This heart I own
Has you to call home,
How I miss the
Hallowed halls
Of your soul.

Pressed against mine,
A fate so unkind,
That hearts could torment us to the bone.

The words you have spoken
Speak from the heart,
So I know then,
That this love that I feel
We both share.

And you did not ask,
Neither I,
Here at last,
That our paths would converge in this way.

I feel love come from you,
And I know mine does too,
We're here, not by chance,
Not at all.

Then if we must feel this
And are not now to kiss,
I will wait 'til I walk in your halls.

You water thoughts of despair,
Then wonder why the pretty ones
Never come to sit.
You chase away sweet changes,
And ask what are you to do.
You circle your poorly mended garden
With a net.
Gentle butterflies avoid.
You knock on the door of a hornet nest
And demand a fight,
To prove you've still got one in you.
Your garden, overgrown with weeds,
Provides you support to lay your head,
Comfort.
To cover up the memories,
You poured cement over your garden.
You spent a summer building
A basketball court,
Hoping that there would come a use for it,
Hoping for a visit.
You used to like basketball.
The weeds grow through the cement,
But you don't spend long in your yard anymore.
Walking away proves more satisfying.
Why won't the pretty ones ever come to sit?

Forever sleep, never keep
Die and let be dead.
Rest, my friend, in Earth deep,
You've finally come to know peace.

You are no demon, angel, or beast
You are, but instead,
A beautiful thing, to say the least,
Finally come to know peace.

All the questions I could ask myself
About you and I and we and us
Does not hold a candle to the truth outshining us.
I do not need to hear your words, although you know I long to.
You've slipped away, a swaying phase, unsteady as the moon
In your island you're always hiding far out of reach for me.
I know the rules and I try to tip-toe around them.
Caught in a roulette wheel, shooting myself in the foot.
Swinging on the vines like Tarzan in the jungle, my Jane
Does not belong to me, enamored, enchained,
To this life I'm in, I shall indeed remain.
You are a glittering spotlight far away,
The light tower,
And I am only a glint in the corner of your eyelash,
I might cower,
The instant you turn to me, the minute you decide to fight for me.
The right hour
I am able to be yours, in this life, if ever, you have me,
So clever, wrapped in maroon silk cocoon, staved away,
For you, alone, always unable to love another, steal me from my lover like plunder, come find me on my shores
And take what has always been yours.

Used to next to nothing.
Silver spoon is rusting.
Growing where Life doesn't.
Giving in at adolescence.

I am not confessing,
I need not a blessing.
Restless mind is wrestling.
Disregarding outward dressing.

Patient soul is resting.
All these things I'm testing.
Life is interesting.
Stimulated, manifesting.

On a wheel that's spinning,
Reaching new beginning?
Callous circle grinning,
Reminding me that I'm not winning.

Used to next to nothing.
Silver spoon is rusting.
Growing where life doesn't.
Giving in at adolescence.
I am not confessing,
Because I need a blessing.
Restless mind is wrestling,
Disregarding outward dressing.
No importance on impressing
Those who do not see an essence.
Patient soul is resting,
Cannot hear Her presence.
Disregarding life at present,
Waiting for a train in hestitance.
Debating on destination residence,
My inner wisdom holds the key to evidence.
Still, I flounder, lost magnificence.
A train somewhere, awaits my service.
Passenger to Somewhere,
No need to get so nervous.

Internal poetry while doing
Yoga.
I don't mean practicing
Yoga. I mean doing it.
Writing, because although
Yoga
Calmed my racing thoughts
And high electromagnetic frequency,
Additional
Judgmental,
Highly observant,
Rather foreign thoughts
Are returning.

The pirates pillaging
Sanity within
Are no match for the
Ancient Indian
And pre-Indian
Yoga and poetry.
In this day and age,
Yoga is heraled
For the stylish, revealing pants
Used for practicing.
As well as the many classes that reek of ego.

Poetry, on the other hand,
Has more or less gone obsolete.
They killed all the poets.

They have become replaced
By social media
Featuring those unsocialized with writing.
Now, when I need to hear the wisdom
Of a guiding angel,
All I hear
Is the pathetic language
Of the less fortunate in poetic freethought.
These discombobulated ghosts
Haunt me
When I hear far too many
Voices
And need stillness to compensate my illness.

