poetry is the way the air whispers to you
after a heavy rain,
tickling your nose and
fluttering your eyelashes,
the sky grey like your eyes
you see poetry
as you listen to the clouds move
you paint it--
with words, that is,
the flow of the letters steadily inking the page like
the rain last night i think
poetry is the way we breathe.
-a.c.b

it's not something i can exactly pinpoint,
but more the fact that
in a stadium full of 500 screaming peers,
i've never felt more alone.
even making brief eye contact with you, smiling,
then looking away
didn't alleviate the pain ebbing through me now.
it's not something i can exactly put my finger on,
but more the fact that
you were standing so close to her,
talking, laughing
while i stood rows below
loneliness wrapped around me,
even as my friends stood next to me, shoulder to shoulder.
i know you're not mine,
but you're not the only one who gets a little jealous.
it's not something i can exactly pinpoint,
but more the fact that
it's a little too dark tonight.
-a.c.b

girl, when did you let
your love leave you?
did you think that there
was nothing you could do
about your sweet imperfections
the focus of your obsessions
that make you wish to be born anew?
girl, why do you shrink
from your mother’s touch?
have you lost your faith,
think it won’t do much
good on you, her sweet child,
too broken for prayer
she’d tried to raise a witch
but you only see failure
girl, open your eyes
and clear your head
why not give yourself
some warmth instead.
use ginger, mint and cardamom,
honey and a stick of cinnamon,
to concoct a sweet brew
that will return to you
the love which you are due.