I am no more than what you
Make of me, but
No less than how you
Define me.

You could be the first point of contact,
****** upon my hand-crafted pedestal,
But you are self-interested and
An impartial judge to this acquaintance.

O if I could only write
Poetry worthy of your
Reading!
Find clarity in
Complexities.
Make Art and rhyme
of the unspoken.
Offer up my words
As tokens of my
Vulnerability.
Then, then you would see.

If only I could write a book
worth reading past the first few pages.
Not the type for school that
you read in stages in order to maintain
your vitality.
A book you can drown yourself in
without glancing at a screen.
Words you can devour
rather than glean.
An idyllic scene.
Far from the person you know best.

If only I could write myself
in a play.
My life mapped out from day to day
with instructions on my whereabouts
and actions.
Our conversations would be succint, artful
and with purpose.
I would have long, coherently structured
speeches and
always have the right things to say,
expressed in the wittiest way.
My life would be dictated by
Your entrances and exits.
All my plot lines resolved in
Act 3;
That would suit me.

O if only I could write those words;
The ones worth saying.
Those words different from our
Daily utterances.
Those words you have been
meaning to say but have not
yet had time to shape them round
your lips.
If I could write those words, I would.
Unfortunately it's just me.
But I will try, I promise.
Just you see-

Answer me once
Without bundled up words
A year's been far too long.
For the secrets been spilled
The music's been stopped
And all that's left is traffic and pain  

And loneliness is no great friend
So force yourself to marry a fool
Do it just right
In a pristine church
To win some kind of forgotten fight
Make some empty plans
To catch up on friends
Remember your missing days?
You can count the past on ticking clocks
If you find some time to spare

And do you look back?
With teary eyes
Or shorter breaths
Or great regrets
Do you stay awake at night
Wishing you had just been you?
Well strike yourself from the milk box signs
Because you know I certainly do

A name can be home to many faces.
It conjures memories, feelings
and long forgotten places.
It's sad hearing yours, although I
still smile.
'Cause I was glad to have known you,
If only for awhile.

The sea is
to me
As to Yeats Inisfree.

Ruffles your hair in the soft of the summer patch, sunbeams cling to you like honey then later cling to my ever growing hopes of happy happy love. silly silly silly winky-**** he bruises you with stains of purple-pink which later fade to yellow like 'le soleil' friction burns will come from 'le soleil' and linger and cling to your chest like an arrow through the heart. heart-throb. you belittle me one too many times doodle-bug.

Rosie roses are nice to fancy and fathom but thorns only puncture pale skin and drain you of your ruby juice until you are nothing but a dusty, hollow skin shell. pale naïve and empty to be filled with dreams, desires and demands as well. hate is not easily boiled in your kitchen kettle water but I think that's a good thing munchkin.

Hold back your disdain bite your tongue crack your teeth and do not repeat what your brain whispered it has been lying to you since the day you were born you silly silly silly... this is a ripping seam in your moonbeam and your emotions begin curdle and to leak out like fish but then you remember crying is okay but **** such salt water back in and say naught. distraught.

At witching hour it will come at you a cold sweat in the night where your fingers tingle and your meat twinkles faces before you with holes for irises. they have been sent to inject mishap and upside down rainbow viruses. when was the last bedtime you had cloudless soul with organic thoughts? oh fleshly girl tip-toe lightly as blood trickles down your ego and melts it away to stardust to form another cheeky doodle-bug munchkin grin

These Gnarled Roots
Withered from time
Will forever control
Those shoots from reaching
The Shine.

Thick and stubborn
Taking everything of
Worth.
Pillaging the earth of
its fruit
All "in the name of the
Shoot".

We are told
The shoot can't be
A shoot
Without the
Root.
But what about
The "root" of
A problem?

So, little shoot
Chew on the bitter root.
Chew and
Survive.