I'm one of the ones you call insane,
Because I can't play along with this rigged game.
The odds are stacked, and not in our favor,
But instead for the Bankers with money, they create more.
I look and I see the strife all around,
And know the potential for human life has no bounds.
And when I make a sound,
It's like the words are all drowned,
Or at least lost at sea.
Message in a Bottle from Humanity.
A Human who knows the scale of her insignificance -
While knowing the magnitude of what is at risk -
The disposal of this awesome gift.

I'm one of the ones you call insane,
Because I can't play along with this rigged game.
I know my role, and I know how the story goes.
I should vote in vain and be told my Heroes.
But no, I dance to my own rhythm,
I tell myself it's internally driven,
To improve myself, and the world around,
The world at large, and earthworms in the ground.
So I rejected my spoon-fed medicine,
Of this culture, man-made incentives,
Long before you inject me with antipsychotics.
Internally, Mentally, I chant the mantra of "Stop This."

It can drive a person insane,
Pretending to play this rigged game.

I'm so happy,
I could dance on the moon
To an a cappella symphony.
The shine in my face
Could give starlight
To a galaxy in billions of years,
And that will be my memory.
I'm so happy,
Mona Lisa will grin in return.
Gargoyles in Gothic cathedrals
Will cease their snarling stares.
I'm so happy,
And you are in the background.
I can dance to a cappella,
But not to the white noise
You emit.

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?

Under the Babylonian sea
Lives a place hid from you and me
And in this place, broken in two in the sand,
Known as a fault line cursing the land,
Is the place where we return again.

You and me, citizens of the earth - we’re people from the center of
The earth
And we search out to the stars
To try and find our birth.
All while the truth lies under our feet.
But don’t ask me.
This is the mystery you see.
The mystery of me.

Not to make the story all revolve around me,
But I lived for lifetimes as nature’s pulse,
A most high pixie maintaining the roses,
All the little vines and terraces,
And I was whimsical and wise
And greatly cherished.
I lived to be about a thousand years,
And died of self-sacrifice
In 2005.
As our planet grew more and more technical,
Avoiding the organic, skeptical,
It was for a simple reason:
The present goes in two directions.
The present goes forward and
The present goes backward.
And somewhere in between
We have our fate,
Our choices.
Free will drives this place.
Don’t think too much of gravity
Or relativity.
Free will is the ingredient in this Universe
Holding it all together.

So the extraterrestrials that guard this planet,
They guard like a gourd
Rotting on a hot Saturday.
They guard like a hound
Pitched on a chain
To its little box of a house.
They guard like an abusive stepfather.
Like they are the way.
And I know them.
They killed all the mermaids,
When I reigned as Queen.
That is for another tale,
Or tail?
I forget what sort of humor is
Current at this age,
But puns are a sign of great wit,
So with them, I’ll spit.

I reigned as Queen of the Mermaid people and indeed all of the people. I reigned when there were humanoids
Similar to you, but stouter.
It was before your race mated with
My race.
We raced
Towards death.
You captured my people with the utmost brutality.
I see it done to my cousins,
The porpoises and whales,
And it hurts me
To see it happen again.
You stab these creatures in their blowholes,
Just like you stabbed my sisters
And eventually, me,
In our wombs.
The pregnant ones howled the loudest.
You brutally desecrated my people.
You did it again on the land
To the people we were most connected to,
The original tribes of North America.
And not that it’s you, people of the land.
I am one of you.
That will not change in this lifetime.
As Earth Mother for a thousand years
I obtained the Earthly information,
The muscle memory
Of the plants.

We call it a planet
And terra,
Like Mother Earth is a plant.
We see her as affectionate
And beautiful,
But some has seen her wrath.
She shakes,
She fears the madness
That lives on her skin,
And burrows into her,
Deeper and deeper,
Searching for her heart.
But I, as Queen fairy,
Took the honor
Of self-sacrifice
And took her heart
And hid it
In an average baby girl.
Will she realize her goddess heritage?
Wiped her mind and by-passed the sacred
Earth Mother heart.

Baby girl grows up in Babylon.
The chances of her
Freeing her Beast
Are as low as it goes.
Half of the pixies wept
Half of the pixies cheered.
Then they chose sides
And the positions, they veered.

