What makes me your enemy
is it the colour of my skin
the clothing of my people
or just the country I live in?

You do not even know me
don't know what I believe
but you revel in my childrens death
without leaving me to grieve

You came to liberate us
but you cant call this free
we get stopped and searched at roadblocks
by soldiers for your country

I understand you are scared
citizens of new Rome
but that does not, give you the right
to invade anothers home.

Especially as your reasoning
was a fabric made of lies
is it really any wonder
you're the ones we now despise?

You and I are different,
you have gotten that much right.
You have a democratic system
you can use to stop this fight.

You can call upon your government
citizens of new Rome
to end this forced invasion
and bring your soldiers home.

For although we are quite different
in how we look and how we speak
Neither of us want to die
there's common ground we seek

We share a common wish
for this war to end and cease
So we can raise our children
to live a dream of peace

I used to be a mother
'til my sons got took away
It is the greatest irony
I found out on this day

You see it was three years ago
I found out they won't be back,
they died together brothers
on the streets of old Iraq

So this day for me is different
and I know I'm not alone
I join a group of shattered moms
Who's children wont be home

But I know my sons they think of me
looking down from up above
and although I'll never get a card
I'll always have their love

So to all the moms out there I say
be your children young or old
Their love will far outlast
any card or gift you hold.

I know I'll see them when I die
then once more they'll take my hand
Until then, mothers old and new
love your children while you can.

The phrase "collateral damage"
is used so not to cause offense
to desensitize the public
'bout the ****** of innocents

We're spoonfed daily numbers
of those who won't come back
but for innocent civilians killed
we dont bother keeping track

Because they're "collateral damage"
a nameless faceless entity
so easy to ignore
if they don't look like you and me

But when the shoe is on the other foot
and our innocents get killed
we put pictures in the papers
and monuments we build

Have we really sunk so far
as not to comprehend
that "collateral damage" means people,
and that war just has to end.

I have everything a man could want
and yet nothing that I need
My possessions serve no purpose
than to demonstrate my greed

Should fire break out within my home
or flood waters start to rise
I could walk out empty handed
as of yet I have no prize

Some people have their treasures
that they'd collect from different rooms
But I have no things of value
nothing precious, no heirlooms

But to be with you quite honest
I'm not sure if its good or bad
Does it mean that I am lacking
something I've never had

Or does it mean that maybe
I don't worship gold and rings
and that the people in my life
are the most important things

If poetry is art, then what form should it take?
Is ignoring things like layout the cause of my mistake.

You see to me a poem should be heard before its seen
Its an audio based art form, using sound to express its theme

So when I write my poems, and lay them on the page
I do so as if they're spoken by an actor on a stage.

Now I see some other poets, who lay it out so pretty
But when I try and read it, its disjointed and bitty

So again I ask my question, if your poems meant to rhyme
should you really break your verses in the middle of a line?

See I don't only write poetry, I like to read it too
so when a layout trips me up, I want to say to you

Why do that your reader, why get them on that train
only to pull the cord and get them off and on again

A poem is a journey, I should sit back and take a ride
not trip and stumble frequently over messages you hide.

So next time you write a poem, with more focus on the look
Go down to library and get a calli-graphy book.

I did not cause this wall
around you to be built
yet I must throw myself,
upon its sword up to the hilt?

Just what do you achieve
by letting no one in
is it fair to make the innocent pay
for someone elses sin?

Have you possibly considered
that dwelling in the past
does more to sustain misery
by making those moments last?

I cannot help but think
you would be better served
by letting people in, to show
you just what you deserved

And would it not be better
to risk losing dreams you've known
than to sit there safe behind your wall
protected but alone

I write tidy little poems
uncomplicated rhymes
to paint for you a picture
contained within its lines

I have no time for flowery words
or eloquent pretense
I write poems people talk about
over the garden fence

I don't try to be too clever
or try to be too flash
Because making out your better
just leads you to a clash

Like "who the hell does he think he is
speaking down like that to me
Some others may like what he says
but his words are not for me"

And thats not what I'm all about
I write to share a thought,
a feeling, an emotion,
hell I even write 'bout sport.

