Baby ladybug, how I'll love you when we meet,
From your newly thinking head to your newly tapping feet.
How you'll fly out in the sunshine, pick a petal for your seat;
Lovely baby ladybug, how I will love you when we meet.

She's slowly come to understand
She's not the type of girl he needs;
The type of girl who doesn't heal--
The type of girl who bleeds and bleeds.

The type of girl 'can't feed a man--
The type of girl who waters weeds.
The type of girl who tries to sow
Her garden with ill-gotten seeds.

She understands just thorns will grow,
But prunes each futile plant she sees.
He tells her that he's off to wed
A woman 'can fulfill his needs.

And now she is a barren girl,
The type of girl who's on her knees.
The type of girl who doesn't heal--
The type of girl who bleeds and bleeds.

I thought that I would take a dip
In water lapping o'er my eyes;
I thought I'd take a cautious swim
To see the mermaid I despise.

While bedding sharks and cuttlefish,
She calls my love below the air.
So stricken by her beauty,
He ignores her crimes and strokes her hair.

She holds him blind to her misdeeds
And softly beckons yet another--
He's swallowed too much ocean
To return to land-bound lovers.

His fishwife, I wade angry shores
To welcome him back from the sea,
But she's the siren he adores,
And I am just in love with he.

And the cyclist said to the seafaring man that it was the best **** poison he had ever drank.
The seafaring man was uneasy, wishing that the cyclist would put the bottle down.
He had cautioned his friend in the past--
"Poison will **** you, you know. That's the very purpose of the stuff."
-- And the cyclist's reply had always been the same:
"Well, I've had two swigs, and it hasn't killed me yet."
Then three swigs, four, five....
"Yes," the seafaring man would press,
"But it makes you horribly sick every time. You've told me so."
The cyclist would give a peculiar look and say in a peculiar voice,
"I know what I'm getting in to. And it hasn't killed me yet."
Months later, the seafaring man left the cyclist's funeral either sad or disappointed.
He wondered if the death went down as an accident or a suicide.

I didn't find the time in the months I was around you
To ever say, "Hello,"
Or learn your name.
Angela S.
I didn't know it until today.

I didn't know that you were thirty-six until I read the articles about you.
I knew that you were late to choir sometimes,
And you wore shorts even when it was cold.
I didn't know you lived in those apartments until the police were investigating them.
My sister lived so close to there.

I didn't find the time to know you,
Angela S.
But I found the time to judge you.
You stood between seconds and you were a first.
You didn't know your parts very well.
I was annoyed.
It's concert choir, no audition.
I shouldn't have been so bothered.
I'm sorry.

That was the last time I saw you.
I didn't know you had a son until after he found your body.
I knew next to nothing about you until you were shot.
We sang the same music for months.

"Hello there," said I to the stranger beside,
"I'm Cari, and this is my boyfriend."
The stranger looked past, with some side-eye and sass,
And said, "You must be overjoyed, then."

I tilted my head to the side then and said,
"I am, we've decided to marry!"
The stranger just frowned and then said, his voice down,
"I was being sarcastic, he's scary."

I frowned then, in turn, and my boyfriend, face stern,
Said, "C'mon, babe," in dirtied apparel.
With his crossbow in hand he led me through the land,
Snuffing zombies and bandits-- oh, Daryl.

The adventurer returned home years later,
Carrying bags of seeds, stones, and rarities.

He found that his house had been painted
Green and white.
He didn't like it.

He found that his son had been born,
And named "Jean-Baptiste."
He didn't like it.

He found that his wife had figured him dead
And remarried.
He didn't like it.

He planted her the seeds,
Built her gardens with the stones,
Gifted her the rarities,
Then smiled and left her to her happiness,
But he didn't like it.

Pressure isn't always harsh.
It doesn't have to be the grim and guttural.
It isn't always in regard to the coarse.
There's the soft kind, sweet.
The gentle pressure of lips against a collar bone.
Fingertips tracing freckles,
Valves working at elevated speeds.
Pressure needn't be a villain.
It can be a tender confession by means of softly spoken words.
Poignant colloquy put down with clean intentions,
The hum at night of dulcet tones into a receiver.
Mellow pressures on the heart and mind are pressures, too.
The pressure of eyes directed toward skin,
A foot on a gas pedal.
The pressure caused by closing distance.

Pressure me.

Good morning, good morning, oh, darling of mine,
I hope you've been sleeping so soundly.
Each morning I'm thankful to heavens divine
That my heart's with yours and you found me.

Keep yourself from the rest of the world
If that's what keeps you sane,
But I hope you'll always speak your mind to me.

