I remember asking my dad,
“How many stars are in the sky,”
and he said something like,
“Way too many to count.”
But I’ve counted.
And after recounting
                                      and recounting
and scribbling in my notebook
under my fathers flashlight
I can tell you that there is
indeed a number.

And to this day I prefer
reading the stars over anything.
They’re the oldest book ever written.
Space: the oldest canvas to be sewn
and the cosmos the paint of Picasso.
Each spec is its own character
each pair a set of eyes
where I can lose myself in their gaze.
A celestial connect the dots
where I collect the pictures
and pick out my favorite spots.

But when my son
is old enough to ask,
“How many stars are in the sky?”
I’ll just hand him a notebook
and tell him to read what he sees.

I've written you a letter and I'll send it soon.
It's two pages, twice folded and slipped
into an off-white envelope
where I've licked the back flap
and pressed it down firmly.

Your location is scribbled on the front,
centered almost perfectly
and my address sits top left
just in case your house is no longer there
and the postman decides to return to sender.

However, the corners are beginning to fray
and a small coffee stain
curves around one side,
looping over the place
where a stamp should be.

Your name is starting to fade
and I'm not sure if the 6 in your address
is a 6 at all. So maybe the postman
will just lose it in a sea of forgotten paper
and one day you’ll swim over to it.

I would like you to read the letter I've written,
but the idea behind a message in a bottle
only works if you toss the **** thing overboard.
And the only time I ever told you I loved you
is collecting dust inside my desk.

secrets they come
and secrets they go
this feeling inside
that nobody knows

feeling the breeze
as the wind blows
becoming one
as the river flows

no matter the distance
flying above trees
i will come to you
with genuine ease

strike on the hour
it moves as i please
gently you whisper
like wind in the leaves

the longer you're gone
the more i have power
though tears may pour
a lamentable shower

tearing myself to pieces
not yet bitter or sour
i know you are waiting
in some unreachable tower

drifting remotely
until this heart releases
the feeling i hold
that never ceases

nothing i do can deny
the feeling that increases
though upon my face
there may appear creases

further and further
it must be some lie
yet my heart rejoices
at some faint reply

but never will i go
so far that i sigh
i will not give up
even if i die

loneliness is a gift
it comes without beckon
whenever we need it
don't take it so lightly
it's the only thing there
when you're feeling flighty
tip me over the edge
to the faces below
those faces which
i do not know
the only thing that remains
is that loneliness
that comforting pain
loneliness will never
abandon you in the end
never demand anything
and has plenty to lend
loneliness is a comrade
it feels just like you
incessantly sad
if you send it away
perhaps you won't miss it
but it'll come back the same day
if only you need it

I am only a question.  
I am not a fact or a statement or a name or a label or a list.
I am a question put into the world capable only of asking more.
One question leads to another until I forget what it was I wanted to know originally.
I write hard and unyielding the way that I wish to be loved.
I am wondering how to be strong, how to fight for what I want, how to know what I want.
I am desire.

“Loosen these ropes that bind me”
Begged the captive lion
“Forget what I did to your loved one
Can’t you see that I am trying?”
The lion was a sad one
Caught in the web of time
“It used to feel good, used to be fun
But only now does it feel like a crime”
Forgetting all he was taught
His natural instincts impaired
He’s slowly, but surely drowning
His sadness is beyond compare
He’s done things he regrets
The ones who care for him regret too
They cannot help but ask him
“What has happened to you?”

If you're attacked by a Lion
Find fresh underpants to try on
Lay on the ground quite still
Pretend you are very ill
Keep like that day after day
Perhaps the lion will go away

This friend of mine in a warm, well-lit place
Told me of her mind's mistake.
A Dove she holds, in a path he flies.
But a mask he wears so she still tries.
She can rise and fall, as her mind makes.
A change of heart, or a change a pace.
But that doves path I walk but often stumble.
I'm just a Lion living in her bi-polar jungle.

We all pray to the same God,
Whether you are right
And I am wrong.
It makes perfect sense to me.
I hope you open up your eyes,
Because faith is all you need.
So listen to the words:
You make it better
Or you make it worse.
It's all in how you do,
Not in being one.
Being best means nothing
If the rest can fall.
No, you're not Atlas
But you can help save them all.

We think with our brains.
We bleed with our hearts.
We have names for those who use them,
and names for those who don't.
The truth we most oft neglect
is that we all have both.