I saw her
the girl you talked about
I heard her voice
with the slight tremble
and a rumbling hope

she still had spitfire in her words
and starlight in her eyes
she wasn’t lost
not really

she may have had more questions
than answers in her head
but give her time

sometimes the questions
don’t need to find answers right away
or maybe even ever

sometimes they just need to be asked
they need to bloom and find wings
and wander and float off into the sky
sometimes its more about the wondering
the exploring of both
the inside and outside world

questions of the mind
mending doubts of the heart
a burning in the soul
to be cooled by a passing wind
a kind smile
a gentle hand
to hold in the darkness
so it knows it is not alone

it is often the silent conversations
that offer the most light
when the words that need
to be heard
do not need to be spoken
as they are already
being sung by the stars above
and we already know
the song by heart

love is an art that can be shared
between two strangers
that never touch each other
but still hold each other’s hearts

maybe for only a slight moment
maybe an entire life

two voices shouting
into the void of despair
declaring I will not go quietly
I will not live silently
I will live and fight
for something worth living for
something that will make death weep
when it whispers my name

I may lose my way
I may feel hopeless
and defeated
from time to time

but I will not give in
I will not give up
I will make my fist into a grenade
I will make my heart
into something larger than a fist
and I will live my life
by finding
and practicing the art of love

and that girl
the one you talked about
her voice with the slight tremble
and a rumbling hope
she is closer than you think
when you find her again
when you see her again
tell her thanks

sometimes
sometimes I forget
that I’m not alone
and even the slightest of moments
can last a lifetime

Do not try to outwit your grief
do not try to hide your love
what is desire but to burn
what if the only true path to heaven
is to walk through the fire

what if the only real sin
is regret
regret for the things you never did
the things you never said

tell me would that change
what you do tonight
before you sleep
what you do tomorrow
when you first wake up

what if there is no light
at the end of the tunnel
what if there is no dark
at the bottom of the well
what if the closest
you can get to god
is how close
you can get to your heart
what if the only devil
is the fear
that lives in your doubts
what if god
is nothing more
than your reflection

tell me what would that change
what would you pray for
if the answer to your prayers
was the miracle waiting
in your own hands

what if your dreams
are no farther away
than your imagination
what if your imagination
is the key
and the door
and the path
to the home of your dreams

show me all of your secrets
and I will bury all of my lies
what good is a metaphor
that cannot hide the truth
in the plain sight
of the sleeping sun
and the first breath of the moon

when the weather calls for tears
water the fields
that sing the song
of your heart beating
and when the fire falls and spreads
hold my hand
and walk through the flames with me

Our interpretation of time
is only backed
by the ego of our arrogance
as if we alone could master
the infinite mysteries of the stars
and chain them to the definition
of the dot to dot constellations
of our limited imaginations

then trap the sands of time
to gears and springs
and strap it to our brittle wrists
as we crown ourselves
the children of a grand designer
who sculpted our flesh alone
in “HIS” most holly image

we know nothing of the things
we pretend to know
as the flaw of our intelligence
is that it is self designed

we are non the better
than the creatures
we share this planet with

other than we deny ourselves
the simple pleasures
of howling at the moon
or singing with the sunrise
or laying on the surface
and in the silence
of the moonlight shimmering
over the still waters of a pond

we make noise
when it is unnecessary
and keep silent
when we should speak out
as the devil in our deeds
is in every detail
of the cruelty
we have spread out through history

sometimes in the name of god
and sometimes in the name of country
and in the times
of our most overindulgent hypocrisy
in the name of both

as we have dived ourselves
by imaginary lines
drawn in the sand
we believe we have trapped
and strapped to our brittle wrists

as if time is only on our side
moving in one direction
playing by our rules
shaped by the god
we created to bless us
for our self inflected
and self indulgent sins

because it is easier
to blame the devil
for the all fruit we steal and horde

but the devil is only real
in the crimes committed
by the blood we have
running in our veins
and the blood we spill
to feed the fear and hatred
of fables and myths too old
for anyone to remember
written in languages
no one has ever spoken or heard

all the while we ignore
the simplest of facts
that when we have gone too far
dropped one too many bombs
let one too many bullets soar
that when fear and hate swallows
the last of us whole

that time will march on without us
and that all in all
all we have strapped to our brittle wrists
is nothing more
than our meaningless egos