I don't think you know you matter,
And I know sometimes it's hard to believe,
But I hope you know you've always mattered to me.

You're rough and full of unkempt thoughts
And those are often unappreciated,
But I hope I'll always get to hear them.

Your mind must be heavy--
So heavy,
And I hope you'll let me help carry it.

I hope you've had sweet dreams the past five years;
I know I have.
I wish I looked more like you, talked more like you, was more like you.
Then I could at least feel like you were real
And luck was kinder.
It's been so long since I've known what to do, or how to.

I haven't ever written much about you,
For, or to you;
Too many words I just can't say.
I can't believe how much you haven't seen--
I've outgrown mom now.
I graduate in twenty days.

You never saw the baby born,
Or mama sick from chemo.
She's never been the same since you, and I need all your strength.
Just so you know, the whole world thinks you're a hero.
I've never seen so many people cry within a hall's length.

I wish you'd seen me sing, I wish you could be in my wedding.
A sister's such an awful thing to lose.
I always tell you so much, I just wish that you could answer.
No friend or pen can fill your shoes.

I miss our arguments and PC games and secret missions--
About the fire: I told mom.
And by the way, I've never smoked in my life, and I won't.
A promise is a promise, even if you're gone.

I wish I could believe
I'm falling for the man from Pakistan.
The only one I'm falling for is you.

I wish that it was true
I love the girl that likes the things I write.
The only one I write about is you.

And all my words are falling out
My fingertips,
My cracking lips

All it takes is an approach,
And memories begin to sing to me.
Their melodies are darling, lush,
If puzzling in their tempo.

And if ever it moves further,
I am brushed over by joyous calm.
I wish to stretch out everything
And bleed each sweetness dry.

The precious things are mine now;
I've kept them all, breast pocketed.
I thought that if I didn't,
They would wind up in the sea...

... Irretrievable, devoid of lovers' touch.
You'd have cast them,
But I've seen to it
They're not 'disposable as me.

The child dreamed of flight since she could first walk.

She dreamed of stepping not on earth, like the workers--
Not on workers, like the rich ones,
And not on rich ones, like the gods, no.

She dreamed of stepping on nothing.

She looked first to the stars, with a hunger.
She wanted them.
She saw the spacemen with stars in their eyes,
Stars in their pockets--
Stars wherever they wanted them.

She looked at the lack of workers, rich ones, and gods.
She looked at the quiet.
She looked at all the nothing there was to step on.

With her feet on the earth, packed into painful solidity,
She looked at them and ached.

Before too long I'm gonna go away.
I'll walk the unswept streets and the humid heats
In the uncleaned city of L.A.
There are things I'm sure I'll break as I make my way;
Laws and promises, hearts and confidences--
That's the sad way we work today.

My heart'll find its home out in the West,
In the form of a man who will enclose my hands,
And he'll spill all his words out and digress.
We'll have four children, then never get our rest,
And we'll apologize when they finally find out that
Mothers do not always know best.

The sun will stain our skin,
And then illness can take us, our treatments will break us,
And we might not ever be whole again.
Then we'll never know
If there will always be borders and pain and disorders
And longing and fences to slip below.

Our children will grow old after we die,
While we sleep in the ground with our roots all around
Or our ashes will wade through the deep sky,
And they will miss our lives, and so will I,
But they'll think of when we walked the unswept streets
And we tucked in their sheets
And they'll smile while they cry.

If you saw me in the street today,
You wouldn't recognize me.
You'd see a woman whole,
A woman independent, harder.

If you walked down my street today,
I don't think that I'd know you.
I wouldn't see the boy I knew
From back when we would study.

When we studied happy endings,
I'd forgotten it was practice.
I forgot that we'd be young for years
And how we both were growing.

We learned a lot those days,
When we both grappled with rejection;
How to handle hurt and hate
And falling out of puppy love.

The girl I was thought that was it,
As silly as I was in school.
Remember what we said?
How we would move out in the snow?

It's funny, really, nowadays,
And look at us, both happy!
I never thought in high school
That we hadn't met our matches.

We were practicing for them,
And I just didn't realize at the time.
I think we practiced well back then,
I think we make them happy.

Maybe just another try;
He said he's sorry,
No need to say goodbye.
Bruises go away,
Not like you're gonna die.
It's just blood beneath your skin.

Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam,
Hahaha, you ****, loser.
Stop hitting yourself!

You're such a ****.
I am gonna kick your ***.
Jesus, what a ***.

You're an ugly *****.
No one loves you-- why would they?
Just go **** yourself.

... Seriously, guys,
Bullying is not a joke.
Stand up for people.

One day I'll learn to roll my R's,
And on that day I'll wed
An Irish vigilante who
Will shoot my villains dead.

