God isn't in the church, boys.
Can't find him on your cross.
We looked in all religions
even scoured cathedral halls.
God isn't our father
and he never was a son.
Well, in one way I suppose
our creator actually was.
God, she's in our sunlight.
She's in the air we breathe.
You'll find your God inside of you.
You'll find your God in trees.

My dad caught me making tampons
From duct tape and toilet paper.
Sat me down and said,
He’s proud of me,
But I shouldn’t have to do this.
He’ll make sure
I have the things I need.
My smirk stares straight past him.
The things I need.
When dad is away we brush our teeth with alcohol.
We mix sugar into water
For our breakfast.
I’ve cleaned wounds with Clorox wipes.
Our medieval, dusty medkit shows no mercy.
We rubbed leaves into our ****** knees
And pretended
That we knew what the **** we were talking about.
With lies about what “elders” taught us.
Or maybe it was just me?
Maybe it was just me
Who curled up on the hearth
Shaking while my shins melted,
Filling the hole under my ribcage
With my fists.
While the kitten froze to death
Under a leaky water pipe.
The things we need.
Maybe it was just me
Who kept living like a refugee,
Or felt I ever was one?
Using one shelf of five assigned to me,
A bag of food packed under the bed
Long into my first years of college.
Living without when things ran out.
Embracing the word “gone”
As a new way of living.
Steak dinners from my father all the while.
Money for band t-shirts?
Ask your mother.
But new sound systems,
Let’s start a farm,
Adopt a sister,
And travel the country
Eating at only old diners.
The things we need.
The things we need.

Amidst the smoke and light and laughter
Along the smiles and cheers thereafter

A sound is bled, wrung free from strings
It bounds and treads and wholly sings
Inside each song, a secret’s moved
Not right nor wrong or frequent proved
The message dances from bow to ear;
A coded trance of love and fear
From left to right the story rings
Of death and light the Cello brings
The covert tale engulfs the room
It vibrates truth to those who loom
The Cello knows for why it’s played
Its secret lost, both gone and stayed

In the smoke and light and laughter
Music lies and cries thereafter

don't you know i'm in love with you?
your smile,
your hair,
your scent,
your laugh,
the way you squeal,
but somehow you crush me in all the way possible,
you say you don't like anyone,
you talk about this guy,
i'm always livin a lie,
that somehow you may like me back,
so i'll hitch my feelings at the dock,

until you say it.

So, Medusa and I were discussing ways we can protect children on this site.  We want kids to have a place to express their art, and we don't want to stifle them, but we thought about how dangerous private messaging can be for kids.  
If a child says something publicly, here, we are all here to protect them from harassment of any kind, and we all will protect them, but what about private messages?  Any perv can send a private message to a child, and none of us will be there to help.  Maybe hello poetry should have a rule that children under 17 cannot receive or send private messages.  
Does anyone else think this will be helpful and safer for Kids?