,
To biographies,
To dystopia,
And romance
So many stories
Of so many people
Real,
Or just figments of the author’s
Imagination
Sitting atop wooden bookshelves
Waiting for the right person,
To pick them up
And get lost in their story
For everyone has a story to tell,
Some are overly exaggerated,
And other’s are rarely heard
The important thing is
That we share our stories
Through word of mouth,
The internet,
Or in a notebook
To be found by future historians
Tell your story
Believe me, you won’t regret it