These voices of the day, I fear,
Manipulate me in most unpleasant ways.
And being thinker, as I am,
Drawing conclusion and meaning
From everything I can,
A blessing and a curse --
Which, then again, are blessings nonetheless --
I cannot help but wonder
If this is part of a plan.

Orwell wrote of so not fifty years ago.
The language now constantly spoken,
As well as read,
As well as written,
Dumbing us down.
Losing touch with words of wisdom
In most trying of times.
This is what happens when

You **** off
All the poets.

There are more things
That are not things
Than there are things
That are things.
Potential is a powerful,
Abundant resource.
To tap into the
Unknown, uncharted,
Unachieved, departed -
And introduce it to
What it means to Be -
Makes every artist
A midwife.
Without the great alchemists -
The artists, the dreamers,
Visionaries, poets, musicians -
Those who enter into
Akashic Records
Like a library -
We would only ever have
What has already came to be.
Like a technical computer reality.
Art brings us closer
To the cusp of Life.
Mother Earth is the greatest artist
I've ever known.
Being Human means
Being an artist.
Our Mother may soon
Scold us
For coloring all over the walls.
Making an artist takes time.
In the Universe,
There's plenty of that.

I imagine myself
A few gentle decades older.
Finally grasping the cusp
Of success.
Living in my own apartment
In New York City, nonetheless.
Wearing an Armani coat
(Whatever those look like.)
Walking idly yet prestigiously
Through winter in the city.
Taking care not to laugh too loud,
Talk to myself, smile too much.
A small, attractive female
Has to be serious to get ahead.
Customers will buy from a happy girl
Only if she is early 20's, at most.
That is Marketing 101.
I am a small fish in a large sea;
The principles of Darwinism
Still apply to me.
I've learned long ago to succeed,
I must stifle the welcoming smile.
So along the familiar concrete
I stride,
Carefully manicured hands
In pockets.
The Filipinos know better
Than to rush on the hands
Of a businesswoman caressing
A successful career.
She tips well and lives well.
I walk along with cool calm
And feminine grace.
I have regained the safety
To be feminine once again.
The criminals know better
Than to infiltrate
The Business district
And cause trouble
To working professionals
In Armani coats.
I imagine myself a few decades older.
Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically.
Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature,
But I have matured
Much like the snowflakes themselves.
At the end of a cycle,
No matter how beautiful.
My actions flow gracefully and delicately.
I melt into New York City
Like a cell in a body.
Pumping fuel into the *****
To sustain the mass.
A tumor.
I smile subtly as I slosh along.
I recall, once upon a time,
On my lower-class youth.
***** jokes, crude dancing,
And cluttered apartments.
I approach the high-rise building
I call home and greet the doorman
With the obligatory disregard
For his innermost being.
Poetry truly is in the strangest of places.
Even in an enigma like me.
I enter the marble floors,
Wiping my feet,
My rent as sky-high as
The building itself.
Elevator. Comforting motion sickness.
This is success.
The pit of my stomach sinks.
I tell myself it's the motion sickness.
I return to my apartment,
With its symmetrical details.
My thoughts return to you.
You've never stepped foot in my home,
But you've always been here with me.
I get dinner started.
I set out the extra glass, like always.
Rituals like these serve
As my Sunday mass.
I drink your glass with my evening medication.
Dare I say like always?

The heart can heal all.
That's why we fear
Opening it up
For a fickle other.
We can lose our
Best chance at
Self-defense.

I don't fear
The break,
So I send mine
On a plate.
Recipients are
Used to games.
I am, however,
Fiercely straight-forward,
With self-confidence
Coated in
Uncertainty. Vanity. Candy.
Recipients simply run from me.

This is why I focus on me,
Expired of all of my romances.
Thankful Universe gave us chances
To quickly flee the scene
Before the heart dances.
Lonesome creatures are courageous.

