The old lady talks into air,
Of friends and family.
She asks poignant questions,
Or so it seems.
Her wrinkled brow furrowed
And eyebrows raised,
Tell just as much of her age as her intent.
Her words wander with lost syntax.
They ring with waves of sound,
Trying to find an ear to fill.
Still she sits.
Wondering why everyone stares,
But no one listens.

"You're too young," they said
"That and you're too fat,
You can't accomplish your dreams you need to be in shape to do that.
You need to be able to run and take flight."
I've answered all of these questions  with out discord or fight.

I proved myself with action not by pounds on the scale
I faced their doubts head on, every concern every wail.
See doubts to me are gasoline
They fuel the fire of my soul
I don't need your support because there's no way I will fold

See I've faced doubts all my life
Proved everyone of them wrong
So what's a few more pieces of kindling and wood to pile on
The fire inside me the blaze it burns red
Consuming my opponents I will fill them with a dread
So if you're one of my doubters stand  and just ask
"Who do you think you are?" And I'll take you to task.

Peace is acceptance and understanding of ones place in the world
Which is why it's so rare
We can't see to the end of our own noses
So how can we think we can care?

Hope is a broken promise that naïveté allows to breathe
How can we hope when it's just hard to believe?
When you can't see the bottom
What could you plan to retrieve?

Trust is the brother of honesty but no one treats them as such
They invite Trust to tell secrets but shun his brother instead
So Trust listens to the rumors
But the brother won't bother as the bitterness spreads.

If peace, hope, and trust lose their way in our lives
Can we ever believe that we would recognize
Those who need help or those to be encouraged
Those needing a word or to be showed how to endure it

See life without these is less of a life that we live
But it's a life that we survive with more take than of give.
Remember the problems you face and know that others do to
When you keep that in mind we walk a mile in their shoes.

BROKEN is not a term of endearment
Rather it is used to deter
Don't buy that it's BROKEN
Something's wrong with her she's BROKEN

BROKEN is a term for things and not people
It conveys a need to be fixed
Our scars and bruises have made is whole
We aren't BROKEN, but reborn through every pain, every loss, and every trial.

We have learned through our BROKENess that others struggle too and maybe we can see that if everyone is BROKEN
Perhaps the word BROKEN can mean something new.

Maybe EDUCATED, WISE, STEADFAST, and LEARNED.
Could it be STRONGER or FIERCE are the words that we've earned.
Whatever your word live it out in embrace.
Leave that BROKEN word lonely far away with no trace.

overwhelming.
brightness flooding over angled nose and curved jaw.
trickling over pores and hairs
to nest within a well that reject and tightly closes.
refusing. relenting. relinquishing.
eyes fluttering open.
lashes sweeping away relaxation
away dreams and wishes.
forcing thoughts to lingering lists of facts and figures.
as reality's pavement likeness persists.
responsibility, risk and resolution resolve.
until the head rests again.

Profound, that he lost his sight.
He couldn't get the harmonies to blend quite right,
So he gave up seeing,
For music was the life and the fiber in his being.
He didn't need another soul
To change his note from half to whole,
For he had something else to hold,
And music couldn't make his spirit old.
So, he wed the chord, he played the piece,
And he dubbed musicality the worst disease.
Funny that a musical obsession
Would correspond with loneliness at life's discretion.
--Emily Rutledge

He wore a wife beater.
Which hung on him more like a to do list-
Than his clothing choice for the day.
His choice of beverage of the night was Coors Light.
Twenty four of them.
Although it would be hard to argue that something else would have been in his hand
Had it too been on sale at 2 for $20.
His math skills were heightened on Fridays.
On the weekend he was somewhat of a savant.
Dividing dollars by can volume to determine.
His most frugal choice.
As he moseyed to his car,
Hips struggling to hold his
Tattered sweatpants,
One wondered whether it too ran on alcohol.

what if your person is
someone else's, too?
what if they're not yours
at all?