She lives a quiet life,
she tiptoes around,
she whispers when she speaks,
she hardly ever makes a sound.

Although her words are quiet,
her mind is very loud.
She has so much to say,
but no one listens for soft sounds.

She's an invisible girl,
who doesn't want to stand out,
she just wants to be heard,
without having to shout.

Sometimes the loudest people,
aren't saying much at all.
Empty words and promises,
just leave their mouths and fall.

But whispered words fly high,
and catch peoples attention,
they're intriguing, so amazing,
but only when they listen.

So look outside the spotlight,
because often the real star,
isn't anyone on stage,
but the mind behind it all.

Spending intangible dollars at the mercy of my ever growing appetite,
Instead of buying my ticket out of this perfectly advantageous country,
Which focuses solely on my beauty and money.
I neglect my inner advice telling me to drop it all and run,
To where I can breathe and focus on God,
Promoting a healthier way of living and improving humanity.
Momentary hope that unrealistically characterizes perfection
As a quality that I can mentally download and miraculously make the above, true,
Never seems to linger long enough to actually induce action,
Which leads to disappointment draining the motivation essential to recover my missing pieces,
Which pushes me to crave cash I don’t have, to pick up that dose,
That hushes the unwarranted guilt that seduces me into thinking that I’m not incredibly blessed,
And that I can’t handle what I’ve been dealt,
Blurs the doubts I have about my abilities, my self- worth,
Forcing me into a state of content that awakens my creativity,
While vaguely being able to make out memories of let down led by myself and my mother,
Who was a part of what was never good enough for my idea of a perfect family.
I’ve wrongly accepted that a mediocre life-performance is to be had while following the crowd,
While obsessing over flaws that are negligible to my true purpose in life,
And with that I’ve become stifled by the decision to remain effortlessly stuck.

There are dried up splashes of juicy orange wedges,
randomly splattered across my key board, no void in
the pattern, no victim.

Careless way to eat anything near an electronic thing,
citric acid bleeding into fine circuitry do not abide side by side,
with out someone losing interest.

Carelessness is a choice like loading a gun rather
than buying a Rolls Royce.  Putting a knife out of
sight, "just in case someone starts a fight" said
in the shadows of a fearful heart.

Guns and knives, guns and knives were only meant to
end lives, no self-defence, no, "sorry I won't let it happen,
again.", said by a teen with blood red-rimmed eyes but no
emotion.

Violence is a choice, poor man rich man matter naught,
you live and die in the lifestyle you sought, maybe got
more than you bargained for.

Cats have nine lives and I, like you, have only one before
the Great Hereafter, so I would rather spend it not crying
tears of grief and fill my ears with the sounds of my children' s
children laughter.  

Echoes of which, resound so, even the Heavens rejoice.

I walk down to the quayside,
past the Pure Gym fitness centre's
plate glass window.
There is a phalanx of treadmills
facing the glass,
populated by women
running nowhere,
an image of futility,
trapped like flies at a window,
determined and doomed.

The fitness centre looks out
at the huge boats
that work North Sea
between the oil fields and the fishing grounds:

The Olympic Commander,
Normand Aurora,
Skandi Caledonia,
Helliar.

On the high decks,
men in yellow oilskins
lean over the ship rail
and watch the women run.

For a moment I stand
between them, the earnest women,
the wistful men,
feeling for both but belonging with neither.

The sun is low in the sky,
and there's an Arctic bite
to the wind.
I pull up my collar,
and hurry into veins
of the granite city.

An old willow with hollow branches
slowly swayed his few high gright tendrils
and sang:

Love is a young green willow
shimmering at the bare wood’s edge.

Another tomato
             splats to the
floor,
but I'm getting paid.