stair w
        a
        y stair w
                   a
                   y stair w
                              a
                              y stair w
                                         a
                                         y stair w
                                                    a
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                                                               a
                                                               y sta
No escalators to heaven , no free rides .
Just one long hard climb , one step at a time .

One day that smile will become forced
The sparkle in their eye will disappear
Slowly that laugh will become less frequent
The monster will truly show
For those monsters are not under their bed but in their head
You can’t hide so don’t even try they will find you
You can call them crazy now, just remember
When their monster came out you laughed
Now those monster possess your voice
So next time they try to hold in tears just think
You are what causes them to wake up screaming
You are the voice in their nightmares
You make them slowly lose hope in the world
All I ask is next time ask yourself is it worth it?

I write in order to replay
a sad day, relive a happy one;
lose  or gain,
I will win.
Or, die with those I lost.
Be with them at their last breath.
Teach myself
that inside, needs are better out in fresher air,
where pen meets paper;
no matter,what.
I am ok.

From the treetops of the NYC
To the sandy platform of Coney Island beach
Poetry is a refuge that can be reached
For the heavy hearted that has no one to preach
About the calming relief it gives when the skies turn grey
Or the times where I bow my head in dismay.
When my back has gone out
Poetry plays the role of a crutch
When I feel like life is becoming too much.
A great friend indeed
Yet only called when in need.
I administer my feelings into its thick skin like a drug.
In return I feel more loved
Poetry, the button I call release.
When pressed my problems become peace.
A reflection of me
Sometimes, my imagination finds its way in between.
But at the end of the day,
Poetry is in the bed I lay
Poetry is in the food I eat
Whether or not it is crusty, sugary, and sweet.
Poetry is in each and every name
For each letter has a meaning.
Poetry lives in us all,
Regardless of how much you rise or fall.
There will always be that rhythmic flow
For poetry comes and never goes.
What to me does poetry bring?
Creates me as if I was a bird and gives me wings
Let me soar until everything lives below
But has more places for me to go.
I am poetry and poetry is me.
We make up the sides and in between the numerous parts of me.
That is poetry.

If you accidentally
             fall out of love,
Do you just dive
                back in head first?
           Feet first??
                     Eyes closed???
        Cannon ball????
             Or
Do you walk away
       Cause you can't swim
And you're scared to death
                   of *drowning?????

cactus moon,
makes me swoon
as stars appear tonight;
my eyes reveal
the blossoms frill
have folded for the night.
but not my mind;
I often find
my dreams are locked so tight-
on fragrant flowers
and soft rain showers
and faces by moonlight.
bring me beauty,
love’s my duty,
sharing is my plight;
and in the garden
the Moon is warden,
the Universe is right;
as long as life
and sharpened strife
yield flowers to sunlight.

You deny being a poet
Yet every word you say

Is poetic.