I write so people know
that in their thoughts they're not alone
to arrest those night time monsters
that in our minds have grown

A trouble shared is a trouble halved
or so they used to say
but in our disconnected lives
we don't communicate that way

So instead of just sitting there
haplessly afloat
Do yourself a favour
and read the stuff I wrote

Some of it is happy
and some of it is sad
and some of it may just be like
experiences you've had

And once you find that piece
read it, take it home
and sleep a little better now
knowing you are not alone.

As the morning sun arises,
creeping slowly ever higher,
it transforms the glass like waters,
to a true river of fire.

And as the glass is shattered,
by the eastbound fishing fleet,
the good folk of Richibucto,
turn over in their sleep.

But as the day progresses,
this small town comes alive.
People go about their business
like bees around a hive.

And as the day draws to a close
with ice-creams in our hands
we stroll along the boardwark
or walk along the sands

So if you like the quiet life
tranquility not fuss
next time you need a place to go
come drop anchor with us.

What happens to me when I die?
in perpetual darkness do I lie?

Or do I get to try once more,
equipped with lessons learned before?

with hopes that this time I will be,
a better man for all to see.

A kinder man with bigger heart,
than went before this second start.

More patient that I was in before,
no longer tired, no longer sore.

With slate wiped clean reborn anew,
no memories of me or you.

If that is all that dying holds,
I will not fear this coming cold.

Nor chills that wake me in the night,
as 'gainst this ill I lose my fight.

Once born again I long to see,
if I can be a better me.

If you look for me 'mongst the headstones
I wont be hard to find
A simple cross will mark my spot
for those I left behind.

The simple cross is carved upon
and ancient piece of Oak
along with a simple message
that contains these words I spoke

"Shed not for me a single tear,
feel no sorrow for me,
for I shared my life with many trials,
now finally I'm free.

and do not mourn my passing,
from this world to beyond,
for as long as you remember me,
I will ne'er be truly gone."

Lipstick and Chanel,
is all she left behind
and scratches on my back
I hope my girlfriend doesnt find

I didn't stand a chance
she knew exactly what she wanted
and now I know prey feels
how it feels to be hunted

Everything she said was right
she played me like a toy
coming on all flustered, scared
innocent and coy

By the time I knew it was too late
she had me in her spell
and now that I have been released
I'm left alone in hell

You have no idea the torment
the guilt and shame I feel
it was like something in a movie
it just seemed so unreal

Its like I stood there watching
like some kind of sick ******
as she gave herself right to him
and he gave himself to her

But now the movies over
cast and cameras spent
and all I can remember
is that colour and that scent

Lipstick and Chanel,
bright red and oh so sweet
only time will tell now
the future that I'll meet.

Remember how it used to be,
when we would go outside,
and hang out with folks in person?
But now we stay inside.

We used to write each other letters,
with paper, pen and ink.
Once delivered you would read it,
then write back with what you think.

And remember in the old days,
when you could just be "out"?
And things could wait for your return,
there was never any doubt.

But now if we're unreachable,
then something must be wrong.
'Cos everything is urgent,
our time to us does not belong.

Well I don't know bout the rest of you,
but I miss the olden days.
They used to be less stressful,
better in many ways.

So I think I'll turn my cellphone off,
and shut my Facebook down.
Write letters to those friends of mine
who don't live in this town

But I think my plan might hit a snag
there's something that I lack
I don't know where these people live
and they probl'y wont write back

So I guess I have a choice to make
tell me, what would you do?
Would you give your address to me,
so I could write to you?

So you want me to work late again,
because you're understaffed.
Yet everyone else in this place,
is sat upon their ***.

I work twice as hard as everyone,
while they just coast along.
Yet you come to me each weekend,
and sing me the same song.

You say its because I'm good,
which I guess makes the others bad
You try and stroke my ego
do you think that I'm that sad

Well sorry boss but I got plans
so no can do this time
Perhaps you can get one of them
to tow the company line.

Of course they do not want to
what made you think they would
They don't have to give their weekend up
but for some reason I should?

