5/20/1994
I'll forget your face--
even those hands I fell in love with.
The soft way they grasped my hips
as your head nestled into my chest.
I always admired how petite those fingers of yours were,
when compared to mine, they were inch worms wiggling between the earth.

6/20/1994
I'll forget our first--
even our first kiss that was always our biggest thing to laugh at.
That little parlor, was our first kiss,  
To find out how it would be with ice cream in our mouths
Little droplets of your favorite ice cream, vanilla cranberry.
Surrounded the bottom part of your upper lip,
slightly puckered, bending over the table towards each other.
I started to laugh before we even touched,
accidentally getting some raspberry on that sundress you love so much
Our lips didn't touch that day, but I still consider that our first kiss

7/20/1994
I'll forget our last--
Even our marriage, I can no longer remember what day it was on.
Although I replay that moment in my mind almost every single day,
trying so hard to keep it stored inside me, that even today I prayed to remember.
Your admiration for Swan Lake was obvious that day;
no wonder you had to dress in a black dress, and brides maids in white

8/20/1994
I'll forget the tiniest and the most important details to our wonderful life--
Even the ones you thought I never could:
we live at, 197 oakwood lane, or is it pinewood road,
we have three children...I love them very much

9/28/1995
I'll forget everything--
Except what I promised to always remember.
Dear, to me every day is our wedding day
It's the only thing I've been able to keep
Thanks for playing along with me,
It's been magical to marry you everyday,
to feel as young as we were back then.

Paddling through images on my phone--
they are the only life boat in sight
a little floating canoe in the middle of a mighty ocean.
The tide is turning, trying to advert some ugly storm that's rising up;
debris fills the whirl pool as it slowly tempts to drag my anchor in.

Smudges appear on the glowing screen of my preoccupation,
as the teary drops blotch out the imagery I cling onto.
Only gaining more wind as it descends to sink this dinky ship.

Cascades of waves streamline their way through my finger tips,
settling into the motion, the shambles of the scooter rip away from me
Trembling as the mind wanders from surface to drowning.

Face down in a public space,
without any buoy to hold onto
These rampant waves will water-board the mind.

The campaign to survive, sunk with final life boat
As the perfect storm was able,
to fatally take my breath away.

I imagine a man--
a strong, independent, pack leading figure
Who will always have the strength to carry his own family.
That on his wedding day he will carry his wife to bed
as he is expected to carry his children to theirs every night.

A man will be stern, and respected by those around him
every part of his being will be drawn to our attention.
He will have the heart of lion, the one bearing burdens, as he should
his shoulders will always stand firm, as the red woods have taught him well.

The voice of a man is deeper than the sounds of a bear,
being woken from hibernation.
His cave echos the triumphant's of experience,
as well as the wisdom's of manhood.

Truly a man is the best of his crafts
building treetop castles made of lumber and supplies
never needing instructions as he has it all inside
fixing all that he can fix, forever and always.

Emotionally, unknown--
his tempers sway, a brief signal in the sky, before it is wisped away.
Half grins yearning to resemble his wife and child
tightly holding those he loves in a lingering way--
unspoken is how it goes for a man.

Man, if I could tear you down with the hate I've built up
I don't think I could be angry anymore after that
but that's not how it works,
It's something I've built, it's a building of hate

That if King Kong was around he would climb this building instead of the Empire State.
He'd get to the top and want to have them dangling with him
Not out of love or affection, but purely to crush you in his hand like I would
He'd make sure all of your bones didn't exist anymore
I would say dust, but even that form give them dignity.

They could go into space and I could still lock onto them
You can't hear anything up there
Though, I know my hate would echo off the edge of universe
Filling every little crevasse until the frequency blows their mind apart

It ***** so **** much, that inside, my bones chip themselves apart
They sharpen their edges so if they were to come close, my bones would rip out my skin
I'd hara kiri  rib bones through my chest just in the off chance they were behind me.

