I watched her as she slept which kept me wide awake and for every breath she took which took my breath away,I wanted to wake her up and say,'how beautiful you look as you lay there fast asleep,but I count another breath and think myself to ten and when my heart begins to slow,I know I'll leave her to her sleep and my imagination screams to keep that picture in my mind.

I look at my little sister. She's beautiful and tragic,  like a metaphor. Or a cigarette or an odd cat. I look at her and see the same emptiness inside of me, only there's more hope for her. How do you tell somebody that you care for them? I don't think I've ever really cared for many people in a sibling kind of way. That requires an emotional connection that maybe I just lack. Like a wire in my head that was cut early on or misplaced in my head.

   Dear sister, I write you a poem. A letter. A song. I'm losing my mind, I'm going insane. Knowing that all I care about could just disappear within an instant. I don't want to lose my friends don't want to lose my sister. I was never close to my brothers it isn't fair if I lost you too. What is it you think of? What do you think about? I see you playing the piano and wish I could do that too. I'd ask you to teach me but I'm too shy to do that. I don't know if anyone's said it, but I'm proud of you. I see you trying your best and it's okay to do that. Take baby steps at a time cause the world is cruel but it seems to like babies to maybe you can trick it. I know, I've tried. Am trying. Trying harder?
   I don't know what it is I really want to tell you. You should know though I love you. I have a hard time telling people that. Have a hard time expressing feelings without suddenly wanting to cry or rip my arm to pieces. You'll be okay sister dear, I know you will.

I went to the bar
that Monday night
in hopes that it would be as good as Sunday night,
it had snowed
and that was my excuse for staying

(The truth is I didn't want to be alone)

Drunk Tim watched me as I ordered my drink
I had no idea
I thought he was some business man
Dressed in his suit
and tie
Drinking his cranberry & vodkas
with his coworkers he pretended to like
but he was
                       a l o n e

He came over and sat with us
made himself comfortable in the booth
this old perv...
he had a ring on his finger
and was obviously drunk
and he seemed to have this look in his eyes
like he was
running away from something
or someone;
maybe life or
sadness

Drunk Tim got behind me
like they do in the movies
to "help my form"
in hopes to sink that last pool ball
so I could be proclaimed
                                               w i n n e r
Guess what?
His perverted tactics
worked
and
I
won

And  I didn't really feel like a winner
But I laughed
and smiled anyways
and ordered another drink
as I sat down
alone
with Tim

I told him about books I was reading;
Slave narratives
and what they meant to me,
and he told me about a manuscript
he had written on racism
in America
And I thought he was full
of ****

And finally,
he told me
I had "depth"

And it was then I realized
that maybe drunk Tim
wasn't
such a dumb,
sad
drunk
after all

Or maybe,
he is all the more

If your problems are turning themselves into menacing clouds of steel
Go outside and realise how simple life is
The plant runs on a wheel of four beautiful seasons each bringing a wonder
Nature wavers in harmony with humanity
Even in our ironed out wilderness the concret rivers are a dancing ground for birds who put their fate in God alone
Iron boxes sit under selected trees in front of doors with untold stories to millions only in the minds and hearts of a chain of friends
The network of earthling life is relatively uncomplicated each soul singing a note in part of an awesome chorus.
Sometimes you just need to sit back and listen

One year ago exactly, I awoke to the miserable news that my dear friend, Morgan Helman, was dead. I called her voicemail and wept my goodbyes. I punched the wall and screamed until I thought my lungs would crack. I wrote a poem to express the ravaging anguish I was experiencing, and to try and honor her life. I read it as a eulogy at her funeral. In it, I mentioned a time when she had asked me to write a happy poem. Everything I had ever written was a result of sadness or some other tortured emotion. I apologized that what I wrote for her was far from happy. I told her someday I would a write a happy poem, though I doubted my own words. One year later, I have walked away from the depressed mental state I used to call home. On the anniversary of her passing, I completed this "happy" poem. It's different than what I'm used to creating. It might not be as artistic as some of my other poetry. But it is a vivid expression of the first step in a new direction. This poem is dedicated to Morgan Helman and the legacy of love she left in her wake.

You Are

Resonating laughter
as the child plays,
hallway smiles
on bad days.

Disney movies
when I'm sick,
lightsaber battles
as a kid.

Rope swings
for make believe Peter-Panning,
backyard sprinklers
spraying the trampoline.

Hot soup
after it snows,
Refreshing popsicles
when the sun glows.

Warm cookies
melting in my mouth,
playing cards
at Grandma's house.

Blazing campfires
engulfed in inspiration,
jam sessions
with passionate musicians.

Barefoot freedom
in the grass and on the beach,
Sandy paradise
sinking beneath my feet.

Captivating books
as it gently rains,
favorite songs
when I'm disarrayed.

Intimate poetry
as my soul sings,
genuine happiness
spilling out of me.

Caring parents
whose admiration lasts,
trustworthy friends
who remove my masks.

Comforting arms
when my friend dies,
calloused hands
pulling tears from drowning eyes.

Raw love
strung on splintered wood,
My God
you are everything good.

~ m.w. ~

scared because i
know the
truth.