Well like I said I'm busy
got me some stuff to do
Dont worry, while I'm at the beach
I'll be thinkin' of you.

So you think you want to fall in love
did I hear you right?
What's wrong with being happy
are you yearning for a fight?

Cynical, who me?
Is that really what you think?
Just because I'm a little bruised
and flushed two marriages down the sink

But seriously all jokes aside
when loves new there's nothing better
but when it starts to hit the fan
you'd think we would know better.

Where did all the trees go Dad?
    Why son we cut them down,
    milled them into two by fours,
    used them to build the town.

    And what we didn't build with,
    we burned upon the stove.
    See we never thought we could,
    use up this treasure trove.

    Once, we started planting,
    a tree for each cut down,
    but then we ploughed them under,
    to make room for a bigger town.

    And then all of a sudden,
    (at least thats how it seemed),
    we had so many people,
    more than we ever dreamed.
  
    We had nothing left to build with,
    and nowhere to grow food.
    So people started moving out,
    in a less than happy mood.

    With everyone so angry,
    at all that was so wrong,
    they raised their voice in protest,
    at marches and in song.

    But nobody could help us,
    cos in our hour of need,
    we'd consumed or sold off everything,
    to satisfy our greed.

    We wanted it all now,
    didn't want to look ahead,
    so in answer to you question son,
    all the trees, like us, are dead.

I know nothing about poetry
not my stanza from my verse
and I don't know all the rules
which makes others want to curse

I try to write a haiku
but i get the subject wrong
apparently senyru
is to the family it belongs

I don't know my Emily Dickinson
From my Edgar Allen Poe
And I feel sometimes my writing
has a long long way to go

But I like the sound of rhyming things
the rhythm and the tone
and the way that certain chosen words
can cut right to the bone

And I like the thought that somewhere
maybe upstairs in bed
someones days a little better
cos I wrote something they read.

sunset summers eve
golden hues on passing day
and so night does fall

I long to hold you in my arms
feel your skin upon my skin
to place my lips upon your neck
and slowly breathe you in

To feel your chest against my chest
your hips against my hips
to feel the arching of your back
and the quiver in your lips

To see the love within your eyes,
reflected in your soul,
everything that is of me
is yours to have and hold

As we come together
and our bodies become one
emotion becomes motion
beating to a different drum

In passion bound, oblivious
to all that is without
consumed within each other
no hesitation and no doubt

And as our dance comes to an end
and in its bliss we bask
having shared all of each other
there's nothing left to ask

Its just a word
Four letters on a page
But it can mean so many things
Passion, despair and rage

We use it when we're happy
we use it when we're sad
but to some its more than letters
to some its really bad

They hold back on their emotions
dispensing letters by the ounce
but what they do not realise is
its the sentiment that counts

So if you choose not to say it
and use words like fudge instead
it really doesnt matter
we all knew what you meant

There must be a hidden room
Somewhere in my house
thats full of all the stuff I've lost
(I think twas stolen by a mouse)

I bet he goes to sleep at night
on a bed made of odd socks
and wakes up to a wind charm
made from keys and old padlocks

In the corner nickels and dimes
are all neatly arranged
and that Canadian Tire money
I never got to exchange

The charger for my cellphone
prob'ly makes a decent chair
and my old shaving mirror
gets used when he does his hair

Scraps of paper line his walls
with shopping lists and names
and numbers now forgotten
yet its me who gets the blame

So all this stuff that I once had
but can no longer find
will no doubt become mine again
when he's gone and its left behind

Musically speaking
I'm just a single note
one of many squiggles
Johann Sebastien wrote

A note alone makes not a tune
A letter not a word
As part of some sweet melody
is where I should be heard

So put me with my brothers
arranged across the staff
A thing of beauty I become
Thanks to my masters craft

Neath blankets 'mongst the pillows
I listen to the rain
as it lashes 'gainst the window
natures violent refrain

I smile to myself
pull up the covers, snuggle down
this storm she cannot reach me
for sanctuary I've found

The wind now joins the chorus
humming tunes across the vent
a sad and sombre melody
conveys the earths lament

Drifting tween the planes
of consciousness and sleep
i find myself pursuing
the dreams that once so deep

I close my eyes for one last time
and slowly drift away
'til this nights storm has passed me by
and I'm awakened by the day.