He steps into his fathers boots
and his feet are soaked in blood
and he straps on a helmet
already riddled with bullet holes
to his head
and marches off to an endless war
with the same hate in his blood
fueled by the same pride in his heart
as his fathers father before him
“For god and glory!” he shouts
without questioning what it is
he’s fighting for

A pawn from the other side
steps onto the board
and repeats the same thing
walking the same steps as his father
in the same shoes as his father
in blind obedience
with the same hate
and the same pride

two sides on the same board
and somewhere in the middle
all the pieces are painted
with the same color of death
and the squares disappear
into puddles of blood
that turn into the rivers of ink
that write the obituaries
of all the young lives sold off
to the illusion of freedom
that whispers that this is the price
we must pay over and over again
for god and glory

but somewhere behind the curtain
hands are being shook
and money is exchanged and piled up
and the pigs are keeping themselves fat
from the feast provided
by the endless storm of bullets and bombs
raining down from the smoke pouring out
of the diseased heart
of the never dying war machine

the corpses are stripped down
and sent home  
and the boots are recycled
and isn’t it a beautiful parade
with all those dead bodies
wrapped in a flag full of pride
with a lesson of how to hate

to keep the peace
we keep a gun loaded
with nuclear bombs
pointed at each other’s forehead

and somewhere in the distance
in a hospital room
in a bedroom
in the arms of a new mother
a new father

a baby cries

with a fresh pair of feet
that will one day
******* an old pair of boots
and step onto a square
and march off
to the endless war
of god and glory

Have you met the Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man?
He scammed fig leafs in the garden,
And **** cloth in Ottoman.

     outside-in, inside-out; upside-down, right-side up

The Who-gee Boo-gee Man can cuss.
He offers snake oil, spins a tale,
So you feel smart, healthy and hale.

     from top to bottom, bottom to top

The Who-gee Boo-gee Man can't stop.
He swrawls with a Sharpie pen.

     right is left, left is wrong

That's the Who-Gee Boo-Gee song.

Consultation for now is free,
No hidden added extra fees:
You buy two, you get three.

     north to south, east to west

The Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man won't rest.

I've heard his feet are cloven;
The eyes are yellow, lips look swollen;
He has *******, wears silk- woven.
He sweats like water to the lowest level;
He's quicker than the slyest devil,
Selling hell, but we hear heaven;
Doing so twenty-four seven.

He photo-shops secret desires,
Twists truth-tellers into liars;
Artful, wily, scheming, subtle,
The Who-Gee Boo-Gee's a hungry jackal.

     today is the day, yesterday's late,
     tomorrow's a place that just won't wait

I met up with the Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man,
Peddling apples from my jardain.

The innocent and the ignorant think it’s always just like the movies and criminal tv shows. A black eye, bruises, a battered and beaten woman crying in a shower or hospital bed. They always ask “why didnt you go to the police?!”

I can remember how it all started, even as far back as middle school. My neighborhood was the last stop for the bus which only left us the choice to sit in back with the bad kids, the older boys. They made me sit on their hands, talked about my *******, grabbed us, touched us and tormented us.

Unless she is black and blue, no one will believe she’s the victim.

He was going out for a smoke and I needed fresh air. I followed him up the stairs and somehow was at his room, he just had to grab his pack. I asked for a drink of water... I woke up, he had me completely immobilized with his body and just one hand, shirt up, pants down. I couldn’t move at all. “He knew I wanted it, that I liked it”... I tried to take control, I tried to ****** him to let me go. Finally I but his lip so hard he let me go. I left first thing the next morning.

I drank too much and I could not drive home, I asked to sleep a little at a friends house before driving home. He took that as an invitation for ***. He pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed despite adamant NO NO NO. I was a *****, a tease, what was I holding out for, he knew I wanted it... he finally got his way, I had no where else to go.

I’ve woken up to boyfriends touching me, having *** with me - somehow the understanding was that this is my duty as a girlfriend, conscious, willing or not...

These stories can go on and on. They didn’t beat me, I wasn’t battered and bruised but I was forced against my will. I knew there was no proof to support me, and who would believe the girl who stayed out too late, drank too much or gave in to her boyfriend.

Boys will be boys

I have witnessed this with many friends and was speechless to speak out... it’s not as easy as you think. It has become an expectation for women. Sometimes you finally give in just to make the harassment stop.

But there are those men, the ones that will take their time, that no means no, who realize there is time to get there if the feeling is right... we need more men like this.

Raise your boys right and your women strong.

❤️