The blind man sees with fingertips
Kisses his wife with his lips
Hugs his children in his warm embrace
Never will he see a face

He knows the steps through the house
Cannot see it ,but can hear a mouse

He walks in darkness all the time
At times I think he sees more than  I

Not limited by what he sees
The man who can hear the falling leaves.

Take the highs with the lows;
Then the lows with the highs,
The rope’s not a noose;
Until you tie and apply,

Take here one chance;
To find what you are,
Dismiss all the rest;
As we travel afar,

Enjoy here your journey;
And savour the ride,
So much to endure;
Before your time passes by.

He told me that his father had been murdered
I picked the wine with the purple bird
and a beak shaped like a cork *****
ran into an old boyfriend at the liquor store
because life can be random with our emotions
his beard was already taking shape
one year of mourning marked by his son
it felt like a social gathering, looking out of
my window, how I had the best view in town
then, how the hospital below was excruciating
how his shirt had been covered in his father's blood
how he had not been able to talk to anyone
because he needed to be strong for them
how Dad had tried to bargain with his killer
and that image was giving him nightmares
he just wanted everything to feel normal again
a friend and neighbor
one glass of red
shoveling dirt until the casket was covered
his buddies were waiting at some guy's apartment
a helplessly sad hug goodbye
he smelled like Aveda, although I didn't mention it
how humans can walk and talk while dreaming nightmares
subliminal messages between the living and the dead

I once read that
The stars cannot shine
Without darkness,
Maybe I can shine
Even with the darkness within.

I am a broken soul,
Who can not find a home.
I am on the outside of the outside,
Looking in and laughing at the daft and fortunate.
I can not show weakness,
For I am seen as a constant strength in the experiment of life.
I have been through a war not many know of,
And with it over and my armor gone I am left with nothing.
I tried to start a new life,
With a quarter of my life gone.
I am like a veteran who has PDSD,
Except I have to keep it to myself and receive no help.
I find that rarely my broken soul can be seen,
By those who did not know me before the war.
I am the only one who can heal me,
Though I do not know how.
I have come to a conclusion that I will always be broken,
However that does not mean that I can not try to be happy too.
I am a broken soul,
Who hopes to one day find a home.

I use to write when I thought death was by my side.
I would write because it was the only way to save my life.

I write now to tell a story.
I write now not for the fame and glory,
But because I am a mess.
I have a pain in my chest.

I write now to set myself free.
So please bare with me.
I know my writing is not the best cup of tea.

My vocabulary is plain and mundane.
My writing must be the same.

I just want to be saved.

*** is
the only way I've been able
to satisfy my desire for you,
without sticking a straw in my nose,
or shoving pills down my throat,
or smoking god knows what.
*** is
the only way I've been able
to not cry out to you.
Yet,
somehow *** makes me yearn for you more,
*** makes me crave you more,
and *** makes me realize how desperately I want you.

It's always been you,
from the day I've met you.
There's been other girls,
too many other girls,
too few other girls,
and there's been you.
So unattainable,
so out of reach,
but not out of mind.
There's always been you,
and until you are in my bed,
until your fingers leave marks on my back,
until yours is the first voice I hear,
you will not be out of mind,
and even after then you will not be out of mind.