If we could see emotions,
how different the world might seem,
would the prettiest girl in town,
still be its beauty queen?

Or would pain and vanity,
that she keeps locked inside,
once visible to everyone,
give cause for her to hide?

And would the richest man town,
still live upon the beach?
Or would the pain behind those doors,
keep him within its reach,

and move him to a smaller house,
in a lesser part of town.
Instead of tailored suits,
in depression he'd be bound.

Would we look at others differently
if we could see their pain
and know that we are not alone
and our troubles are the same.

This is the hardest letter
I've ever had to write
knowing as I sit here
you may not make it through the night

I love you oh so very much
and know you are in pain
all I want and nothing more
is to see you well again

But what I want
has made me blind
the truth I cannot hide
your time with us will soon be up
as god takes you to his side

So here I sit and write my thoughts
in a letter you'll never read
because writing is what i do best
after you planted the seed

I remember as a little boy
we would talk into the night
I would make up poems and stories
that you encouraged me to write

So it seems only fitting
as I sit here well past two
that I should write this letter
and give my thanks to you

I love you
and I will miss you...

Is there a pill that I can take,
to forget the times we share?
Those perfect moments memorised
now fill me with despair.

Each day I spend without you
fills me with more pain
This aching void inside my chest
yearns to be full again

To see your face and kiss your lips
to taste you just once more
Without any of these riches
my life is empty, I am poor.

Until such time as you can stay
and we no longer have to part
a pill to help forget those times
would ease my aching heart.

Poetic
Inspirational, Emotional
Reaching, Sharing, Connecting
You are not alone
Comfort

To me, open relationships, are ones that have no lies
not where anyone with twenty bucks can get between your thighs

And having things in common means both liking the Habs
not using the same powder since you gave me *****

And being careful means condoms and taking time to think
not trying to keep the noise down or not spilling your drink

So I'm flattered that you think I'm cute, and I have a nice ***
But really honey, you ain't my type, so I think I'll have to pass.

In a little under a hundred years we've had so many wars.
Men, women and children sacrificed for someones cause.

And truly just what has been gained, versus what was lost?
Can we say that it was worth it, can we justify the cost?

In nineteen thirty nine we had the war to end all wars.
Since then there've been so many, like we've hardly even paused

And what is it we fight for? Do we fight for right or wrong?
Or do we fight to get resources that we feel to us belong?

Now sure there are some victims, of persecutions, genocides
but unless there's oil or riches there, the strongest close their eyes.

We forget that we're not perfect, but thanks to Gandhi and Dr King
We changed our stars from where you are, and now know everything.

I cannot help but wonder though, if they were alive today,
would they see us a failure, shake their heads and walk away?

In a little under a hundred years we've learned not much at all,
except in war lies profit, and to some it seems a ball.

Because if you have stuff we want, and wont do as we say,
then we just roll our armies in and blow you all away.

Or if you do things differently, even as we once did,
then we will "liberate" you, then sell you to the highest bid.

See we want you to be like us, cos were so freakin smart,
sure we got people starving but an unmade bed is art.

"My Bed" was bought by Charles Saatchi for £150,000 in 1999.
£150,000 would feed 3200 children in Ghana for a year.
£150,000 would provide over 6800 prosthetics for children who have lost limbs as a result of landmines or unexploded munitions.
In a little under a hundred years, it would seem we have learned nothing.

And suddenly its dark,
the lights they all went out
and everything is quiet
not a sound throughout

A striking match the only sound
its flare the only light
oil lamps and candles
illuminate the night

Sitting here in silence
amazed by lack of noise
how do we never notice
our cacophony of toys

I cannot help but wonder
this peace that's so serene
how do we never choose this
until nature intervenes

Hey there, are you new here?
So how come we never met?
Me, I'm always late for work
No matter which alarm I set

So tell me whats your name?
I'm Heloise, sorry, you go first.
After Heloise the writer,
hey you were close, could have been worse.

