For my love I have a plan
So much to do - oh man
This plan so grand
For so long I have planned -
Now to spill
Oh, what a thrill!

So much to do
And all for you
My love, I don’t mind
But oh time I’m not sure I can find
Ah, oh well!
All shall be swell!
After all, it is for you that I fell.

First I must clean the house;
I must sweep the downstairs,
My anxiety I must dowse
Oh but who cares

I must sweep the porch and walkway,
Tell him, “Come, go this way!”
No dust at his feet
Take him inside and from the heat

I must clean the table,
Oh I hope I am able
Make sure on my feet I’m not unstable
Oh my dizzy spells
Are tiny hells

I must clean the placemats,
Shoo away the pesky cats
Little things get their fur everywhere
Oh but who gives a care

I must clear the clutter from the piano,
Think of my friend the soprano
She’s a good singer
But slow to answer her ringer

Then I must decorate;
Oh this house no one shall hate
Besides I, I suppose
Oh, I think I’ll give him a rose!

I must put the carpetes on the piano,
Nevermind the soprano
What a voice
On the carpetes I can put flowers or candles
With no handles
Oh what a choice!

I must place the smooth stones and flowers in the walkway,
Make them say, “Hey, come this way!”
Inviting him in
Oh, his heart I did win
This is a celebration of my love
Just for my Love

I must place the stool by the door,
Place his card on it and oh not the floor
Hope he likes it and keeps it
Hope he knows I am of wit

I must put the ribbon downstairs,
I don’t know if he cares
But I certainly do
Oh Love, I do this all for you

Next I must cook and bake;
I must make the steak,
Get the recipe from my stepdad
Oh I sure hope he’s glad
I can make this myself
And have a picture on the shelf

I must make the mashed potatoes,
No, I won’t touch the tomatoes
Those are for next week
Not my dinner to cook
I’m not that weak
I can be a good cook

I must bake the brownies,
They say you can smell them for counties
I hope they taste sweet
And not like feet

Finally I must get myself ready;
I must shower, clean my hair and body,
So I’m not still plastered with sweat
Oh and I bet
You’ll just look so good
Just like I know you would

I must wear something nice,
No, it will not be of high price
If it were I would leave it hanging
Like the photographs overhanging
In my room
Where roses bloom

I must do something with my hair,
Not that anyone would care
None but I
Still I try

I must put my lotion on,
This cracked flesh it must go upon
To heal me
Of this eczema I wish to be free

After all that;
I will give my arm a pat
An indication for him to take it
This great planning a display of my wit
I shall walk him to the door
Read him the card then read no more

Escort him inside
The dogs both aside
Have him pick a seat
While ready is the potatoes and tender meat
To be served
I supposed I would be observed
As I bring him a plate
Oh this is so great!

Ask him if he would like a drink
Once poured, our glasses will clink
A sign of good fortune and luck
And as I gaze into those eyes, I am lovestruck

We shall dine
Oh this heart of mine
Beating loudly in its cage
As tonight I have taken center stage
And brought all the light just for my Love

After we dine,
After I gaze into those eyes divine,
I bring out dessert
It won’t be too hot, so it won’t hurt

Once dessert is through
I’ll look to you
And ask what you would like to do

A movie, perhaps?
Seated side by side, a blanket on our laps
My hand in yours
Holding me, this ensures
My mind may wander
Oh the things that silently ponder
Whilst I am by your side.

- Jay M
January 30th, 2020

Im falling to pieces
Im crawling, cant resist
I know that your worth it
Im sorry im not perfect

She’s looking at me yearning
Yearning to take my time
I can’t stop hurting
Pain pours from my eyes

I’m weak for her, I’m on my knees
I’m Lucifer, she’s an angel, see?
My skin is hazel, green
I’m dead, I can’t be seen
Her love’s a drug to me
I’m a ******, I’m unclean

She pushes me away
And we both weep
Pretend that we’re okay
What I sow, I reap
For her I’ll always wait

Selling the rose she keeps
For a price far too cheap
I need her to know
I would spend my life
The truth’s in my eyes
I don’t need sweet lies
From the past I cut ties
See my heart, no disguise

Does art imitate life?
Or does life imitate art?
Can she see through the strife?
Can she heal my broken heart?

Every day I get up
To go into myself,
Getting lost there,
And finally giving up,
To begin tomorrow
From the start.

After you gave me a
split rupture,
there was a mirror pain.

The bruises get away
without mercy. A hand will
write reversely a poem.

You cannot erase
the stink, which comes from
the mouthless words.

And the triangle
will eat the floating bodies
of bloated dreams.

Who always chased
me with subtlety, when
hills were crumbling.

Moon becomes lunatic.

Little lights staring forth,
   slightly glazed in need
of a gentle buffering.
   Always seeing where red
was going, although when
it was night his beams
  not focused more
                                  a blur.

But muddy features showed
   this little tractor wasn't
scared of hard work.
   In fact his tires in need
of a clean, as tracks left behind
where he'd travelled forth.


Looking behind you could see
which direction red had come
from, but they weren't random.
If you got a little height you could
make out little pictures drawn in
                   tire treaded dirt.

A regular little artist was red,
   Now he was little, so sometimes
red would get in mischief.
Found on the grass no tracks?
Just a do not touch sign on the
                                               floor.

But there were no muddy treads,
   No flowers crushed before his path.
So how did little red get on the grass,
found sleepily slumbering his little
                           exhaust snoring away.

"Red, wake up,

As he stretched a little pump
                 came out his exhaust,

"Whoops,
               as he blushed a slightly darker
          hue of  red than before.

"What you doing on the grass red?

I don't know, I must have sleep wheeled
    here, its so much soft than the cobbles
I sleep on in the shed.

But there are no tracks, I must have tip tired toed,
  so not to wake you up.
                       I knocked over the sign,
And felt how comfortable it was.

The farmer knew he'd accidently
                              told him the truth.
Red was only little after all.
  Ok would you like to sleep under the
stars on a field of grass from now on.

"Oh yes please, its so soft and comfy
          on my tires,

The farmer smiled come on red,
                  as he lifted him off the grass gently
so not to crush the flowers.
Red drove at his side, tire tracks following
behind as he drove through puddles
         splashing the farmer as he walked on.

Dangerous.
The body is truly is?
When you have fingers, hands, and tongue involved.

One keeps you happy.
One keeps you warm.
One strictly creates trouble for joy.

That has you wishing for more.
It just depends because all three like to explore.

And these eyes just look on.
While the ears just listen to the exploration going on.

Created solely by your fingers, hands, and tongue.
And scriptures states one is more trouble.

The body is a trap.
Even if just sitting on a person invited lap.