My dad taught me
that placement in society
is ultimately irrelevant.
He taught me you can find
your eager slice of happy
anywhere, not just in between
four familiar walls.
I used to think
that if only he had access
to a mattress and a ceiling
he'd find his happiness.
But, I realized -
Who am I
to dictate what makes
another feel complete?
Here, by the park benches,
His heart blooms like
a grandmother's rose bush.
He lives moment to moment.
Cares not for possessions,
Has no schedule,
No place to be.
Has no bills, no debts,
no credit, no ID.
Scrounges the ground
and kind strangers' gestures
for everything he owns.
But oh, his cold, tired bones!
I worry how long a journey lasts
for a lone vagabond.
Envigorated by the sounds
of the sea
and chance encounters
whether they be familiar
friends or family
or the palpable presence
of all that's imaginary.
It all lurches to him
in a grand symphonic dance,
Linking his hours to days,
and days to weeks,
extending outward and upward
to take the heavens
in his grasp.
A pigeon dove lands
on his tattooed finger.
He laughs, and it flocks
to another's perch.
A tree branch this time.
The animals and children
look into his eyes
and wonder about the stranger.
Alone, raggedy, down on luck
but up in spirits,
and they recognize
a body brimming with
presence.
My dad taught me you can be
nobody and still have everything.

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.

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.

And when the throat clenches,
And you are all alone,
And it costs hundreds so that
You may be numb,
Do you ever will the tears
To dissolve quickly?

In the coolness of the evening
Beside a glowing Sapphire Stream
Slept a nest of fairies
In the midst of fairy dreams.

The night breeds dreams in the village
Brought with the fairies' enchanting dust.
Now they make the flowers their bedding.
Exhausted and spent, but fairies do what fairies must.

When the first light of day filters through the trees
You can hear the beginnings of an enchanting tune,
As the fairies wake and spread their wings
Bringing on their morning new.

They pollinate the stamens, dance around the stems.
They giggle and play in the most dazzling way,
Fluttering through the flowers and ferns,
Hidden in the deepness of woods in private display.

In the very center of the forest
Stands a clearing void of trees.
The epicenter of forever after;
The High Court of the Fairy Queen.

The Queen showers the Fairy Kingdom
With magic to make them only appear
To those who believe in mystery,
To those who choose to hear.

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.

Lost in
lunar waves,
Tossed by
your embrace…

A celestial
twinkle
of memory
lives on
indefinitely…

I’ve had you
in passing glances
and in soul-holding
stares…

I’ve had you with
ice cream
with three stuffed bears…

I’ve had you in
sweltering summer,
in lentil soup fall…

I’ve had you without
ever having had you
at all.

We stop our faithful car
Halfway between both
National parks
Because the scenery
Was too gorgeous
To quickly forget.
We sit down near a cow fence
And you pick me a flower
And place it in my hair,
And I can tell everything
With you is about the scenery,
The message, the emotion.
You’re an artist that never
Turns away from the canvas.
You never turn off the appreciation,
The evaluating, the creating,
And I want to kiss your
Tired eyes,
The ones that must dream
Exhausting things
All night and day,
And now there are tears in my eyes
And they sting
And it’s because I realize
How draining it must be
To be so beautiful.
You make me realize
How similar we are,
I see myself in you.
Everything to me is poetry.
All the double meaning
And metaphor
Gives me context, gives me life,
Helps me make connections.
It drives me absolutely insane,
Being an artist at heart,
And then in a twist of fate,
That turns out to be
Exactly what you want.
Now we’re weeping
On the side of the road
Somewhere in Idaho,
And you love me,
And I know it,
And it hits me hard for the first time,
And I’m an artist
So I want to feel it all.
And we talk about love
And our fears about death,
How we’ll always be artists -
Me, the mad one, and you,
The sad one, and we laugh,
With tears of every emotion,
And we want to drink them up,
And it’s like time doesn’t exist
On this abandoned highway road
With the unforgettable view,
The unforgettable me,
And the unforgettable you.

The best I can achieve
To loving you
Again
Is a half-hearted glance
At your heart.
The beating, ****** *****
So pompous in its origin
To feel the twinges of desire
And the throat, so clear
And so precise
To tell me how
You’d think I’d be perfectly wonderful
And nice.
And did I prove you wrong?
Or did I do anything at all
To express my adoration,
Besides tell you pretty silvery things,
Word soup on a platter,
And cutting fierce glances
Across an otherwise empty room?
Did I do anything
To prove love
Even to myself?
Besides take a train
To LA,
To find, of all things,
An ugly field
Where I knew I would meet myself
In disarray?
Did I do anything
Ever
To surpass spirit and *****
Or am I just going
To be the one
That always wanted you
In darkness and in light?
Did I do anything but dream
The whole unending,
Maddening
Night?