I'm soaked I wasn't thinking,
we were gonna get some rain.
And in the rush to get the bus,
I dropped my fare right down the drain.

You look like you walked miles.
You must be soaked through to the skin.
I am a waitress at Dukes Diner.
You should try us, come on in.

So how come I haven't seen you,
Are we talking the same place?
Cos I'm sure I would remember,
such a handsome face.

Say what time is it you come in?
Because I get a break at two.
I could come and join you in the park,
if thats ok with you?

How about tomorrow?
Are sure that its ok?
I dont want to be too pushy,
If its not ok just say.

Ok so now I'm blushing.
Are you sure that you dont mind?
You are? I know, I'm rushing,
But it works the best I find.

Who me?
No I've lived here all along.
Well I leave here kinda early,
and my days are kinda long.

My name?
oh its Andy, sorry, didn't catch yours,
oh really like the singer,
oh, yeah, writer, of course.

Soaked? Yeah me too.
When I left it didn't look bad,
and of course when the suns out,
you can, always, get a cab.

No not that far just a block or two,
that bank on 4th and 9...
Oh really? Round the corner?
Yeah, no I eat there all time.

Well, no, you're always busy,
but yeah I've seen you there.
I tend to just grab take out though,
go to the park and get some air.

Well whenever I like really,
there is no special time.
Around two? Yeah I'd like that.
Lets just hope the weathers fine.

Ok then, til tomorrow.
No really not at all...
I would have said something eventually.
Just, not here in the hall.

No please don't be embarrassed,
I'm really glad you did.
Saved me getting tongue tied,
and feeling like a kid.

You're little works of art
lined up there on my plate
You look so ******* ****
I want to masticate

I lick my lips and swallow hard
struggling to chose whats next
The perfect juxtaposition
between seafood and ***

I bet when you were a little girl
you bullied the boys that you liked,
you teased em and chased em and pinched em,
and then went home on your bike.

And now thirty three years later,
you still use the same type of ploy,
to strike up a conversation,
to help you get close to the boy.

You flutter your eye lids to sucker him in,
then proceed to make fun and flirt,
the occasional pinch and occasional poke,
(but not so much that it hurts).

And I think I've worked out why you do this,
its part of a test you have planned,
to see if the boys really worth it,
to see if he will stick around.

So go right ahead and give it your best,
I'll take everything you have to give.
Cos lucky for you the boy you just pinched,
is the one that you're meant to be with.

I love you; its a secret,
don't let anybody know.
That's why when we are speaking,
I try not to let it show.

I double check each word I say,
before it leaves my lips,
and try to shake this image,
of my hands upon your hips.

So tell me how'm I doing?
Do you even have a clue,
that every waking thought I have,
is always about you?

I wish I could just tell you,
and know you wouldn't run.
But I'm scared this revelation,
would leave us both undone.

I love you; its a secret,
which to myself I'll keep,
cos the last thing that I wanna do,
is come off like a creep.

So I sit here and say nothing,
not knowing what to do.
Praying one day you will say,
just what I am to you.

I think the world has gone insane,
on the brink of suicide.
We pollute the air were supposed to breath,
and in our SUV's we hide.

There's people starving in the world,
so we grow corn for fuel,
and let it rot over taking a loss,
'cos were nobody's fool.

We're ignorant of the balance,
Mother Nature's systems need,
so we try and fix what isn't broke,
by genetically modifying seed.

And now the earth is fighting back,
trying to save herself,
from this pesky little virus,
thats needs back on the shelf.

And years from now when we are gone,
and she is back on track,
the only thing we left behind,
was all this plastic crap.

Am I part of the poems I write,
or are they just part of me.

Am I the central character,
let out for you to see.

Or am I just a writer,
sharing an idea?

I guess sometimes I'm both,
though its not always very clear.

Sometime I write about myself,
and the battles that I've fought.

And other times I write about,
experiences of thought.

