A morning's
waking
A taste,
of dry lips
after a dream,
It was trimmed
of my nerves
and honestly
and sadly,
what I will write,
is a mistake.
They held me down,
traumatizing,
And teary eyes,
ignored in the crowd....

When it rains
Little branches get wet
And droplets form on them
Not falling
Just waiting to drop
Some want it
Want to fall to this puddle from which there is no return
And some love it up there

They will drop though
That's for sure

Will they be shaken accidentally by a girl taking a walk?
Will the water build up so much
And they aren't strong enough?
Will they evaporate?

They will all fall
Eventually

Is that comforting?
Sad?
Is it crazy?

If I scattered my broken pieces,
would you pick up the vital ones,
and keep them in your pink purse
I just wonder if I had any value?

If I could chase every threat alive,
inside I wouldn't have to die,
they keep on stirring,
like an annoyance,
of bees near the nest,
If I could prove my worthy,
I wouldn't feel better off dead.

It's funny
of how the
beautiful,
still despairs.

The stars
The dark
The silence
The empty streets
The night

While I dance in the cold
Music taking me over
All of them
In their wonder
Are on my side

I am projecting
My self-rejecting
Onto other people

This harmless action
Destroys connection
All in my brain
A habit contained

Now realizing
Awareness sings
Let's liberate
Don't be afraid

Fears are surreal
Anxiety's real
People are mirrors
Of how I think and feel

Will she, won’t she
buy my Christmas wares:
If I work to sell me
will she take my snare?

The practiced pitter-patter
of my seller’s pitch
hangs in crisp cold air
and hopes to scratch her itch.

Her eyes dart to and fro
from one stall to the next:
the jingling coins’ fickle flow,
Christmas bells that leave me vexed.

Will she, won’t she,
see this heart that beats?
What if I add it free
to the sale of these sweetmeats?

Each moment wisps of tinsel
a-flutter in icy gales:
I fear her dismissal
as I grasp at just one more sale.

A spark of insight melts the ice
in a tiny warming breeze:
It’s not my wares I price,
but what I’m truly selling’s me.

i would take my own life
if i even had one