Maniacally,
The days and nights
Bleed together
Into a time frame
The insane
Tap into
That's a lot like infinity.
Vampiracally,
The years of
Infinity
Bleed together
Into an abysmal
Spiral
Of insanity.
Supernaturally,
Are our states of being.
How well
We blend in
With a dismal
Arrangement
Of plain people
In trains,
Checking their wrists
For the time
As they travel
Physically.
Naturally,
The three of us
Are bound to meet
At some point.
Tapping into
Hidden goldmines
Of psychological
Nuggets
That gleam
With prosperity,
As everything
Melts together
Again.
Everything is sacred.
Everything is connected.
Mining
For hidden connections
Ought to excavate
Feelings of wonder.
The caverns filled
With complex crystals
Of energetic
Freethought
Have long been
Paved over
By trains and
Linear brains
Improving on their
Transistors.
Maniacally and
Vampiracally,
The days and nights
Bleed together,
While the world below
Bustles about;
We appear to be
Just like one of them.
We may even check
Our watch.
Our conditions
Are congruent
In that they are
Nothing less than
Supernatural.

Flowers, oh so fearless.
Featherly, inviting fountains.
Gifts for all who seek for it,
From the trees to the mountains.
Buzzing bees relax to sit,
Upon a vibrant throne.
Within a world built from grit,
Femininity is shown.
Flowers, oh so fearless.
Opened to receive reverence.
No judgment cast, it seems at last,
A place for kind deliverance.

I loved you then; I love you now.
In times of chaos; Without a sound.
I loved you black; I love you white.
With rhyme or reason; Without a right.
I love you New York; I love you Paris.
I love you boldly or embarrassed.
I love you luck; By Divine Fate.
I'll love you after I forget your face.
I love you blue; I love you true.
I love you whether I'll be with you.

If being stripped of liberty,
We owe no responsibility
To tethering our ties
To a system of lies.
Insanity, defined,
If we choose to read,
Means working to thrive
Through ways we won't succeed.

The system is broken.
Turn off the machine.
If doubt has not awoken,
Ask yourself, please:

Do you question many things
That you hear spoken?
Do you admit your own views
May contain false notions?
Does our culture retain
Unnecessary devotions?
Is government improving,
Bringing peace across oceans?

Emancipate from demands
Of societal bands.
Renounce the commands
And requests that don't stand
The test of your ability
To reason with civility.

A question is a "quest I on"
Not a destination.
It leads to many places.
Go ahead. Try it on.

I have that kind of love that self-implodes
In an explosion that rains from the sky,
As I helplessly wish on my lucky stars
That you don't witness this at all.

We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.

Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.

We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.

Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.

This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.

The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.

Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.

I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.

To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:

Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.

To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.

Creeping Death moves as Father Time.
The poet shall curse her own blind rhyme.

The men go forth to capture the Creeper.
They know of Death, but I know the Reaper.

I've done the journey called peering deeper.
The Source determined, "Yes, we need her."

My angel does not allow me pain and sorrow.
My angel carries me gently towards tomorrow.

Because, I have purpose in this chaotic life,
Whether girl or diva or suspect with knife.

And so, I sing, so do you.
*Challenge your barriers. They'll challenge you, too.

I stepped out of my comfort zone,
And appeared in a ship caught in a storm;
I wanted to tell a story through prose, never known,
But my mind froze and searched somewhere warm.

I went to leave the delicate flower of poetry
In which I have found comfort within the lines.
Fields full in bloom with poetic prosperity.
The flow of stream keeping rhythm in time.

I brought my bare feet to observe from rough peaks,
Overlooking the blank page expanded with power.
Preparing to leave on this journey for weeks,
Leaving the comfort of my sweet fields of flower.

Setting doubts aside, I set my pixie soul to sail,
Becoming narrative of chunky, clunky prose.
Daunted and haunted on a foreign ship to prevail,
I heard poetry beckon through bitter winds that arose.

Though I do respect prose, it is not a flow that I know.
It expands endlessly, like the heart of the sea.
My narration is rhythm, and wherever I go,
The flowers of poetry call back to me.

I soon jumped ship to be at peace where I roam,
Among the enchanting patterns of flowering fields.
I listen again to the trickle of the river, I'm home,
Channeling poetic prosperity this pixie wields.

I'm aware of the madness,
Yet refrain from speaking of it
In the public arena,
Because these chains are invisible.
You can see our scars.
Look around, play I-Spy,
Can we spot the wounds
From invisible bondages?

Love is Light.
You are like the sun.
Beautiful, pure, and bright.
Lively warmth was my invite.
A light being lightyears ahead.
Your smile caught a star.

Your eyes contain diamond seas.
Cooling me with seafoam teardrops.
Fluid and fertile with wonder, they seize.
Rainbows dance at lush waterfall tops.