Once you fall in love with
An artist, an empath,
A writer, a musician,
A feeler, a healer,
A giver, a lover,
There is no going back
To an ordinary life.

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.

I’ve never felt
More luxurious
Than when
I was on a newly
Prescribed drug
With a total body high,
Coming down from mania,
Still exuberant,
But in a private space,
In my bathroom
In the ward,
In a bathtub
That does not fill up.
So I put on the shower
And I let the water hit my skin
And I took bite after bite
Of crisp and juicy apple slices.
I was at the mental hospital
Marilyn Monroe stayed in.
I imagined her here in the same bath
Also feeling luxurious and all sorts
Of ****** up like me.

Do you remember our first date?
You wore a black T-shirt, running a bit late.
You had a head full of hair and glasses,
I swear you were my first real crush.
It was a little too much.
I had you ask my Dad if I could go,
'Cause I was too nervous he would say no.
We wanted to watch Saw II but got rejected.
We were too young, and the theatre by default selected
That we'd watch "Chicken Little" the only other movie they showed,
At our town's little theatre, we passed by the Skittles,
And watched the show in quiet excitement.
Then we waited for our rides, and feeling resentment,
Listened to the end credits of the movie we'd rather have seen,
If only we were eighteen.
It was a song we liked called "Burn the Witch,"
We sang along and smiled, feeling enriched by each other's presence,
We knew this was Heaven.
We didn't kiss or cuddle,
We may have hugged, and that would have settled.
It was a teenage bliss,
Excitement, nerves, wants that would someday be satiated,
But even now that I have with you all of this,
Marriage, and ***, and a morning kiss,
I look back on our first date when we were kids,
And know everything we ever did
Was a result of that fearful question,
"Do you want to go on a date?"
And yes, I did.
I would all over again.

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.

I chose you
Like the butterfly
Chose the sun.
Like the moth is
Nocturnally drawn
To the moon
And any other
Illuminated illusion.
Frenetically chasing
In a trance-like dance,
We wade through
Day and night
Like winged creatures.
Expressive messengers,
Speaking a language
In metaphor
Available to all
Who can hear
Symbols and scriptures
Written by an architect
Keen enough on details
To give day and night
Its doting darlings.

Deciding between you
And only you
And everything I want,
Everything I have,
Was a ponder
With no easy answer.
I wish you were here
With me.
Sometimes I wish I had you
And only you.

We have with us a tree
We've planted and will grow
We've sat under it for years
Yet it's still awfully low.
One day it will bear fruit
That will call us dad and mom
And together we'll share the shade
From a tree that once sat in our palm.

I think I'll be fine.
You have your reasons,
And I have mine.
We've come to agreement,
We are civilized,
Empathetic, and decent.
Intoxicated confessment,
You feel a strong
Emotional connection.
Words so sweet,
You reserve for when
I'm in the midst of sleep.
At least I know
Our feelings are understood.
Together, we can't grow.
We couldn't bind, but our emotions could.

She once loved a poet
A couple lifetimes ago,
In a time where the rhyme
Kept her in the flow.

And to the enchanting poet,
The rose didn't smell as sweet
As his first glances at her;
The seraphs couldn't compete.

He was the poem written on her heart,
The love only found in dreams.
She was bound and determined to have him
By any ways and means.

As fate would have it, they had each other.
Their love intensified by his magic,
His use of word and rhyme,
Slowly turned from romantic to tragic.

Because there is nothing magical about love,
It's really a matter of the heart.
Just because you can write on love
It doesn't mean that's who you are.

I found myself a dying sun,
I lay ashore, all mem'ries gone,
Beneath a sky of crimson clay,
Where every world spends its last day.

The dusty sand beneath my form
I used to love looks so forlorn.
The waves crash down with energy
They do not wish to share with me.

I am tired of it all,
Sick to death, I take the fall.
Down to the void, abyss,
Without parting glass or kiss.

You will not find me here tomorrow,
I have drowned myself in sorrow.
The bleakest darkness of my past
Swells in the distance like a mast.

I shall not perish, all the same.
Your world is evil and insane,
Yet I shall rise again at last
While you'll be buried in the past.

