Let me be that guy,
You know,
The one that will,
And forever be by your side.

Let me make you my girl,
You know,
The one that has,
And forever will rock my world.

Let us make this vow,
You know,
To love each other,
Forever and now.

—Thomas James Written on October 16, 2011

listen,

you, who are of my heart
you, who still the breaking waves upon my shore

i am but a scratchy grain of sand,
yet i knit the pearl of your longing

crack the oyster shell you cling to
and know your beauty

see that your heart's desire
has been within you all along

I think of August:
strawberry sundae cups
and squash blossoms.

Friends can turn faster than the tables,
Re-creating the truth, giving birth to fables.
Irresponsibly blaming others for their evil deeds,
Easily bought by the lure of greed.
Nursing the wounds of those they've betrayed,
Eliminating courage from the hearts of those afraid.
Mounting lies on half truths to find alibis,
Y**earning for a 'friend' to hear their cries.

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
its surging depths, a frightening display

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
tide's pull would have me drowned

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
breathless within its fathomless measure

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
but you may hold me to your ear
and hear it still, and hear it still.

whispering, whispering
(for who can contain an ocean?)

You were in your forties then, lived upstairs with your
old man, gave the neighborhood someone to feel better
than. I was maybe nine or ten, and Franny, oh! I could
have cried when he blacked your pretty gypsy eye and
Franny, oh! my restored hope when I saw Joe, his lip laid
open; Franny, you could throw a punch. So here's to right
hooks, Franny. Here's to gin before lunch. Here's to street
smarts and cunning hearts. I didn't end up like you. I got
out of the neighborhood. I'm my own woman; that's our
slogan, but you know, Franny, sometimes even that 
makes me feel like I'm swinging my fists in a third floor flat.

the secret's out
the story's in
now for the real game
to begin

no sneaking round
our mouths hushed closed
been caught red handed,
palms exposed.

what will these things
come to now?
what are the new rules?
will I finally get what I deserve
or just to not see you?

Either way the jumbled lock
Has finally found its key
But what's behind this door, my friend?
Guess we'll see...

I used to laugh at those
that take their own lives
over lost love.
But look at myself,
having only lost
chances at love.

and here it comes again,
the cold winter chill
darkness falls and icy
fingers are never far from me

feel the crack of breaking,
the aching of my need
taste the bitter sweetness
that makes the poet bleed

the rain sheets upon my window,
drives away my joy
breaking aching tasting
the loneliness of need