“It’s fine,” she said
I bet she lied
‘Cause in her head
She screamed, she cried

My poetry is all I have.
I tear down my walls,
I bare my heart,
I speak my soul.

And you drive poetry out of me.
You hit the beat,
You move the rhythm,
You inspire the lyrics.

Now you know why I'm afraid to lose you.
I fear I'd lose my poetry too.

I wish the traveling circus were still around to run away to. It's not about being afraid to leave as much as it is needing a place to go. But my father was a mountain and my mother was a hole. And we're caves, mouths open and full of the cold. Been sitting so long myths have been made about the things that live inside us. The children come on dares to look in there. And yell in fear, at first only to have those sounds echo back. Then they laugh. There was never anything to be afraid of. Our bodies are full of that noise. Mostly the laughter. It lasts longer. It feels better. But is easier to forget because no one ever learned anything by laughing as much as being brave. You have to be scared to be brave. And moving from this place takes the strength of an earthquake sometimes. But you should know, your hands will never be big enough to hold all the rubble when the mountain crumbles. I remember when the cancer hit. The chest x rays from when they removed the portocath. Backlit, your chest resembles a busted cemetery gate from some ghost scene in a Sherlock Holmes movie. Broken. From letting all your ghosts go. And don't focus on all the things your hands can't hold. Your head fits just fine. Your hand. Cupped over your mouth to catch all your sighs. Can hold a cup of coffee to give to someone. Flowers. A poem. Tonight. Tonight you realize you're a mountain twice removed. A marble statue. So strong and so beautiful people will come a long ways just to see you.

We seem to think that being hurt is an option
That we can close people out and take the weapons from them
But being human means that we must love easily
Without worry of those who may not see
The weakness evident in trying to beat
The humanity
Out of those who stand
For in a land of hate, love is strength
And in the midst of uncaring
It is those who know they will be hurt
Yet still weep with those who are weeping
And stand for those who are kneeling
They are the ones who will be strong enough
To still be caring when the tides come
Who will maintain their humanity when it seems hope is gone
For those are the ones who know the price of love.

She told me to write a poem about her
But how can you write and define someone so exquisite.
Do you start with her curls that often cover her muse like face,
Or with those big brown eyes of hers; how I love when the sun's rays fall on them for they show a glimpse of her marvelous and ever so kind soul,
Or my fondest memory of her mouth; whenever she would open them and serenade me with her angelic voice
Until now I wonder why all those boys always leave a frown on her cherry wine lips ,
Or how I will miss her laughter, her giggles, and her snorts that just fill the place with happiness...

How do I start?

Forgive me, dear
For I have used words that underestimated your being.

A fog
In my head
I just can't shake;
Try to listen, can't concentrate.
Thoughts loud
Alike sirens clashing but,
Left alone,
You'll find me
Dancing.
I shutter, I speak not one
word
The meaning, my point
Drifts unremembered  
I try to move but catharsis sets through;
Paralyzed, In motionless
Circles I spin.
I would cry , I would laugh, too,
Instead I sigh...
What weighty perceptions my eyes belie
Boiling beneath a surface
Self-Imploding on
Accident and without purpose.
Pieces missing to overdue puzzles
Maybe in the Morning......I'll feel better.