So if you read a write of mine,
fear not for me my friend.

Because its just a poem,
and its end is not my end.

There's a grey dampness that surrounds my life,
like a cold and grey fall day.
When in every direction misery lies,
no more than a footstep away.

Like the mist and fog, the clouds of my life,
roll in with the rising tide,
and a wave of despair comes crashing in,
and washes me over the side.

I know that the sun is there somewhere,
though its been a while since I've seen,
its bright golden glow in the morning,
or felt its warmth on my skin.

Im scared that there is a time up ahead,
when I'll swim to the surface for air,
and finally break free of depression,
to find that there's nobody there.

You're like a bad habit I just cant shake
could it be there's still something there?
When you walked out the door, cos you needed a break
was I supposed to not suddenly care

But we parted still friends and talk all the time
when you're back in town we hang out
But its been three years and you like a small fire
that my heart just cannot put out

For longest time I really didnt mind
cos I hoped one day you would see
That circumstances have changed
and I'm sure that you'd like the new me.

But for three years now I've been back and forth
but its just been a one way street
If I didn't make the effort, to come see you
I'm sure again we'd never meet

So enough of this ******* its time to move on
and let go of the past and go see
If there's somebody out there who doesn't deserve
to be loved by someone like me.

Will they come for me again today
for once I hope they do
for this lil kid has had enough
it's time for them to lose

For three long years they made my life
a living misery
I don't even know what I did
to make them pick on me

Every chance they got they picked on me
they beat me, called me names
Made fun of me 'fore everyone
made me feel ashamed.

So I'm not tall, and I aint big
does that give them the right
To lash me with their words of hate
or ****** me in a fight

Well todays the day I've had enough
time to end their fun
Lets see how big and brave they are
when they see my daddy's gun

So when they came for me again
I was gonna scare em good
I just wanted to be left alone
Din't want to spill no blood

But you know what I aint sorry
cos for years my lifes been hell
is it really gonna be much different
living in a cell?

Sometimes the words come easily
sometimes they make me choke
sometimes they bring back memories
of the lies you spoke

Sometimes the memories make me smile
Sometimes they make me cry
Sometimes they take me back to when
I caught you in that lie

Sometimes I find I exorcise
the demons from within
and other times those once cast out
can find a way back in

So I will just keep writing
and hope to find one day
that all memories of you are gone
and my pain taken away

Do I write because I've things to say,
or things I don't want to do?
Is sitting here typing away,
a decoy for the blues?

I know there's things long overdue,
but there's nothing that cannot wait.
Could it be though that my poetry,
is just a way to procrastinate?

I have stuff to put away and sort,
and things to be thrown out.
But I'd really rather sit and write,
of that there is no doubt.

Perhaps I should accept the fact,
and get somebody in,
who's not attached to all my crap,
who can throw it in the bin.

And then I will be free to write,
my conscience will be clear.
If only I could find my pad,
I'm sure I left it here...
somewhere...

They say that poetry is dead
although I'm not sure who "they" be
because I'm sat here writing it
so it aint dead to me

They say that poetry is lame
all romantic fluff and crap
but can you woo fair maidens
with a line from Andy Capp?

They say that poets all die poor
cash poor? that may be true.
but there's other kinds of riches
I receive when I reach you

See its not about the money
although more would be nice
It's all about connecting
and making you think twice

So poets, like their poetry
are neither lame nor dead
and if you dont believe me
just look back at what you've read

The people that come into our lives
do so for a reason
It may only be for a day or a month
or may just be for a season

But when two paths cross, no matter how brief
There's a lesson somewhere to be learned
It may be just that we're on the wrong path
and there's a corner that needs to be turned

It may be to teach us that we can still fly
and soar in the heavens above
or it may be a brief and torrid affair
to show us that we can still love

And maybe my words are speaking to you
and I'm part of some message you need
To show you the signs that surround you
so between the lines you can read.

Every day I hide behind
the words upon my screen
hoping that you can decipher
exactly what they mean

I try so hard to share with you
the feelings deep inside
I dare not tell you to your face
so behind my words I hide

I wish that I had the courage
the strength to tell you from me
the feelings so plainly there in my eyes
for all the world to see.