You house the Heavens.
I've found it in your heart.
I marvel at your temple of art.
Love and peace, wisdom, acceptance.
How godly divine, your innermost essence.

In all that I'm learning of you,
I find myself loving the Universe, true.
For you contain the heavens, the seas, and the stars.
When I take you in, we're floating with Mars.

Was I put here to love you in our home?
My instincts tell me no.
My fondest memory won't, I already know,
Be my day as bride walking aisleside.
I am not a creature of clichés.
I don't want a good experience again, if I may,
I want one just as unexpected, as fire meets wind.
I don't want to be your friend.
More so, I want an unexplainable connection which transcends.
I don't want to be a student of school,
I want to be schooled by life.
I want to travel through dimensions,
I've tried before and may try again,
How can it be that I am here to be wife?

The cemetery was my circus I found
After outgrowing fantasy and the playground.
Golden afternoons in the country after school,
My blood having no resemblance, no ancestors,
To all the Sutton's and Smotherman's and Suddeth's
Who here resided with Tennessee pride. Inside and outside.
The still silence of my childhood cemetery carried an eerie air. I wanted to be here.
The peaceful calm, it called me back,
The king cawing crow, attending in black.
As for any of the lost, perhaps content, Confederate souls,
Who have yet to cross over, lamenting or dozed.
I suspect now, that it was I who startled those ghosts.
My blood, my frequency, my scent of the coast,
Sent from a Union ancestry my vibration still boasts...
How unexpected was I to those Tennessee ghosts.

Nothing is coming, except for that which you manifest to appear.
The things that will help are the things that you fear.
The future is unwritten by all, even the Universe itself.
You can shape it with your vision, your thoughts, and your health.

Don't sell yourself short. We don't have long
To have a population to admit that we have done wrong.
While our egos could last, a hundred years more,
Our Earth can't sustain that. It's not what it's for.

She is a jewel with a moon,
Adorned with sapphire seas.
Nestled within nurturing womb,
Animals, mountains, and trees.

We may call ourselves her children, her pride.
But in truth, we've yet had our hour of birth.
We are connected like a child inside.
Bracing on her health, nestled by her hearth.

I become fearful of thine own eyes,
Unsteadied by my own presence.
I condense myself into bite-sized portions.
Submitted to chronic hesitance.

My lips are chapped
From not speaking true.
My body lashed and badly bruised,
From a prison hardened by fear
Through the years, and still, ensues.

Mentally, physically, I feel so old,
Which transpires onto
This life I hold.
All the tales on aging I've been told,
Have come to rest inside these bones.

A chilled heart translates
Into dead air.
Kickstart your stagnation;
Take a dare!
Sometimes, you get caught up
Upon the banks, unaware.

Let your life of purpose flow,
You have just this one to see where it goes.
Pause and listen to the hum of your soul.
What do you want? Let it be so.

Love should leave you feeling full,
Never empty or cold.
You tended to my well so well,
So I am yours, adore.
A water-based creation
Should have fresh-flowing hydration,
Within tangible flesh and
Replenishing the Spirit, yes,
You leave my skin soft.

My imagination, no limitation.
I welcome in positive vibration.
My brain is a grand central station.
Swept away like the waves, call me vacation.

A notion about waves in the ocean:
They travel across continents, in a constant motion.
Watch the power approaching.
Realize the wave is one energy,
That never lost its devotion.

I welcome in new positive energies
Like amenities, a necessity.
I'm an attorney attesting on
Life's incredible journey.
Join me, but warning; I prefer soaring.

My torus is lush as forest.
Living like an alien tourist.
I insist on artistic visions to guide me,
Not living for pride or vanity.
I'm just a human, grooving, celebrating earth inside of me.

Chiming on with Nature's charm.
Living my life, devoid of harm.
I can do this a lifetime long,
With nothing to lose, none to alarm.
I wear a badge of peace upon my arm.

Breezing past the seasons,
Ocean breeze releases.
Pedaling with our knees, us,
And our music blaring, see us,
See our smiles, you can read us.
The air is there to feed us.
He pedals on like she does,
Finding happiness is there to greet us.

You are worth more than words.
Here I am, on the verge of immersing myself in the voyage of words.
Like Mother's beloved birds,
On a trek to traverse towards Source.
The one constant on an ever-changing earth.
But,
Birds need no words
To convey their bliss
Towards the Source that burns,
In a Nature's kiss.
So,
I share my words,
I scrutinize it too,
Just as everything else
I feel or do.
But there is one thing,
I can't ignore,
It's the feeling of knowing,
Of loving, of joy,
Without ever needing
Language to deploy.

