She was broken
And she acknowledged it.

But what does that mean?
A broken human is surely different
From a broken toy.

You cannot replace the batteries
Or superglue the cracks.

What does it mean to be broken?
It means to be human.
And not quite fixable.

Hello, my name is Lisa.

I do not care if you were gay, are gay, or considering becoming gay.

I do not care if you eat only vegetables, nothing with animal product, or a cow every night for dinner.

I do not care if you have no children, one child, adopted children, or eighteen children. (Kidnapped children is a grey area)

I do not care if you are conservative, liberal or lunatic.

I do not care if you are a lawyer, a teacher, a preacher, a maid, a waitress, or ditch digger.

I do not care if you dislike animals, have a zoo, or only one cat.

I do not care which God (s) you choose as your own - if any, or none.

I do care and hope that you are kind and loving to those you love.

I do care that you use your food wisely and do not waste. Thinking of others without.

I do care that you treat your children with love and not with violence or neglect.

I do care if you are completely apathetic to politics, as doing nothing, or standing for nothing, creates nothing.

I do care that you go and you do your best at whatever your work may be and feel proud that you've done your best in your day.

I do care if you harm an animal. If you hunt to feed your family be proud - if you hunt for sport you shame me.

I do care and think the greatest religion is being loving, kind and compassionate to our fellow man.

Hello, my name is Lisa.

excuse me while I write
another poem
one that I know
you will never read
but hopefully
you can understand
the pain you're giving
to me

Sat there, empty and quivering
In your lap, so lost
The girl's heart was pounding so loud
She thought you might hear
Her throat was dry and raspy
Her breaths were short and quick
And sat there, unaware
Your hand was now her full attention
Do it
But I'm scared
Do it
But what if...
Do it
I don't want to be hurt again
Do it

Fingers, intertwined

The monotone of the rain is beautiful,
And the sudden rise and slow relapse
Of the long multitudinous rain.

     The sun on the hills is beautiful,
Or a captured sunset sea-flung,
Bannered with fire and gold.

     A face I know is beautiful--
With fire and gold of sky and sea,
And the peace of long warm rain.