Growing up happened faster than I thought it would;
Now I pay bills and visit my parents.
I sleep in this recliner where I would stay up late,
Talking on the phone with liars until I fell asleep.
"Dulcet tones into a receiver," I called them before.
Now I know better.

My feelings aren't hurt anymore,
And now I've forgiven almost everything.
I'm too strong now for the backbiters of the past,
And they've grown into harmless strangers
Like we all do.

Sometimes when I hear that song,
I feel the hurt again, but that's all it is;
A feeling, fleeting, gone by the double bar line,
And I feel so much better.
I cry much more for happiness these days.

Growing up is happening so quickly,
And now I'm waiting in the recliner on an engagement
That will have the harmless strangers smiling politely.
Their feelings aren't hurt anymore
And we all know better now.

Every night was the same
With the waking and flying away,
And the sky was cold and too loud,
And I didn't want to be there,
But what could I do?
I cried as I reluctantly soared
And I covered my ears from the violent tattooing of the passing air
And my wings ached as my body froze--
All to look over a jaded paramour,
To check;
To ease my mind so that in the daylight I could stay,
And as I hurdled between stars and clouds I silently wondered if the objective was worth it, or valid at all--
But I couldn't ask that of myself
Because I couldn't answer it.

The four companions searched for their treasure.
They found the chest hidden under some sadness and opened it up.

The first one looked in eagerly and was surprised;
He could only see the second.
The second looked and saw the first.
Their treasures found, they left.

I looked in and saw consistency.
With my treasure, I hung behind to see my beloved's turn.

The fourth peered in and found a secret,
And maybe, with a sinking heart, I don't have my treasure after all.

I sat there when the world was done,
Just as I had when it had just begun.
A pin drop now and then,
A pin drop here and there;
A pin drop can be heard from on my list'ning chair.

I heard them coming for him then;
An angry king and forty-thousand men.
I poised and reached to warn,
But nothing I declared.
If only mine was more than just a list'ning chair.

I've overheard the mighty fall,
And some may say that I have heard it all.
But nothing I have said;
At nothing I have stared--
No room for speech or sight atop my list'ning chair.

No creature have I touched,
No feeling have I shared--
No room for anything but sound atop my chair.

I cna't poem anymore I
think I broke me

My nouns aren;t verbing and
adverbly I:m giving up
i think

I think i cna't poem anymore I
think I broke me

One Oregon day,
The princess awoke
To discover that outside it snowed,

So she strapped on some boots
And zipped up a large coat
To adventure the cold Oregon roads.

On the bridge was a prince
With bright smiles and kind eyes,
And he asked her, "Why doth the wind blow?"

The princess replied
With her head slightly cocked,
"Just what makes you think I would know?"

He averted his eyes
To the white sky above
And then to the valley below.

He took her small hand
And she pointed out west;
Down cold Oregon roads they will go.

Don't touch me--
Not with hands;
Not with sight;
Not with words, as was your custom.
I've retreated into myself,
And you are not invited to ruin me further;
You may not follow.
So please, don't call out to me
With your voice or your eyes,
Not with your hands or thoughts,
And don't include me in your activities,
Deceitful or otherwise;
Exclusion won't upset me as much as you do.

The miracle that had occurred
At witness of his written word
Sent scatt'ring all her plans and all her sense.

A spectator, I watched her fall
In love after his curtain call,
As well as falling victim to pretense.

Her chest would rise and sink for him,
His words, to her, a sanguine hymn
For her to follow, live by, and to serve.

And I looked on in slow receipt
As he made dismal she once sweet,
And she believed 'twas all that she deserved.

When I disappear,
And I can't see you
And you can't see me,
I don't know what I'll do.
No souls for me, no heavens.

When I die,
And I can't sleep in your arms
And you can't sleep in mine,
I don't know what I'll do.
No souls for me, no heavens.

When I was a child
And you were a child,
I wonder if we met
In the streets outside my grandfather's house.
I wonder if we played together and neither of us will ever remember.
And if I start to forget our stories from now,
I don't know what I'll do.
No souls for me, no heavens.

And if we start growing old
Like everybody else,
I don't know what I'll do.
No souls for me, no heavens.

The sprinklers would wash away the guilt
And we would be whoever we wanted to be.

Every morning, mourning dew;
Oh, dry your eyes, my darling.
Stretch your arms and raise your wings,
My lovely little starling.

Turn from that that's harsh and wrong
And think of kinder things.
Smile now, my baby,
Who can fly with dampened wings?

Fill your head with joyous song
As you wake from your sleep,
And don't forget, but don't dwell, too,
On what has made you weep.

