| The weird, wonderful and I
   lost in a wash of dreams—or was it
    just my tears? I fell in love in your glaring eyes
  Omission, and my hiatus from personal friends
    bad omens about bad luck
  You were just a chum I'd hate to meet,
   with all of my charm and ice cream bucks
    a lick of paint white to coat our insecurities

I'll admit all the ones I love all just bully me-never picked
on by jealousy, but just the people who love to test me
I never had the time to state the plans; but I would
mark my territory in all your memories land
Honest; I'd light the passion we both shared again
if I worked more on my pyrokinesis powers
My heart stays warm over you, I just pray you don't end
up bullying me too

| I swear it doesn't feel like my first time
   practicing with myself probably last night
  But I'm going to be shy; wrapping it tight to the fit
   still without a ****** for my heart—I'm going
     to be love sick. Our sheets are going to be ******
  And I still hope by that time we both are too

We could have a good time, and not feel so pressured cos
we're both so shy. I can't always be this romantic guy
Let's both stay connected; as long as we don't change
our heart's codes to the WiFi
Just a little private time after pillow talk in this chat room
bury my past lovers in a present's future tomb

...let's shoot for love, and fall for each other like shooting stars

—this a dreaming past
a touch from God, glimmer of hope
in terms of giving someone else their
turn. let live what you earned, never
dessert what you deserve

serve up the sweet course of your worth
but do not let it be spoiled by any who
cannot see it for what it is

funeral tears
black curtains over eyes
darkness consumes the lonely night
under the lunar eclipse of a lunatic
the craze of loneliness, despair,
unpleasant dreams—fears of an uncalled
bloodline bleeding the pain of lost love
fixating eyes, on the sights to starve
flashing desires; and a blink of time
time is short, as are these words

...in all, I'll always be this tragic poem

a sound of loneliness
—the single man in the other room
listening to peer's ***
the heavy eyes of knowing you'll
only see your tears every night
sigh; he's empty, much more than
the room of air and empty thoughts
his comfort is only his words, a lowly
dimmed phone, penning his thoughts
into notes—a sad poem

so unfortunate that he has to start
his new year alone

                             @the sad poet

On a dark and stormy night,
I was born out of a place without any lights
A nurse and doctor looked at me less
More than they'd expect a child to fix a world—yet being a mess
The clouds were heavy, heaven was empty
And I tricked myself that it was because the Lord had sent me
An angel was with me, but still with a devil within me
Question of sin by a seed, growing like a black willow tree
I was born a writer; with no right to be inspiring
In spite of things, my desire is to speak all the right things

To say you'd stack your success in columns
Sort of feels common; knowledge to mind
All your steps, like you have mind powers
Less successful in the things I did, all uneventful
Quite dreadful, of a sucky life with a hint of menthol
These opinions put over my head all affect my mental
Deep pressed, feeling the pressures of always being depressed
So hard to wear your heart on sleeves, when you wear a vest

With this self opposition, and man's superiority competition
Sometimes forgetting you're Christian, and it's composition
With all the respect for all our women, their first time christen
And with the guidance of someone else's wisdom
To avoid all those mistakes, and repetition

Who else do I need to show respect, for respect back
For being young comes with baggage your adult self will
have to unpack. Getting kicked in your past,
For wanting to kickback and relax;
As you've never completed a difficult task
That an adult never had the time to ask or surpass

That was my childhood, putting me in a foul mood
And life's birds of prey looked at me as child food
Still growing in a pretty beating moment, and it empowers
Because I wouldn't be me without reminiscing on my
hearts and flowers.

A body to face fatigue
All in a world of make believe
As love makes me weak in the knees
Also blowing my mind like leaves off a tree
Always missing the misfortune of someone's glee
As it seems common paying a fee to be free
And the R is really the real realness of all of we
As rhyming is easy, but the rhythm not as peasy
A little melted cheddar on a ****—all for anyone
calling my writing corny and cheesy

Be as it may, in my non constructive mysterious ways
Best believe I woke up today with some talent to display
Better to tell it as it is, maybe on the course of wordplay
Besides, life always feels like a game; to only be called strange
—to we all say oh, before an okay

Casually writing, and easily rhyming
Could be a next word of each line I'm deciding
Coarsely the can do spirit of striking another form of style, yet
we don't know if it's the same place of this twice striking lightening