I bring your attention,
Unabided and true,
To the one I shall mention,
The girl who daydreams the whole day through.

I recall from infancy,
Gazing up at my mobile,
Imaginations I'd see
Behind my daydreaming smile.

I have my quirks,
Like shaking my wrists.
Grasping things also works
To send my mind into twists.

I pick up a book
I have no intention to read,
But boy, how it shook
When I played my daydream.

My visions come alive.
I see it on the big screen.
Others ask if I'm alright,
I can't admit my daydreams.

Thanks for your attention,
And I hope you now see
An outlook of appreciation
To those of us who daydream.

"Why Am I Here?"

"Someone has to ponder that Question."

She isn't particularly bright
In a standardized test sense,
But she shines like helium-hydrogen
To him without pretense.

Her humor needs some work
To give him belly aches.
At least she takes the fall
When he laughs at her mistakes.

She isn't very clean,
Very orderly, very neat.
Without her, he'd be disheveled.
She makes their home complete.

She's very kind, a lovely heart
To those that she will meet.
She feels she can still do better
To those cast on the street.

She is her toughest critic,
Much harsher than the rest.
Not a thing he wouldn't change,
He knows she tries her best.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I wanted to be a painting,
A goddess.
I wanted to be all Aphrodite,
Body and curves.
I didn’t want Athena’s leadership,
I wanted the power of seduction.
I wanted to be a muse,
Amused by the spellbound stares.
I wanted to be a mare,
Bred into beauty and totality and grace.
I wanted to be nothing less than art.
So the gods blessed me with such
Voluptuous hips and curves.
But I do not want to look like
Renaissance art,
I want to be a contemporary model.
Thin and toned with golden glow.
So now the gods shake their heads
And wonder why they put so much hope,
So much effort, so much and so little
Into me.

It gives me satisfaction
And a heartfelt smile
That you'll be my lover
For longer than awhile.
I love you.
Me with my flowers,
And you with your game,
A hippie and a nerd,
In love without shame.
I love you.
What a sight it will be
When we make it to the end.
What sights we will see
At every curve and bend.
I love you.
My first kiss was with you,
Who holds my desires.
My last kiss will be you too
At the fall of our empires.
Guess what?

An insect dives at my head,
A winged Kamakazi attack.
I'm startled, I think of ways
To obliterate. My mind returns
To peace. I see the beauty
In the moment. The insect
Charged into battle
By darting at me -
Life's biggest threat:
A distressed, depressed
Excessively oppressive
Life form known as human.
The insect was only armed
With bravery and valor,
A war hero with no chance
Of medals or statues,
Eulogies or plaques.
Scarcely a memory.
Forever.

Positivity is key
To a happy life
Even birds realize
They have to fly
Do they feel fear
When they take wing?
Or do they rejoice
And flutter and sing?

I'm sitting in the doctor's office, bored.
In comes the doctor with a stern face and clipboard.
I sense his graveness and I gulp.
I hope it's nothing, I really hope.
"I'm sorry I should be the one to deliver,
But your diagnosis is - horrible hair forever.
You will be forever adorned with a cowlick.
The sight of the grease will make you sick.
The tangles cannot be undone.
It cannot be cured with a bun.
Even with no humidity, it will be dry.
There is no hair products that you can buy.
Now off you go, I've got you a prescription
For a shower cap, a necessary addition.
Keep your convertible top on.
I give you three years 'til your hair is gone.
I wouldn't wish this on anyone ever -
This horrible hair forever."

She drew a cherry blossom
On my cup with a marker,
Right by my name.
And for a moment I smiled,
A gummy, bright-eyed smile.
In a place so dreary,
It felt so lovely
To see my name written
Beside a happy drawing
To make me smile
Every time I feel a bother
For asking a nurse for water,
In this penitentiary
Called a ward.
I carry this paper cup with me.

How much more must we repeat this,
The giving out and giving in.
The constant battle that rages on -
The struggle between women and men.

It's been here from the beginning.
It'll be here 'til the end.
Both sides in this bitter fight,
'Til it is that one side wins.

Taught that they are different
Since childhood's early hour.
When the boy is given a ball
And the girl is donned with a flower.

But the flowers, they have thorns.
And the ***** all bounce away.
With neither, they're long satisfied
With the gifts that were gave.

Instead, they channel their desires
To finding each other, and finding love.
'Til Death Do We Part,
Or until we've had enough.