Every morning, mourning dew,
But dry it and fly far,
And please remember, darling,
You could dim the brilliant stars.

And don't forget, my baby,
What a precious joy you are.

Doe-eyed spacemen left behind--
But no one knows a life like mine.
And shared wavelengths are hard to find;
Nobody knows a life like mine.

Forgetting and forsaking time--
No, no one knows a life like mine.
I have no match and no one rhymes;
Nobody knows a life like mine.

The shipwrecked lovers start to climb,
But they don't know a life like mine.
I am forsaken and I'm fine;
Nobody knows a life like mine.

There was a vacant lot in space,
And I was interested in that.
It was a little spendy,
But the view was incredible,
So I bought it out from under a man I didn't know.
I felt just a little bit bad.

I moved right up,
Set my belongings on the lawn.
I'd heard it would be cold, that empty lot in space,
But it wasn't so bad,
And the view was incredible.
I unpacked and organized my things on that lawn,
Made all of grass.
There was no house up there.

They asked me why I'd moved there,
To a houseless lot in space,
And I'd tell them two truths:
"I wanted to be a little more alone," I'd say,
"And I wanted to see everyone at once."
They countered with downsides,
With hunger, thirst, and love,
And they were right,
But the view was incredible,
And I couldn't leave that behind.

I was a little more alone,
And a little more cold and thin.
I was a little more tired,
And my empty lot in space was a square among circles,
Just like me.
But I looked down at my old house,
That shape where I used to live,
And I saw everyone at once,
Lit up by stars.
The view was incredible.

I would greatly appreciate the kindness
Of not giving me that smug look,
As if my bad days have anything to do with you.
As if I give the smallest care about who you're with or what you'll do.

The only thing that bothers me
Is your arrogant, ignorant, crinkled, smug face.
So please, point it in some other direction.

I wish that somebody around here would ask questions.
I wish someone would demand that they be heard.
They'd ask you, "What are your intentions with my daughter?
Are you making her life better, son, or worse?"

And I wish your father'd stayed around to meet you.
I wish he'd taught you how to treat a lady right.
I wish he'd shown you how to love and understand me,
And give me peace of mind so I could sleep at night.

And if you fathered my son, would you stay to meet him?
Would you teach him how to treat a lady right?
Would you show him how to love and understand her,
And give her peace of mind so she could sleep at night?

Or would he have to wonder what his father looked like,
And would he look up to his uncles for advice?
Would he feel the need to grow into a cold man,
And would he never hear your voice in all his life?

But my father is a good man, and I love him.
I hope someday you'll be a good man, too,
Because I never have loved anybody better
Or wanted anyone like I want you.

I wish your father could've been just like mine
And helped you grow instead of walking out.
I wish that he had grown up and then stayed at home with you,
And taught you more than how to leave and doubt.

If I was single, I'd be there in a wink.
You mean a whole lot more to me than you think.
We're just talking, this isn't so bad.
Cheer up, you're the best friend that I've ever had.

She broke up with me, I gotta go.
No, I can't talk, just thought you'd wanna know.
Please wake up now, I just need a friend.
You're better to me than the whole world has been.

How do you manage to do it?
You're a better friend than I deserve, and I know it.
I want to return that to you.
I hope you know that I'll always be there for you, too.

When I'm ready, we'll go on a date.
I wanna be with you, too, but I need you to wait.
I'm so glad that we're talking again.
I wanna be with you, sunshine, and not as your friend.

When school's over, I'm buying a bus.
We'll fix it up into a home just for us.
We'll live up there in Canada's wild.
We'll just go 'til there aren't any people for miles.

Meet me outside, I'll be there in ten.
No, I don't have permission, we'll talk it through then.
I like everything about you.
I don't want to, no, but I'll do it for you.

Why are you so mad, what did you hear?
I only want you now, I thought that was clear.
I've got class, I'll talk to you after.
Yeah, I like her, but it's just a crush, does it matter?

I want to spend more time with you.
I'm always at work, what am I supposed to do?
What do you mean, "Over," why?
Okay. Uh huh. Sure. Yeah, whatever, goodbye.

Discretion (a gift and a curse as of late)
Has granted affections to cling to my mind.
"Precaution," is hardly correct, I'd debate;
"Postcaution," is true as a term I can find.

Historic endeavors don't have to repeat,
Lest heroes and humor are all stricken dead--
The long road to victory's paved with defeat,
But breakdowns can't stop us from looking ahead;

Ahead to the sweet things, the smiles with teeth
And the gentle detainments with fractions of might--
To watching The Saints and then lying beneath
All the stars when they cut through the blue with their light.

