A little while when I am gone
My life will live in music after me,
As spun foam lifted and borne on
After the wave is lost in the full sea.

A while these nights and days will burn
In song with the bright frailty of foam,
Living in light before they turn
Back to the nothingness that is their home.

So I guess I will begin.
Simple and sweet.
God what a treat.
I thought this life would be.
A November night that was me.
I began to grow.
People around dropped my self esteem low.
I wanted to cry.
Go away and hide.
I began to hate the world.
I wanted to leave.
Just leave me be.
I thought I could be free.
Away with everyone.
To hell I had gone.
Alone.
Then I began to step out.
I wanted to scream and shout.  
I had a secret to hide.
One that sat at my side.
I'm lesbian.
According to some a spawn of satan.
I questioned myself.
Locked my secret away on a shelf.
Finally I told her.
My mother.
Finally no more hiding.
No more careful deciding.
I can be who I am.
I was afraid of being ******.
But who cares.
Everyone concours dares.
Now I sit her talking to you.
The day questions what to do.
So that is me.
My not so simple story.

Since I've been writing, its been just great

Except for the one thing that I surely do hate

My family says that, I am speaking in rhyme

Not just right now, but all of the time

I can not simply, just ask for the juice

Without a poor imitation of the great Dr. Suess

But wait, on my site, there is prose, so you say

Oh, I was much younger when I wrote it that way

Help me, help me, tell me what can I do?

Surely this problem has happened to you

I just had a thought, not a thought, just a flicker

You could have answered, but I guess I was quicker

I'll think of a word that never can rhyme

And start using that word, all of the time

I know there's a word, I once heard from a fellow

I think it's a color but not red, blue, or yellow

I hope it's not pink, cause that would sure stink

I wish it was gray, I've been rhyming all day

I know you think orange, except that rhymes with sporange

And a mountain in Wales, that a poet named Blorenge

Until I stubbed my big toe, I used to think purple,

And now I can't walk, instead I just hirple

It sure would be gold if the color was silver

But that **** little lamb, also known as a chilver

There's no hope for me, I've been rhyming all month

I'm sure you can see, that I'm totally ??????

Yeah!

Stretched, torn, hauled
Churned inside out,
Bound in knots
With no way out

"Push on, move on
Get on with it!
Pick yourself up,
Just deal with it"

I wake, surface
Slump out of bed
Dazed in shower,
Wish I was dead

"Shut up, think straight
Sort out your head!
You're crazy, nutcase;
Hear what I said?!"

Yes Sir, though Sir
My bags are full,
I Truly believe
It's best for all

I can't go on,
Bereft, forlorn
Can't heave myself
My bones are worn

"Why act so bruised?!"
How can't you know,
Life struck me with
The penultimate blow

If it were simple,
I'd escape this place
But my son, you see
Is my saving grace.



© Karen L Hamilton, January 2016