If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
  And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

It is inevitable that
there comes a time
in everyone’s life
that they must
endure a hardship.
The strong and successful
take this hard-ship
and turn themselves
into somewhat
of a Captain Hook,
basically taking the role as
the only person that can
guide their boat
out of the storm.
Similar to roaming
the oceans for weeks,
there comes days
where unexpected blocks
attempt to take a
stab at our vessels.
Science tells us that
with punctures to
our arteries we bleed out.
Use this vital fluid,
mix it with the
very drops of tears
that shed from your baby blues,
and construct a potion.
Witches use this
technique for self pleasure,
which is probably
what you should do.
If anyone tries to
hurt you again
then slip in a
sip of your produced toxic tonic.
Rebuild your barriers
and do not allow anyone
to break it down until you have
total trust in them.
There will come
a day much like
1989 for Berlin,
where the process for
dismantling your wall
will come to pass.
Until then just
never forget the
small things in life
that make you who
you are.
I have this power
that allows me to
look into the
future and witness
someone’s fate.
All I can tell you
is that you can be the director.
If you were in a movie right now,
you would be near the
end of the first cinema.
Let’s call it The Dark Night.
Don’t forget that with
every questionable
ending comes a sequel,
and I promise that
you will
Rise.

At 31 long years old
I find myself trying to redescover myself.
I say redescover as if I ever
really knew who I was before, 
who I am, what purpose I serve.

It's  a harsh reality as I stand here,
the dark of night enveloping itself
around me,
******* the toxins from my cancer stick, 
as if life or death was worth the gamble..
Good health vs bad health
Puff, puff, puff away.
Smoke my troubles away.

A couple of glasses too many,
red wine absorbed into my blood system,
Warming my inner core,  
Heating me from the inside out.
Takes the edge off.
Apparently.
Reality slowly distorting, the fresh air hitting me

I can't help feeling unsure. 
Unsure of the unknown,
whats to know? 

All I do know is that I'm lost
and I have been for a long time.
My whole life maybe.

What is,
what has been,
what's still to come
are just chapters of this harsh reality
this life that I'm living...

I'm mearly existing,
just being.

Someone,
anyone,
Dragging myself onwards
day by day,
minute by minute,
second by second.

Not every day is a struggle
But the ones that are
Have mastered the art of
Stealing the limelight
Taking center stage,
Forget the good and
Let the bad consume me.
Inhale me like I do the nicotine.

Am I afraid?
I don't know.
There's not much I am certain of anymore.

I used to write with meaning,
with purpose,
for a reason.
Emotion poured out of my every pore,
now?
I find myself writing
for the sake of writing.

I've lost myself,
lost my words.

I do know one thing,
all I've ever wanted to be is loved.
That raw deep love that
knows no boundaries
The type where you can talk for hours
and it seems like seconds
Never bored, never judged, no effort needed because when it comes
it's served effortlessly,  with ease

Effortless natural love

I don't love myself as much as I should,
I know that.  

I've always known that but
I've always hoped that someone else
might just love me as much as
I love everybody else.  

Maybe at this point in life
I have too much to say,
too much to deal with,
too many emotions which I'm
too scared to show you.

You;
Whoever you may be.
I'm scared you'll judge me because
if truth be told..
if I wasn't me,
I'd judge me too.

In May my heart was breaking-
Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
And bitter it beat at waking,
And sore it split in sleep.

And when it came November,
I sought my heart, and sighed,
"Poor thing, do you remember?"
"What heart was that?" it cried.

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my *** of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,

and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon

accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are

friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.