Duality done by the dues of a dualing two
Doesn't make much sense in fighting a battle you're
always meant to lose

Excess mentality of my supposed masculinity
Exactly what it takes of a world to belittle me

For the focus of an unfocused mind lacks the right sight
Fixed enlightenment could mean being honoured on
the bright side

Galloping choices aren't the ones to remain stable
Goodnight kisses are of course a lover's choice,
of having butterflies by their naval

Hurry home to be whole on a homely manner
Homemade appearances don't share enough
experiences, even if being the best planner

I know my greatest faults, and I must admit
It is the hardest thing to speak out your failures,
even just a bit

Juggling time is liken to throwing it all for the air
Just don't be surprised when you don't catch it all,
and want to complain about life being so unfair

Kindness in modern times has become a self taboo
Knowing that you could give a hand, but they'd
always want something more from you

Laziness is all any one of us can share at a given
Lazarus could have laid in his tomb a little longer, but the call
of Jesus wasn't lazy, and both weren't too lazy to be risen

Money is the root of all evil
—perhaps to those buried in wealth
More as with selfish intent, only taking you to think
about yourself

None is greater than another if ever told
Neither can escape getting old, at once being owed,
and being owned by their own contradicting words of bold

Opposites do attract
Oppositions do want to settle things in a match
Opportunity is open to all hands; just learn early
on how to catch

Passive thought delays passion
Past mistakes tied to the mind, delays you massive
in doing an action

Quiet thoughts are a quiet night of all beautiful stars
Quality is the above all of quantity, when showing
exactly who you are

Rarely do you know your destination at the beginning
Revel in the journey, it's self discovery, and all the
lessons in your proceeding

Somewhat of our being wants to be something
Someone out there has it all, yet feels like nothing

Teeth help frame out a pretty smile
The same of which can frame out a disguise to
tell a pretty lie, once in a while

Under the skin of a sinner, is the skin of guilt felt
Unfortunately the guilt of some is all in vein,
to not have those sins swiftly dealt

Variety isn't always a guarantee of various options
Various people have their varies, but all depending
on various costings

Wailing about life is a life size whale in your mouth
Watch the words you say; you could drown people
with the pointless spit all coming out

X-Ray train your wisdom to see through deceit
Xylophone train your ears to hear the scale of hidden
meanings behind one's proud speech

Young were we all at a time
You yourself are the one to decide the end of your prime

Zero tolerance to those who say you don't matter
Zealous character is in high demand; no matter your
age, ***, upbringing, religion, and personality—you
are here for a reason, and not to be cut off from life
like a cancer

...as from A to Z, we are all special deep in our DNA,
                                                     both you and me

Silent things
Silent sins, and it's silent king

Silence in all but once perfect dreams
Silence the lambs of their bleeding sheep

Silent are the hills of the new mountains & their peaks
Silent pauses; a man wondering if still good in the sheets

Silence is the violence of a mind without any peace
Silence in the times of a writer's block searching for a piece

Silent responses for a lover begging on their knees
Silent witness to the crime of love scripted on life's t.v. screens

All wanting of a silent death;
in the end—death comes much closer in every breath
Pain hurts more in silence, but it's voice often remains silent

Shadows silhouette
static t.v. screens electrifying
performance just before the curtain falls
An audience roars applauds to none of which
is truly heard, taking bow to resounding success

All at a level best, the author neither hears the end
of their own story—but quietly predicts it
Believes in it so much, it soon becomes disbelief
or as the fear of a fitting end has eliminated grief

Ssshh,
shuttle away to the quietest of dreams
transported to a land of only imagination
Passion, passions of all but passionate
Weaving through traffic of a rush hour mind
with no stop signs or any bright red light

Denying all of your pride
so choked up in a dream, coughing out aspiration,
ambition, or ideals
And only in a land void of fears, do we soon
find the bravery to grow our wings

The suffering rest
Too tired of themselves;
An attire of youthfulness
Clueless, individually in a single line
The good and the often bad
Ugly smiles of the richest people
And the expenses of a poverty lifestyle

Butchered words every time two lovers meet
Lost tongues in pointless over talk; kissing
A feeling is always missing, in between inhale
Exhale the distrust of knowing it won't last
The slowest rushes end off so fast

