deforestation; what is now occurring in the habitat I call home. Does my body dislike me? Does it have its secrets and tells the world. I want to be the penny that drops in the middle of a deadly quiet class. I want to be the  rat, who is so awfully hated, that they have now made traps. I want myself to pay attention to me. I think that is something in which we all believe. My friends are the world, along with me and my beautiful family. Sometimes I don't feel the support but I suppose I'm not made of spaghetti. Plastered in some kids bowl, tangling me up like he knows what he likes and being so helpless...but I'm so happy I have support.

Should I think of my
father as young, immature,
maybe arrogant?

My mother was a
girl who laughed with all her heart,
once upon a time.

I'm a second child,
and I wonder if I was
conceived out of love.

I try to see them
as people who didn't know
they'd hate each other.

Just a couple who'd
slow dance and share arms, bodies.
I don't think they knew.

I’m a dead poet,
Buried six foot deep,
With vivid memories
That form a heap.

I’m a dead poet,
With words etched
In my heart, and
Fire formed art.

I’m a dead poet,
Covered in snow,
Rose petals and a
Withered glow.

There I was in Heaven
Playing a game of Ping Pong
When I got a call from God
“I have a job for you going
Down to earth
And be born again.”
I protested “last time I was
On earth
There was a war on
I was hit
By an arrow in my chest
It was painful.”
“You have to”, he said
“A newly born needs a soul
Before you know it you will
Be back up here again.”
Gave me a hug he did
I'm still waiting, I forgot
For God time is meaningless
As he dwells in the abstract

three knocks at three O'clock
three bears out of shop
an Aesop goldilocks
(small frock and yellow socks)
ad hoc broken locks

Three cold porridge bowls
one poor girl with the hair of gold
should have done what she'd been told
to find in that horrid household
three bears dead and cold

we both know that
you're no good for me,
but we still find ourselves
knee deep in thoughts
about what we could have been