I have a quiet lake of answers
For your raging storm of questions.

I have a placid summer meadow
For your hectic pace of living.

I have a waterfall of caring
For the times you feel unloved.

I have a purple sunset
When your world is without beauty.

I am a fresh baked cookie
When your soul is starved for love.
                      ljm

I made you my mother
and then,
you were lost.

when i first saw him
he was wearing untied boots without socks
sauntering across a hilly grass field
to calypso music playing in the
background or my imagination

i was so overtaken by his spirit
when he brought me home that
i succumbed to drowsiness for three days
curled simply into his armpit and
danced upon the galaxy

when i awoke he was massaging my feet
checking my reflexes for sun damage and
soothed my soft bruises with a milk plate

he kisses me in the morning with enthusiasm
and we share a room for breakfast as he
teases me with ecstasy eyes and i'm
no longer nervous around strangers

last night i danced across his bedsheets
he giggled and rolled his eyes at me as
i stood with the light of the sunset shining
behind my ears his rhinestone eyes locked
into mine for more than a moment and
my knees went weak my fragile hips collapsed
reclining into his chest like a middle eastern
pillow

i think his sweaty neck is delicious
as i sing to him through a vibraphone
in the magical kitchen
licking his skin clean i'm bathing
him in a sunbeam stretched across the tile
beneath the bay window

although i'll never understand why
he leaves or where he goes i know he'll
always return to me as the sun grows cold
and the white moon begins to weep her new
lust onto the blooms in the front garden

and in the meantime i keep myself warm
wrapped in a ball of yarn talking in circles
to myself spinning and catching strands of
cloudlight in my unsure hands

when i finally see him in the driveway
at the sky's edge picking flowers for me
the confusion melts away and the pain
from my wonky leg becomes
suddenly forgettable

as i watch him putting on clothes
in the morning just before dawn
or towelling off after a long day away
my eyes play with him and i let him know
how i feel with my body aroused
merely by his tone of voice nudging
him with my cheeks on the tight spots of his ankles

he is beautiful and strong full
of compassion and i'm so afraid of
being alone again i'll do anything
to squeeze him and keep him so
i scratch his back every morning at 5am
exploring the sharpness of his shoulder blades
to remind him of the things
we can do together
and to make sure
he's still alive

While you lay dying
In your bed
At home
Christmas lights
Across the street
Blinked off and
On
At each gasping breath
You took
The last of the
Blinking lights dimmed
As  you drew
Your last breath
The last light now gone
From outside
As the light from
Inside
Died

You’re not a poet because you know those ‘fancy’ words
You’re a poet because every word you write comes straight from your heart

You’re not a poet because you feel alone
You’re a poet because pen and paper are your biggest companions

You’re not a poet because you understand emotions better
You’re a poet because you let them flow freely

You’re not a poet because people admire your work
You’re a poet because you write for your own contentment and not for people's consent

You are not a poet because you’ve failed in love
You’re a poet because you’ve been in love deeper than anyone else

You’re not a poet because you are strong
You’re a poet because you don’t hide your weaknesses

You’re not a poet because you can heal hearts
You’re a poet because you know what it means to be broken






              ©words of a withering soul