When you fell in love with me
it was the most exhilarating life-style.
We're fabulous and none could tell us
that we were just two ordinary people swooning.

People spoke of remembering the beginning of their own--
comparing their moments to ours
the same places the same people,
but to be honest I never believed a syllable
they whispered our way.

Anyone can recreate a master piece
and say it is identical in every single way.
Though the painter will always look quite different
and their detailed feelings for each stroke
will be the same as a grain of sand
compared to a humpback whale.

These people see love as an comparison story
where they can take notes and read books:
how to deal with happiness or depression
what this means for her and him,
it's the exact same thing for their own relationship.

I simply smile at these folks
they will always wander the grounds behind us
seeking out thoughts
about how to deal with each other.
To them I give a full smile,
where my eyes crinkle at the corners
giving them some peace.

As I take your hand
and tell you about the beach
where we watched whales jump out of the water
and land all over the sand.

Do my clothes bother you--
as I wear black leggings
with small high school shorts above them
or is it my pastel blue hair
with an assortment of illustrious flowers
in a shape of a crown on my head.

Maybe it's the collection of tattoos
that I have spiraling around my arms;
little pictures of despicable me minions
and clusters of anime that you
never  thought worth while to know the name of.

Is it the rotation of shoes ranging from
sky spotted flats to glamorous Toms
that show the expansion of the galaxy on our horizon,
which reminds yourself of how ignorant you may really be in comparison.

Does the reflection of the sun
bouncing off of my 3/8ths of an inch earrings
cause you to become confused, just like my cat does
when I am at home near some window,
or is it too difficult to comprehend that this is me not you.

Are we estranged conjoined twins
that I never knew about some how,
and what I like prevents you from living
because then I would understand why
compromising is even an option.

As a man or woman of youth or elderly--
I choose equality over self-replication
I choose not to be defined by the singularity
I choose to exist in freedom
and I choose to be myself with all of its complexities.

Life energy radiates within--
literally the energy of beings
exist within your veins;
hungry animals thirst within those capillaries.

The lungs that heave
are the muscular tissues of  little chickens--
tendons that tore to make you strong,
elongated strands of fat from each bite
made the skin around your lips.

Though the calcium of bones
was not used in this current cuisine--
blood was made into pudding
dessert maybe used to make hemoglobin.

We feast on flesh to create our own
same goes for the creatures that we eat
they mangle the essence of life
to satisfy their own longevity.

All must eat to survive,
remember with each bite
comes the sacrifice from the sky
it begins with the Sun,
and ends with the Earth.

The middle class idea of theft--
where we eat at semi-fancy restaurants
seated at faux leather interior
deep seated dimly lit coves
dine in a sarcophagus of tasty mildew.

A youth lends their smile
teeth faintly shine through,
but roughly cut short of sincere;
on their lapel in fine print the label says Sandy.

Flexing water spotted plastic
black brim borders
and articulated names of food
that would put all of Italy to shame.

Porcelain plates hold lofty portions
of what is purely compensation
as texture and flavor remind me of my adolescence
this is when Playdoh and Crayons are used for flavoring.

A slate for my signature is provided
and the upside to this all
was the perfection of a pen they lent me
it was ball tip and bright pink--
finally something I'd be glad to take home with me.

The only way I can see
is by touching the world around me;
the faint scent and crunch to images
that linger around my fingers.

They are my hounds
who sniff and howl--
at the other animals around them
each crackle and groove
sends each dog into a frenzy.

Diving right into the riverbeds,
underwater is supposed to be where all is unknown
but right before the tips of my eyes are only questions:
is this the right land of water
where I can open the blinds to let sunlight flood in.

Reminds me of Rome
where pillars do not only stand in front of buildings,
they float into the sides of my body
ricocheting and piercing me at the same time--
the only reminder that this is a sidewalk
is the large crack that starts at my front door
and ends some where near an Oak tree.

Someone's daughter has gone missing
yet these hands yonder the forest to find her
seeking the essence of philanthropy;
but how can they expect me,
to find someone,
when I can't even see myself
as I'm mislead through the shadows of these trees.

How to imagine a poem--
when you speak those lines
do not say that you are dying or inlove,
but describe the way it's happening.

Death/Sad.

There's a noose around my neck
the rough fibers are digging in
reminding me of my fathers hands--
when I was eight years old
as he strangled me to sleep.


My helium light in the corner
begins to flicker as it always does
when there's a thunderstorm,
even as my world fades
I know it's sunny skies today.

Love.

There's a difference between smiling
and the way your lips slant upwards.
They remind me of my favorite nuts;
cashews are the happiest of all of them
the only ones able to make a smile
that puts all others to shame.

Nature/Happy.

As hydrogen and oxygen combine
making my sweet abode the ocean--
I sift saltwater side to side in my mouth
as I attempt to draw the air into my lungs.
Fish were born to exist here
where I am lucky to float in their home today.

End.

Poems are the hidden lizard in your back yard
that always seems to be there watching you--
or the pesky neighbor cat which hangs on the fence
riskily tightrope walking to sneak upon it's prey.

**...The meaning is always there, but sometimes it's difficult to see...

My grandfather was an ancient thing
not a person or a place to hold my head
because he was always busy filling it
with the imagery of his life.

From his past where he had to survive
laying still next to his solder friends
who still held their weapons
even when they could not take another breath.

or the time my grandmother had a stillborn child
it would of been my uncle, but instead Rufus went on ahead
before anyone got the chance to meet him
holding his breath just like the soldiers did.

His sister, whose name no longer reaches me
so I usually call her Mrs. Harmony
because when I was four I heard her sing
our "star spangled banner yet wave"
with her soldier brother, my grandfather
standing with his hand over her heart
as she began to hold her breath as well.

I did see my grandfather do
what all his family members did before him
and really he is the reason I say they are holding their breath
that was his...our way of coping with our love ones
who stopped speaking to enjoy a silly little game
and sometimes I wish he could speak up
so I could know if he's been watching all this time.