Fasten your heart around a sleeve
Arm your eyes to their usual war
Pleasures of sight will all **** a man
Tickles of speach blinders to woman's focus
Two of which know it's wrong, but want more and more

Drowning always in debt
Believing you owe the world something
An address to a particular subject,—we're all ode
Owed a reason to all our failures
Questions to all unanswered prayers
Heaven owes a lot in the cryptic lyrics of life

But for the moment, this is life in a nutshell
Trying all to bust a nut, sometimes nuts
And one day it will all crack open in the end

Burning,
yearning passionate love
tows, and tows of flame
sparks fly in the sky—I've been too
high to realise I'm still scared of heights
Being too sweetly subtle
and so good to waste time around a belt buckle

Oily hair, and ideas slipping off
a random thought before a thought
Mileage of the tongue speaking covered
and affectionate words
Going around tour on your morals,
floral arrangements in the scent of love
Could be sweet, but bitterly sour
not every pretty sight, is a nice smelling flower

            ...all voices of poetic prowess

The night is young
tis fair in the crickets silent song
alates that come after summer rain
rushing traffic splashing brown water
—my socks are soaked; wet toes,
and cold shiver's marathon in a running
nose

My head pounds like a child
beating a drum
Undisciplined, uncontrollable buzzing
like bees making a hive of my thoughts
choked words by the feelings above my throat

Clouded mind, to now be feeling grey
it's grave to me to dig up my past
Clearer skies, exposed skins, and parent
shoutings, about playing where ringworm
lie in grass

The scent is sour; heaven tears left
on the soil—bending a flower
the silence ends here, but it will
again rain another hour

Sorry on the terms of coming
to terms of long awaited words
We're only the sweet nothings
desirable thoughts, but not
so thoughtful in person—per se
we do this everyday, everyday is the
same decor with different shade

Such a shame; beautiful in my eyes
but a beauty only set of afar sights
Sightseeing on what could be,
still this is the fault of an awkward me
hopeless romantic, passive; inactive love
closed heart to all but open chances to love

Would of been fun to live as just boring people
entertaining ourselves on less than serious jokes
—you don't like spoken word, but you'd maybe
listen to my cheeky comments in a spoken word
of thoughts

Being a boring cliché
words of saying I love you more than yesterday
the answer to my prayers; anyways these
feelings hunt me down as it's prey
What more can I say...actually what haven't
I said if we're still stuck as attracting friends
Face to face our magnetic force pushes us away,
and the turn of the other, pulls the other walking
the other way. It's so magnetic...oh God, that's so
cliché

We're two bored people, too bored
to board the relationship status
Lovers at first sight—old fashioned
given a little chance to act on the obvious
thoughts, could mean we'd have a little action

      ...but now I'm just so bored of these thoughts

Social hang off
—hanging picture, capture
a moment forgot by morning's morrow
and the hopes of more time we'd hope
to borrow. A head hollow, is it not the
truth so hard to swallow, so is pride
an empty space inside, a pretty shadow's
smile

Surely you've searched yourself enough
to know the true self you need to find!

the taste of your smile
in this crowded room
hearts of ocean—I am blue
party next door, shut down by appearance
so real, resilience—I caught myself before
catching feelings. to have a seal on the upper
interior of my heart; high up to the ceiling

this crush is a mile
a crushing journey over you
unwisely along time—tragic fool
cleanse my teary eyes in a memory rinse
a con, convince me not to be sore
a press thumb to thump down a number
in love with the right person, but she hangs
with the worst of people dealing

monster affairs,
relations with the dark
a shadow cuts of my deepest
darkest thoughts; thwart on
the words of sheepish tongue
a flock of fears, tears, years and jeers

so unlikely, but unlike what they'd
say, we're not like them—unalike

And you'd ask me if I see
myself in that mirror

—no,
I see only what a world has done
has labelled me, called me, rated me
expected of me, thought less of me

...unfortunately for both,
                     it's not me!