And these skid marks we've left on the road, near behind,
Will only be seen 'til we drive far away,
And I'd like you to know, if you feel so inclined,
That I'm glad for the privilege to see you each day.

A messy life together could be okay,
Could be happy.
We could wear our shoes on carpets,
Leave rings with our coffee.
The dishes could pile up,
We could neglect to fold our laundry.
I could forget to cap the toothpaste,
You'd leave your jacket on the floor.
I am okay, if you're okay,
With coffee rings and carpet stains,
So let's enjoy our stay.
Rules are broken, messes made.

Wishes that are left ungranted
Always will be one,
Past your calloused builder's hands
And whispers from your tongue.

This last wish arrested by
Our Kingdom Come and fade;
Different men have matching paths--
First cradle, then the grave.

Righteous living leads to dying--
Wrongful life, the same.
Men and suns and stars and saints
Are all by sleep contained.

My wish is for deathlessness
With you at home to greet.
Carry me to constancy
With talons on your feet.

The house we drove to on a dare
Was smoking from outside.
The walls forbade our entrance,
But within, an infant cried.

Searching for the howling babe,
We overturned his home--
At least, that's what it once had been
Before the flames had grown.

We found a pool of furniture,
The burnt upholstery maimed,
And then a table filled up
By a family aflame.

We found the infant's parents there,
His older siblings, too.
Quite calm, his sister looked to us:
"I'll burn the both of you."

I have a bag packed, just in case,
So I can be ready at a moment's notice to catch a bus out of here,
Headed northward on to nothing.
I'll be the only passenger, he'll be the only driver,
And it'll be a kind of solitude for us both.
Too far within the trees for loneliness
And too deep beneath the snow for societal woes.
We'll do one another the kindness of not breaking the silence;
A driver and a passenger, content in the Canadian Wild.

Jessica Winter once burst into flames,
Leaving me with a terrible shock,
And Amie and I played a distasteful game
Until we met a man with the pox.

My lips met the lips of a boy I adore
And his hand met the curve of my waist,
But he pushed me away with a shake of his head;
I awakened with only a taste.

You gave me a marvelous ring on my finger,
You gave me a firefly jar
To tie to a branch and to light up the sky;
Show the world that small glory of ours.

My young stomach was sickened as yours was afloat,
And so heavied my hand did the ring,
And I cut through the brilliance by shutting my eyes,
But you cast at me luminous things.

I'd look in your direction
If I was out at sea;
The furthest I am from you
Is the best I'll ever be.
I've got to see you coming
If you're out on your way,
And I'm sure you know I'm looking,
Scared I'll see you everyday.

I am a human being,
Not a hero like you.
I am a human being,
Not a hero like you think I am.

"Honey, sing to me
Or take my photo down.
I am so colorblind,
I feel so helpless now.
With all that water all around you,
Are you doing fine?
You must still need me,
You're still always on my mind."

I am a human being,
Not a hero like you.
I am a human being,
Not a hero like you think I am.

Don't ask me
Why you are the way you are.
I've just come to talk to you again
About whatever makes you happy.

I realize that one day I will cease to be,
As Keats recognized umpteen years before now,
But he knew himself and he didn't know me,
And when Earth spins without me, I'd like to know how.

Will each of my thoughts sink into living minds,
Corrupting the dreams of the children below?
Will every idea then reside in the sky,
Polluting the night with a whimsical glow?

Will my memories be seen through strangers' eyes
Who happen to walk past upon my dead hour?
Will each feeling be honed in on by passersby?
Will each beauteous moment draw up a new flower?

When death is so honest and ugly a thing,
I say truthfully, I don't want to let go.
But e'en on the large chance that death won't grant me wings,
Can I honestly say that I'd first see you slow?

Maybe when we are older
It won't be quite as hard
To get our acts together,
Pay for our bills and cars.

Maybe I'll treat you better
And you can give me more,
And we can be together
And not just be adored.

Maybe when school is over
And we don't live so far,
Then we can try again
And I won't have to wonder where you are.

But until then, I'm finished;
I need consistency.
I'm worth the time you'd wait,
But Maybe's all you've ever given me.

Stuck in an attic with old, molding floors,
A witch in the corner, no windows, no doors.
The roof just above us, I crawl on all fours.

Her eyes are too wide and her hair is too red.
She says, "One can leave when the other is dead."
The only solution is cleaving her head.

I tear up the floorboards as she crawls up close.
I find flies, a knife, and a Cherokee rose.
I do the sick deed and step back in repose.

Escaped, I walk soberly back to my home.
Avoiding more danger, through green hills I comb.
I crave coffee, music, and more time alone.