I wish I could be so eloquent
that these words would fall from my mouth
But alas when I see you in person
all the best lines seem to head south

I'm scared that you dont feel the same
about me as I do you
So here I lay and type away
hoping my wishes come true

Time for some originality methinks
this copy paste world of ours, well it stinks
sincerity became a thing of the past
as people got lazy and obsessed with fast

No time for honesty bout the way that you feel
originality gone at the turn of a wheel
a right click here and a left click there
and we use others words to show that we care

Well enough of being lazy and thoughtless I say
Lets go back and do things the old fashioned way
Where you said what you meant
and you meant what you said
And took time to write words
you knew would be read

Its hard to wrap emails in ribbons and bows
As for Facebook and messenger
who knows where that goes
So give me some paper and a pen every time
And I will sit down and think,
and then write you a line

My words may make you smile
and they may make you weep
But I choose them with care
to build something you'll keep.

Such as I want,
so it will be,
for the power to change,
comes only from me.

I believe the things,
that I want will come true,
and if it works for me,
then it'll work for you.

But so many people,
give their power away,
to religions or prophets,
or what marketers say.

When the reality is,
all that you need,
is belief that ideas,
can grow like a seed.

And once your idea,
starts to take shape,
the universe moves,
and shifts to create.

And suddenly one day,
its easy to see,
that all that I have,
was created by me.

Why is it always easy,
to tell you about me,
to expose you to the private side,
that no one gets to see.

I share with you so freely,
things no one else will know.
Let you take me places deep inside,
I would otherwise not go.

I know that we have both been hurt,
and suffered the same pain.
Perhaps thats why I can talk to you,
you won't think I'm insane.

With your help and your support my friend,
that chapter is now closed.
And not once did I feel vulnerable,
naked, or exposed.

And now I try to find the words,
express the gratitude you're due,
but nothing seems quite big enough,
for the thanks that I owe you.


Thank You
For Everything

One day I awoke, strangely to find
the person I used to be gone, left behind

Somewhere, somehow, I became someone new
Who was much less like me, and a lot more like you

The changes were subtle, I did not even know
Until people asked me, just where did "you" go?

It appears I gave up being me just to please
the person I once proposed to from my knees

But the strangest thing is, I did not even see
the way you genetically, modified me

I looked like the me, that everyone knew
but instead of myself, to you I was true

And now that I see it, and begin to turn back
you're angry and bitter and start to attack

You think that there's someone else I now see
But don't see how that someone else can be me

I don't like the person, with you I became
It's not all your fault though, I'm partly to blame.

And just as I let you make me not the same
it is I that must choose my old self to reclaim

So from now on my dear our ways we must part
There's no place anymore for you in my heart

I'll put myself first, be alone for a while
Until I can look in the mirror and smile

And see there once more who I used to be
the reclaimed original version of me

When I am gone, what thoughts of me
will pass 'mongst those left behind
Will I even be remembered
or was everyone 'round me blind

Will the words I have written
fall on deaf eyes and be forever lost
Or will I have connected with someone
with my tales of winter and frost

Or perhaps my name will be recalled
for a story of love gone awry
Did my words touch someone so deeply
that a tear welled up in their eye.

I write about things that go through my head
some based on me and some not
some moments in life I remember
some I wish I'd already forgot

But I also write words of pure fiction
make up stories to balance the tone
so no matter how life makes you feel
you will know you are never alone

Honestly though it matters not
if I live on in your hearts or your minds
as long as someone finds comfort
in the words I leave behind

I spend my days
trying not to cave
or give in to this sense of despair
but inside I'm drowning in panic
as I fight to the surface for air

At night while in bed it continues
there is no escape
it would seem
inevitably once I fall asleep
I awaken again with a scream

I don't know where it comes from
or how it gets into my head
but I don't get the chance
to dream any more
as nightmares appear in their stead

My body is beaten and tired
exhausted again here I lay
watching the clock
as the numbers count down
to another miserable day