Perfect time,
Perfect place.

Perfect rhyme,
Perfect pace.

Perfect chime,
Perfect phrase -

To describe perfect days.

Everything I put out is
An extension of me.
Like the fruit at the tips of the tree --
The fruit is my gift to thee.

I love you,
Wildly, silently,
Imitating it's idly,
Displaying my affection quietly.

Timid, I am, of course.
Enjoying our discourse.
And everything you are,
I'm so heavenly immersed -

Yes, in your quirky quarks from quasars,
Running its benevolent course.

Still, inside, I thirst.
To let you know,
I'm yours.

Lost in a loving serge. . .

With quarks from the hottest starburst.

Feel pity for the turtle,
Born captive in a bowl.
Swimming in a circle,
A life been bought and sold.

He has his natural instincts,
Engrained in DNA.
I wonder what he thinks,
Being captive every day.

To him, it must feel wrong.
A missing link to life.
Pondering all along,
Why his surroundings don't suffice.

If released to the wild,
Survival would be scarce.
He's been captive since a child.
Born an artificial heir.

The turtle knows only this society,
It's what he's been born into.
His intuition - alive, indeed,
Tells him what turtles do.

I watch him in his tank, a curse.
How it must feel strange.
Born to fulfill a turtle's life purpose,
But forced into walls, by humans who exchange.

I feel pity for the turtle,
Then realize my foolishness.
Humans, too, know the artificial -
Yearning for natural happiness.

We build up our own glass walls,
And bear children to not see,
That there is life beyond this all,
That offers more than we think we need.

We, too, are like turtles,
Having a purpose to fulfill.
We overcome so many hurdles,
Within glass walls that ****.

Tell them, "Don't box me in.
You think you know my four corners- but when
Have I even begun to let you in?
Describe my every crevice and shadow; can you even begin?
Every season, I cultivate a new garden. I find a way to bloom again.
Don't think you've known where I've been.
Before you came, who's been housed from within.
The future is still a mystery to us both, my friend.
Don't think you can box me in."

"Much like these hard walls, is my skin.
More layers uncovered within.
And past my hard surface, if I let you in,
There is fluffy softness gifted with the intent
To keep you cozy and warm to the brim;
But at first, it serves,
If I can let you in.
With this total comparison to a house, even,
Don't box me in."

I kissed the dying orchid.
My loving intentions dedicated
Towards the withering flower.
I smelt its perfumed essence.
Sent it off with a blessing.

Now the twist hits me.

I feel like I brought love into me.
What I intended to give
To that dying orchid,
Was breathed back into me,
Unintentionally.

Our memories cannot be put into mediums.
There are no photos or videos,
No stories to be written,
No prime time television episodes;

The indescribable, undeniable energy fizzing,
Binding you, finding me, winding us,
Joined in divinity.

Every way I could make
Our moments into art,
I fall short, full stop -
Are we already art?
The way you affect my heart?

Is it living in the moment?
When we're listening or kissing?
Missing no other component,
No further desires or wishing?

All I feel when around your field,
Is that I'm drinking up Life;
That this is the consciousness I was gifted to feel.
And whether or not reality has anything that is actually real,
Layer by layer, the truth becomes revealed.

It's my observance to every occurrence -
The flow of Nature's currents;
What, in life, has pertinence.
Every interaction with you is marvelous,
and of utmost importance.
You're the physical form of happiness.
And I run into a hindrance,
When relaying my senses,
To anyone else not witness,
To what we feel together in this -
Mysterious, beautiful, eternal, immense.

I know what you feel can tear you apart,
You ask why you deserve this broken heart.
Looking in a deeper lens,
Out of sight from the present tense,
I know there's a Truth, I've been there, too,
For why I've been forced to live so dark & blue.

Nothing in Life comes with certainty.
There's always an unfair Mystery -
And amidst the mists of misery
Of my darkest, coldest history,
There are lessons that become revealed to me.
So, now can I see the positivity.

The pain & sorrow, the feeling hollow -
How can I be blessed with this mess?
I asked myself this - Is there something I missed?
It didn't make sense. Every time I ask "why?" -
The pain becomes more immense.

