dear you,

i’m in love.
yes. you were
waiting, i
bet, for this.
this time, though,
it is not
what you would
think. it’s me
this time, not
you, although
it’s still you,
but not in
the way it
used to be
you. it’s my
fault this time,
my doing,
my painful,
pitiful,
suffering.
it’s you in
the sense that
i cannot
control you.

this time,

it’s your mind and your thoughts
the things that slip off of your tongue
the words you put, pencil to paper
the ideas that come out in your songs

it’s your eyes and your sight
the careful observation of beauty
the need to bask in warm, pure light
the stare you give me, rarely now

it’s your movements and your touch
the hugs where you grip my shoulders
the times where i’m drunk and playing with your fingers
the warmth you give off and your gorgeous smile

none of them
are mine to
have, to take
to keep, to
love, to break

i miss you
and to go
and detach
to break what
we have, that’s
the hard way
out. but i
am trying
to help me.

i feel the
same way i
did when you
said i was
wrong about
this. about
how i feel.

i’m hoping
disposing
myself of
you, means that
the dreams will
go away
too. but if
they stay,
i’ll give you
a quick call.
probably
a text, to
be honest.

i love you,
unhealthily,
with every
part of me.

keep in touch,
please.

love,

me.

Hey
I am the fire
And your the gasoline
You like my charactertics.  
You like my soul
You can’t break my bones

I’ve got broken bones
But not from
The sticks or stones

I’ve got broken bones
Not the stick or stones
But by the racism

I’ve got broken bones
Not from the sticks or stones
But by forceful people
With forceful beliefs

Hey
I am the fire
And your the gasoline
You like my charactertics.  
You like my soul
You can’t break my bones

I’ve got broken by
Not from the sticks or stones
But from the words you call
Me.

I’ve got broken bones
Not from the sticks or stones
But from phoney personality

I’ve got broken bones
Not from the sticks or stones
But from the threats

Hey
I am the fire
And your the gasoline
You like my charactertics.  
You like my soul
You can’t break my bones


$&%? You!!!!
Can’t break them.

Hello,  I am a puddle person.
I'm certainly not the only puddle person, of course.
And I often think I'm more puddle then person.

I lay on the floor still.
People come by and see themselves reflected in me.
Sometimes they step in me,  and drops of me splish around and evaporate.

I'm content being a puddle it's, comfortable.
People are aware of me whether looking at themselves, tip toeing around me or jumping in.

I am NOT invisible.

Love me or hate me this puddle person isn't going anywhere,
until I become more puddle then person.

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

Confession, me? Could I repent my time
And weary be, my pupils then to see
far-gone the dreams, beheld and shined my prime
it's all it seems, to rest and die with me.

Invent a past? The silence is the truth
and took at last, my pain where I had asked
goodbye old sun, the veil of haunted youth
the sorrow won, there I am now to cast.

One only song? Another may have sung
that here i'm strong, and here I could belong
to live by means, that spring the hearted young
my heart it cleans, the journey I prolong.

Yet here I lay, to burn in bright of day
I yearned the way, to rise but here I stay.