In a previous dream
—envious of the confident figure
with the confidence I never had
The wise words of a stranger, that I
never got enough of from my dad
As if could be; we could be free in
all of our lost dreams

Angels with temporary wings
temporary importance
temporary imagination
temporary temperance
all only so temporary
—in these depressing dreams

To awkwardly smile,
being called handsome
Didn't have a lot of riches,
but at luckiest days I had some
Could you spare a little handy advice,
to a still growing child and hand some
To calculate the formula to success,
how best in it's beforehand sum

                        to be handsomely paid—perhaps

"But let me tune you the live about life's simulation,
that assimilates one's worth. Poetry's code isn't of ones
and zeroes, but of all lines and words"
Says the wit of a coloured oan wanting to chuff the girls

It's all about the honeys, and maybe some sweet
success of hustling for a little extra money

Taking a stand on every stanza, I grew up to different standards
Unlike the hood rapper clutching the 48 hammer,
I was taught in my hood how to hold a 48 spanner
I have my odds in odes; every heavy breath in each
coma—not so common
Given the stereotype of dealing and robbing
To steal your stereo if the right type,
and best to drive with caution

A dark skinned coloured
fitting in with the blacks by appearance
Accents do tend to change ears intently hearing
Whites think I'm that way out of a private school fashion
But I did at times hang out with the wrong crowd,
at times on weekends smoking **** and relaxing

And yes I'm actually coloured; to those of you asking
Hit you with a "hey what's up, what's happening"
Don't mind me asking questions with this sort of coloured accent
"Yoo what's the story," we start our conversations
in the morning. A different kind of breed Godsent

I don't force how I speak
But if it disturbs the peace
I'll change my tone of speech
And find solace in writing another poetry piece

                                            @the Coloured poet

I'm a psychopath, as I cycle in a path
On life's roller coaster tracks, I lost track of time,
An untimely demise to a Sir married to his prize—a surprise
To come to build a fort around a heart's comfort
Come forth to forgo your old ways; wayward thoughts to
ward my love from running away

Anyway I'm stuck on a dream of yesterday
Trying to make it revelant today
Two days later the latest trends become late
Fashioned state; fashionably late
it's a fashion state of late, when you try to deep fake

Spear your spirits; cuts deep being a Christian
Spearhead, someone with deep thoughts untold wisdom
A little devilish smile into making love,
All the feelings that awkawdly develop
Nothing lasts forever like sugar in a piece of gum
Chewing on your words, and biting your tongue
And if blood tastes like cinnamon; it would be few
to the looks of eyes to see no men. Feeling nearly
the same as a synonym

Another questionable phrase to the praise
of your own son asking you for a raise
We're all living to gain, doing it all again,
and again; in the end it's all a game

I am not impressed
I'm just depressed, I am but a mess
wondering what it is next, all the guns
out in the world—equals death

Divide and conquer
we are here to only **** ourselves
daily—a selfish death

Swimming in your depths
and thought ties around your neck
life chokes everyday—a slow death

Should be happy that I made it
but not made of success
A lot time left to just to second
guess—a career's death

Spitting on all my dreams
mouthful of ill talk sickening in my chest
never at my best—imagination's death

Harsh words are blazing fires
it stinks; ash on your breath
still alive at 23 screaming yes
despite missteps—walks of death

Death, death, death, all I've known is death

New flesh
nudist art next to a pretty dress
as a naked eye sees want it wants to see

A little of an unexplored world in between
—ironically a queen on her knees
A flowing river; centre tongue licking drips
of a honey cup
Tip toeing sounds, silently in their subtle
under the secret sheets towing the sky

A mist for night; a mister of the charges
—who leads who
Being lonely for two, been through a
misconception of missing you

So I just sit, waiting in this empty room

So kept at odds
a life in a mirror; reflective ways
cracking, cracking smiles to see
a fragile side. To make love in front
of a mirror, yet she's the only one to see
herself cry

His breath is vile, heavy smoked
and coughs in between—spitting exhaust
Speaking pleasurable remarks,
but all but unpleasant words in her bones

She should of spent the night sleeping alone
shouldn't have answered his call
shouldn't allowed herself to be called a *****
shouldn't have forgotten about his wife at home
shouldn't allowed herself to be a side piece
a piece of guilt in her side; she has no peace
being chased by a dog, why they called her a *****

"No, no, you're just my side chick
a reason enough when my wife has had enough"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I'm serious about you, but we're just having fun"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I'll feed you and your family, and buy you a house"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
she's not around with the kids, but move in caution"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I won't pay for another child, here's a number for an abortion"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I can't always be there for you when you're lonely"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
wrinkles on clothes, ***** texts; don't air out my ***** laundry

"You're just my side chick, my side chick"
said an old man to a young naive girl.

