I like to gamble
I play blackjack on my phone sometimes
It’s easy that’s why I like it
Not many rules but still a game of chance
But I’m 15
So it’s sort of illegal for me to gamble
only by 3 years
But when I was ***** I was 13
So the age of consent 3 years away
All the same
I like to gamble
Sometimes I’ll stay home from school
With no rhyme or reason
Just depression of the season
But I won’t text any of my friends
for the first few classes of the day
That way I can see their responses
And see if they wonder if I’m ok
My mom doesn’t ask question
Just a tear or two
And new hairdo
Doesn’t seem to grab her attention
I like to gamble
One time I dyed my hair red to black ombré
And came home with a belly button ring
It took her a week to notice the new color
And she still hasn’t noticed the metal
She hasn’t noticed the scars either
I like to gamble
Sometimes I’ll steal alcohol from the liquor cabinets of my home
And I’ll sneak out my window and into my friend's car
I like to gamble
Standing on the edge of a tall building
The wind blowing through my hair
And down my spine making me shiver
Wondering what would happen if I were to just move an inch
Wishing I would just move an inch
I like to gamble
But I’m not very good at it cards, money it’s all the same
Alcohol, death it’s just a game
Maybe if I quit it won’t save
And I could start a whole new level
Get rid of the pain
Because I like to gamble
with life and death
Because it’s worth as much as the money on my phone
Coins that you’ll never hear clang
It’s just a game
I like to gamble
Sometimes I won’t take my medicine
Just to see how much it changes
The feelings it exchanges
For depression
I don’t like taking it to friends houses
Because they can see me swallow my happiness
It’s not something I’m proud of
I like to gamble
One time I had a thought about poking a hole in a ******
That my boyfriend and I were about to use
Just to see if next month I would bleed
Just to see if a month from that day I would walk up to him
And say
Congratulations
A new pediatrics patient
I like to gamble
But I’ve played all my cards
I stare at the dealer
Like I’m staring at the stars
In wonder and awe
Confused and deranged
Isn’t it strange
How a game holds so much sway
But the only thing I don’t like about the game
Is the steep price I have to pay

I’m scared to write poetry at school
Because the other kids might look at my computer screen while I type
And see the thoughts on my screen in size 12 Times New Roman font
Because one day I may drop my journal
Just for some lackluster football player to pick it up and see
My heart poured onto the pages
In lines and phrases
And see my name and phone number at the top of the page
And realize who I am and what I’m hiding
I’m scared of writing poetry at home
Because my mother may walk in and see me staring
As if my one redeeming quality lies hidden in the cracks and lines of the plaster of my wall
Because my father may see me scribbling on a notebook page at the dinner table
With glazed eyes holding back tears of the pain
And the stories I’ve kept from him to make sure
That one day when I leave his house I will still be his baby girl
The same one he brought into this world
Because one day my older brother may walk up to me on the living room couch
When no one else is home and ask me what I’m doing
As I reply
Homework
And as he walks away he may see me slam my computer in a frustrated rage
That he never thought I could have at my age
I’m scared to write poetry in the library
Because the vicious clacking of my keyboard keys may attract the attention
Of the lonely librarian who just wants to keep the peace of her quite place
Because when she goes home to her family her loud grandchildren scream with all their might
But she still puts up with it because the only time she sees them
Is when her ungrateful children need a babysitter
And her husband asks her what’s for dinner over and over forgetting the answer
As she expects a different question to arise from his lips.
Because one day at the library someone might ask about the tears running down my face
As I type and pour my soul into each and every word
As I stain my notebook with the salty water seeping from deep within
I’m scared of writing poetry
Because one day when I’m not looking
Someone will look at my screen and read what I have to say
Or someone will look at my notebook and see the different colored scribbles and soggy pages
Because they will read what I think what I know and what I believe
Because them knowing what’s going on in my head
Means that they can judge me
And take guesses at who I am when the darkness creeps back into my heart
And the fog rolls over my brain
Because they won’t just think they will know what’s happened to me
Because one day I will be dead and my children and grandchildren
will see what I was going through at their age
They will learn of my mistakes and hidden flaws they
And they will see what I have to say
And they will think differently of me
I’m afraid to write poetry
But that doesn't mean I will stop
Because the thoughts in my head only come out clearly when in the lines of a poem
Because expressing what I’m thinking and letting the voices out of my head
Is the only way I can understand how I feel
Because of my anger and happiness and sadness
Because I love it

I wish I could escape,
this awful life of mine,
shape a different fate,
in another time.

what's the point of god,
sitting upon his mighty spot?
if when he looks down,
he turns my pain up a notch.

so now I sit in silence,
upon this high up rock,
I wonder if I jumped,
would anyone be shocked?

I'm often pushed to the side,
i feel like I'm insane,
so when I take my leap,
the world should hang its head in shame.

SEASHELLS

Seashells
Humble shells of the sea
Each seems to be still alive and staring at me
In its matchless symmetry-
Like the wondrous beauty of a painting
A tender poem written with poignancy
Not of life’s sorrows but joys
For celebration –each is like a happy Mozartian symphony
Such perfection in a tiny manifestation
Natura in minimis maxima-
The envy of  Michelangelo or Da Vinci
Seashells—nature’s glorious gifts by far.

Seashells
Always remind me of happy childhood days
Lucky finds—spotted often in half -buried golden sand
Proudly displayed in a jar---I won every classmate’s praise.

Seashells
Tell of the sea’s unknown stories
Events that had stretched through millions of centuries
When you spot one on the shore, readily
Pick it up as a treasure----contemplate upon its profound mystery.

TO ALL POETS

Each of us is different
yet we are (bottom-line)
the same
true to self
that's what really  matters
words are the joys and tears of our heart
none can stop them--never, ever

Love is defined
   in a thousand ways
   as for simple mine:
   the daily words it says

So Shakespeare wrote in metre, blank and rhyming
such a challenge melding sense with timing.
Some twenty-first century poets meanwhile
ignoring rules difficult to reconcile
wanting the easy flow of a raconteur
said to hell with iambic pentameter.

But the goal remains as before,
to blow your mind clean out the door
and however it goes
you know it's not prose.