All of this would be nothing compared to what they did
Compared to the million of needles stuck in my flesh
Between feeding me such ******* every single meal
If words could strangle
I'd hope you choke on these words every single night.

My ribs were the opening door for many to crawl into my skin
as they gently pushed, at the center of my body.
My ribs would give way as easily as wind chimes to the wind,
but when my ribs dinged against each other, there was no soft melody.
Except the scraping sounds of moving old furniture across wooden floors.

The groans of loves seats too tired to want to live somewhere new,
anxiety of having your counterpart, separated, and living across the room.
Those floating floors dipping to the cement.
Too worn from being walked all over without any care or repair.

The chimes do not stop at the door.
They bounce and echo off cliche yellow stained wall paper,
since the body is not a relict of the 70's but a newer model from the 90's.

When these people sneak on in they want to have a grand tour
wanting to be shown the history,
that lay within the amber bricks edging themselves around the fireplace.
All I can really tell them is that I will show them to their room.

That was only the beginning as they trouble me more and more
asking about every door that we pass, that's boarded up with rusty nails,
briskly I open their door and tell them to feel at home.

I warn them that the power is not so great here,
some times, often, always,  it will shut down.
We don't know how long it will take to get back as it's always different.
They tell me, they do not mind all these flaws, as they add character.

I nod and leave them to rearrange their new place to stay.
Eventually this room will share in only being used for the acoustics.
As well as another door I will need to glance pass,
when the next passerby comes to stay.

The greatest of poets probably went unnoticed,
so when you are out there exploring with your words--
when those people never come to give you praise.
Take some pride in knowing that they probably haven't found you yet
just keep writing because eventually you'll write a master piece.
That your children's children will be able to find in their history books--
Until that day comes, write until those hands fall off,
So history can look back at how you never stopped
and how prideful you were of your work.
That even when people didn't acknowledge your poetry to be poetry--
You kept on writing the hooplas and sweeneytoons until you could not.
Because those hands of yours are the only ones that will ever exist.
The lines that you wrote, today, will be ones to live tomorrow.
That when your life ends, your writing can begin to live for you.
Your voice unlike many others will be unable to die;
secretly you may wish to be found
just like many others before and after you will be found
just remember that some lost treasures are forever lost--
but they are the treasure that everyone is still seeking.

I remember Icy cold hands softly grasping my wrist(s).
As they lead me down to the water.
It's a brisk sunny day clear of clouds and void of life other than us two.
Upon reaching the brim of this secluded lake I dive right in.
Solemnly sinking lower and lower until something whispers for me to open my eyes.

I remember thinking to myself how much longer can I hold my breath.
As I peer at this underwater world around me, quite a masterful landscape.
This could be a mini coral reef I thought as many creatures scuttled across the mossy corpse of what I assumed used to be a tree.

I remember the feeling of those same frozen hands.
Gently and tightly wrapping themselves around my chest.
I feel stuck and held in place as my eyes peer ever deeply.
Into the lush and overgrown thick of seaweed.
That looks as if it is waving for me to come closer.

I remember a minor sharp pain as if ice was arching its way inside my spine.
Slowly sending a tingling sensation into the back of my mind.
This world really is something as I ponder about an over sized rock. That was more than likely large enough to be called a boulder.
Also how did it ever came to exist right here in the middle of the water.  
Silly I know, but I also wondered if the fish same as people .
Would praise this rock to be something more than a pebble in a lake.

I remember a peaking feeling where everything began to rush to my head .
As the chilly edge slipped into my limbs as those hands caressed me.
Amongst this lavishness was the **** realization .
That the only thing that stood out in the realm was my existence.
It was my opaque form that caused quite a stir in this mundane environment .
If not for my involvement .
Today would have been the same as any other for these creatures.

I remember being enveloped into the pleasantness and peacefulness that the cold brought.
When I could finally no longer feel the hands pressed against my skin.
In this brief moment all I could do is take in what my gaze could hold. This moment could no longer last as my vision became hazy.
So I closed my eyes to accept what eventually had to come.