The sound of love
how to explain: children in a playground
rhythmic play, heart skips a beat
screaming yay; nay to hopelessness of
breaking a heart again

Chase
chasing hands, gripping tag to touch
I've labelled myself a fool, only could
love sound so cliche as a fool in love

I am troubled by affections
that which you give, but I do not receive
Lost in your eyes; I see you've lost the love

Tragic!
a time you and I were magic
to read thoughts;
words on your mind I could spell
Havoc!
reaping what you sow; a pretty rose from
the garden—pierced hand of thorns

A taste of blandness
blah, blah blah, blah

I must sound like to your ears
my dreams hear you speak ill to peers
In perfect silence, can you hear the sound of a tear

                                        ...these are my tears

Canvas eyes; picture painting
—masterpiece
Ink kisses, imprints of love
on a cheek
Linen hair, sheets of bedding
thoughts resting on your head
Pick-up hugs, lifting power
and grips of the trunk
—bottom hug temptations, non pretend
beforehand, wrapped arms and touches of a love
                         it's all such a rush: favourite hug

falling shadows
howling holes—heart's chasm
gaps in teeth, bites of time
in the cavity of a mouthful successes

written in a journal of fears
not to fear death, but a death of dreams
not to fear easy give, but to easily give in
not to fear tomorrow, but a yesterday's repeat
to pen my thoughts, penning words at fault
                   ....my poetry is a journal of fears

They sodomise my eyes
Penetrating ill content
Sickening imagery—cauterise an African man’s pride
Categorize me in a dark corner of their globe

How so the world spins
But we are to turn our eyes the other way
If not forced to conform to their ways, their ways confirm
We’re shunned from their perfect world

They created diseases to charge their victims of a cure
Stole the wealth of our land, to sell an end product labelled new
If only we knew the threat we pose, as they’ve always known
Placing bonds of pricey chains of, “hey I’ve got the latest iPhone”
Leading us to scorn our own kind; a few softwares behind,
“eek, your version is so old”

****** virgins/versions;
Non experienced in their translation of purpose
If said the future is only possible if we all connect
I guess we’re the ones always out of service
To conform to your ways to guarantee your service
—Are we your servants
Carrying the destruction of your wars like surrogates

To the outer world
That believes I still live outside
Fascinated whenever I see a white
Those of my whites from Africa somewhat more relatable
To my struggles, than an African American
Supposedly my brother from another mother

No, no, my dearest brother, you have Africa in title
But not inside of you. We weren’t taught by the same mother
We didn’t go through the same hardships
We’re more like distant cousins
Who only seem to relate by our skin colours
Even though you’d see me as different,
Though being much darker

To the outer world; altering my nation to your outer works
                  I’m sorry, but I can’t live in your perfect world

skies are black—heavy;
a grey smile, fields of yesterday's tears
cries of drought and doubt of progression
not to mention we rely on nature for resources
but are unresourceful to treat our Mother back
in kind

she's dying, dying, dying
ice glaciers melting, forest trees drying
human nature is to show love, compassion and
respect to whom is their mother

show love, compassion and respect to whom is
your Mother earth

I know it hurts to be alive
At times you think of suicide
But here's my encourage to encore your life

Be happy of the fact you pushed on to survive
And please mind the appearance,
But I do care of the mental state of your mind

You're battling things inside
Battered from showing it outside
As with a cheery hie; behind a smile is a lot to hide
I just want you to know—in appearances not seen,
I appreciate your life

Memos to a poet's unheard speech
Could sound like a preach
Great ideas of course to promote peace
Listen intently; there's reason to pain
Expressive lyrics of love, then also shame
All is fair game in wordplay—wouldn't you know
a peaceful night after a chaotic day