But I was strong; I had to be.
I lived happily, like Momma wanted me.
Carrying on, singing my song,
My melody shaped by her Memory.
She lived on through me. Indefinitely.

Now, I look back, the pain, it lasts,
But my confusion, my rage,
"How could He take her away?" --
Easily, now, it's removed.
There are things that begin to make sense.
I've been shaped by Life Events.
The bad times were necessary.
They taught the most to me.

My regrets taught me Lessons I need.
Maybe for this Life, for the next, or maybe indeed,
For the Universe, on yet another lens.
Yet again, out of sight
From the present tense.

When I see you,
I see the sun,
Blindingly illuminated,
With blazing character,
And generous happiness.
Generated from your smiling face.

I see the light
Of millions of more suns,
In the sparkle in your eyes.
You have a Galaxy
For each emotion,
In which I can get lost in.

Wonder, and lust, and
Excitement, and humor.
It's pure and in all this,
I know it's true,
I hold your interest.

In You, I see the Universe,
Filled with Light and whatever is Divinity.
I am like Creation,
Gazing towards everything in front of me.

And you see back to Me,
A chocolate, twinkling sea.
Filled with the same Light and Divine entity
We try to know in this Reality.

The Universe & Creation.
One in the same.
A strange game.
In which we have a place,
However it be arranged.

24/7 I've got you on my mind.
Measuring Life by memories, not by time.
With you, it's just energy combined.
What happens next, anyone's guess, for us, it's fine.

When you're away, I'm aware, something's bare,
The music of bliss missing from the air.
Discussions on Systems so one-sided from my mind,
Need your sly senses and thoughts divine.

I need your laugh and your humor is medicine.
Our accents, excessive, we do it again.
Feel freer than when I'm with my own **** friend.
'Cause together, it's easy, no need to pretend.

24/7 I've got you on my mind,
Still glowing from the last, blissful time,
We got together, always divine,
What happens next, anyone's guess, for us, it's fine.

We thrive in sunshine, amongst our roots
Of Natural land without man-made roofs,
We wash our Spirits clean in sweat-soaked boots.
Only to get ***** again in our bedrooms.

When you're there, not a care, worries rare,
Everything is perfect that we've shared.
Your kindness, you care, the way we pair,
My thoughts of you, lovely, here or there.

24/7 I've got you on my mind,
These words, another way to remind
That in you, I find a one-of-a-kind,
What happens next, anyone's guess, for us, it's fine.

"Why Am I Here?"

"Someone has to ponder that Question."

Excuse me for my hurt,
I know you mean well,
And you want to inspire,
And uplift me,
But language is a fickle art.
One that can make the difference,
Composing tone and the words themselves.
And there is no greater insecurity
Than the one called Me.

Since the very beginning,
I have been openly listening,
Engaging in thoughtful discussion -
The subject of You, the percussion.
I immediately spotted possible repercussions.
I wanted, and I still do,
To know your essence,
But healthy exchanges
Involve equality,
And I don't want to be left hanging,
Feeling like I'm lesser.

I crave knowing the rest of your essence,
But have you no interest
In knowing the same?
Are our minds connected
Of the same fibers
Or are we what we weave,
Being different in how we perceive,
A lifetime of individual strings?

The only Person I should keep in my life,
Making me feel inferior and uninteresting,
Is Me -
And I shall escape that fate,
With unconditional love, and positivity.

I am deeply interested,
In knowing MySelf, loving MySelf,
And to You, who has shown limited interest
In simply knowing me,
You, I choose as a direction of my Purity,
You, unaltered and true,
You, and Me, Alone -

It all, once again,
Always begins with You.

Your silence climbs like vines,
I hardly notice it binds,
Past my grounded thighs,
Twisting all up my spine,
My heart's furnace, it shall find,
And attempt to smother it alive.
I know we're on year nine,
And you've always been on my mind,
But now there comes a time -
That the Sunshine, I just can't find,
Your contempt for me is all that you remind,
The only time you direct your energy towards mine.

I can stand tall on my own.

Through Winter, I did not wither,
From my keeper, no compassionate water delivered -
The blood from within my veins of river,
From my own flourishings, is where I beat the shiver.
Let it be known:
Nourishment & Encouragement
Is what you couldn't give her.
What she found instead:
Her inner self is her giver.