If he dies, he dies
With trouble on his mind
Future looking hazy
This is the end of the line
With a cigarette in hand, walking to the water
He hit the bottle hard, longing for the other
One, in his life that could make all this right
But this is the real world, not a dream
And after that fight
She isn't coming back, he knows this in his heart
As he looks up to the sky
Praying for this life to stop
Not thinking of the good things
Trapped in a world full of pain
Blinders on, paranoia rules here
No love left, just hate
Chemical dependencies couldn't take him away
The six shot revolver, couldn't decide his fate
So he turned his hood up and walked into the distance
Praying for an act of God to please
Simply just end this

The man sat on the edge of his bed
Staring blankly into the distance
An empty bottle shattered somewhere on the floor
Cigarette slowly burning between his lips
He hasn't shaved for days; he doesn't care anymore
Sweatpants and faded t-shirts
Too much coffee , not enough sleep
In his hand a six shot revolver
In his hand, the only chance to be free

You asked me where
My home was and
I explained to you that rainy night
That my home wasn't a place but
A time in my life
When hope was around
Faith still here
The gun wasn't loaded
And I wasn't filled with fear

As a child I was taught poetry
the quiet writing of feelings reflections
often in a beat with a rhyme and a few examples of alliteration

I was taught that as a woman my feelings
should be hid and kept quiet
that when I liked a boy it was not my place
to ask him whether he liked me back
I was taught to look out for myself by not dressing slutty
not walking home late at night
I was taught that my curvy figure would make people
question my morals my virginity my character
I was taught that as a girl I won't be as successful in math or science
I was taught to give myself to other pursuits
in liberal arts or domestic dealings
I was taught that even if by some miracle I found success in the fields where I "wouldn't be successful"
that I would and should give it up in a heart beat to raise a family
I was taught that I must share my feelings
my emotions my struggles
but not in a loud and open way

I had to remain quiet cool composed

Poetry was to be my outlet, written in couplets sonnets and verse
quiet and held inside written on paper
stored away from the world
to be read inside the mind
by others- men, teachers, parents
in order to decode me
and learn how to
keep
me

silent

Here's to pianos.
To uncut toe nails and broken jaws.  
Here's to sweaty palms and fancy door knobs.
The last tissue in the box and third graders who know every single dinosaur.
Here's to prickly legs and furless cats.
Slamming doors and rubbing alcohol.
Fun house mirrors and wet towels.
Here's to the boy with the sweaty armpits,
And the biggest heart in the room.
Here's to all the girls who will never give him a chance
Because his hair is greasy
And he always has pieces of apple stuck in his braces.  
Here's to grandmothers holding their children's babies for the first
And last time.
Here's to six foot tall nine year olds
And acne covered foreheads.
North Ohio and beehives.
Here's to wrinkles and back pain,
And the kids who never change for gym class.
Here's to burnt papers and wrongful convictions.
Faked I love you's and backwards t shirts.
For every broken leg and broken heart,
Seasonal depression and ADD.
For unshaven armpits and ripped jeans.
Frequent showers and twisted ankles.
****** mattresses and forged signatures.
Here's to the things that remind me of you.

I'm writing love poems

to a person that doesn't exist

building her up

from the bottom with my words

her skin as soft as half smiles

we'll share after an argument

her arguments as hard as

similes

I know

she's not there

not the one I've imagined

but when I do find someone

She will be poetry

Nothing is forever
Even gravity was conquered
So chin up little soldier
I promise you will love another