Their song is unsung, written in chorus blue
A writer who is broken; fixation on their expression
                                  ....the writer you never knew

i feel ashamed, i feel ashamed, i ashamed
i'm on a prayer to prevail
taking shots of successes inside of a small gun range

russian roulette; cussing out in an attest
testifying those sins—i need to repent,
i need to repent, i need to repent
i've got a bad rep representing my ill intent

so sick of life, seeking meaning on people
pleasing. so was it a miss for me—misleading peers
to co-sign my fears
it's a signature significant, in a miniature magnificent
but strangely the one to always feel so insignificant

among the rules of what it means to be men
as non momentary cowardice, to the pre end
lying constant, lying on a deathbed to admit to
my pretend

the imaginary calamity of believing you're a
hope for humanity. your goal is only to provide
for your family; sadly on the madly in love undertone
keeping well the colours of a lover's rose
treat them well as yours. let sinking kisses rest under
pores

pouring out your heart; poor are those buying
out to pay for love

you should feel ashamed, you should feel ashamed,
you should feel ashamed—as I once was ashamed

The taste of tears
love=flavour’s joy
tasted dreams of another
And as a crying shoulder to a lover
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
anger=boiling wrath
cast in the tone of doom
As we’d cry over anger to keep cool
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
saddens=weather’s blue
we’d cry together to wash away pain
Tears of tomorrow are drizzles of yesterday’s rain
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
death=last drops
it will be hard for one to say their goodbyes
Still we know that we’ll meet on the other side
                         ....our tears till the end

~profits of prophets
lining riches; a queue to fill
their pockets

spear head spirit
not so sharp as a liars tongue
words a knife, and the loudest
cocky tones just a blaring empty gun

you shoot for fun,
fun to shoot shots if the target hit
the blowback becomes being denied
                        ~he'd call her *****

that's rich,
not to hold onto the fact of a reach
but of which you regret a miss
to have not gained a miss, and *****
wet kiss. Wet are the eyes of calling it quits
freeing mind from criminal advances—acquit

but I could sound a little preachy
on fruits of the spirit; quite peachy
joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness,
faithfulness, self-control

to say you know, or no to the subject matter
of my poem. must of been on the nose; you smelt
the suppose in this prose

and I suppose that makes this the end of my
random poem

Rooibos
—late night thoughts
in a cupful, to the tee caught in the awe,
or in the ways the hot beverage tickles the
tongue floor

     ....one sip leads to more and more

....all time is a slow pace to death
as love is a muscle memory,
till the heart soon forgets it

Ziplock tie,
a piece of skin caught in a jean
fabric stained, sticky sweat
under a cool breeze. A little wind in
between; hanging cause
Shaving necessary for release from
pores

Bumps and scrapes
awkward looking, and ingrown hairs
blades of grass—pasture flesh land
Sprints of watered perfume, and
the only time man has a tender hand
Cleanliness; cleanse of appearance
to look and feel good in the end

             ...do play ball in taking care of your *****

take recognition of your life
recognise a world pushing us to strife
all hoping to strive, but the t.v. screens
weaponize our eyes

i only see death—vision red
lower case responses, from short ideas
in my head

i sing an empty prayer into hymn
synonymous; to my wits on whim
a shadow of a dream, royally *******
without king

forms of standards and practices
place children into idealistic formation
enclosed imagination; modern day camp
of concentration

none see, a sort of ****—fascism
destruction of a natural world—cataclysm
being destroyed by public opinion—vandalism
only knowing watched picture loves—romanticism
in a world that took a whizz on wisdom

              ...take recognition, to the strings of puppets
                            the world is broken; quite obvious

living to defend an idiot always
makes them less of an idiot
and for you to become the idiot
in all ways

to love one who only loves
the idea of being in love
is as good as both being unloved

            ....idiots defence, and fools to love

you deserve all that you have given
—in a world that takes, takes kindness
lightly. we live in a dark world
tossing their weight of heavy sin by
the stones building their walls
oh mr kindness,

             ....you deserve so much more

my sweetest sanctuary
of wishful thinking, and
only to fulfil them, as without
my fears, insecurities and undesirable
lust under hidden eyelids

i can create worlds in materials
of imagination. destroyed by
the wakes of time

i am free, though a slave to
mind pictures not often in my control

i rehearse my life before the act
of playing into this reality

i find healing in the abstract pictures
fixed into the brokenness of life
experiences

i am lost in a comfort; the converting
characters i create from reality's former

for the day only allows me
a moment's daydream
—but the night has so much more
to offer

                               ...i am a dreamer

growing pains
—these deep roots of hurt
cut off the past, water the present
and let the future grow

              ...life is all about growth