Sorry mom but I have to leave.
There’s still so much I need to see.
But don’t you go worrying about me
‘cause I’m the strong woman you raised me to be.

But I’ll be home and see you again.
So this isn’t a "goodbye" but an "until then."

Sorry dad but I have to go.
There’s still so much that I don’t know,
And cannot learn until I’m on my own.
I’ll send you postcards from the road.

But I’ll be home and see you again.
So this isn’t a "goodbye" but an "until then."

Sorry friends but I’m on my way.
There are too many reasons not to stay.
I’m off in search of reasons to change.
I hope you all might do the same.

But I’ll be home and see you again.
So this isn’t a "goodbye" but an "until then."

Spinning 'round
Tumbling down
Falling ever faster

Can't catch my breath
Scared to death
What a disaster

With nothing else to do
I reached out for you
But no one was there

I dreamt too long
Reality has gone
All that's left is the nightmare.

I can’t help wondering
if he showed up suddenly
and walked right up to me
would I have anything to say?

Would he look on adoringly
when it ended so horribly?
Or is it only me
left feeling this way?

One does not simply write little sonnets
Like my English teacher wants me to do.
My mind wanders to tales of hobbits
And wish I were writing simple Haikus.
Old men, so bored, had to make this stuff up.
Iambs, pentameter, all lost on me.
And some rhyming pattern I’m forcing: sup?
Simply stated, it is not how I think.
Trying to be clever while writing this,
With some deeper meaning that is unknown,
Though—tortured soul I am missing and wish
That that Shakespeare would have left it alone.
But I suppose that’s why he’s important
And all my poems come off as abhorrent.

A warrior's spirit
that gives me fight.
A wanderer's soul
keeping me up all night.
A philosopher ponders
inside my mind.
A poet's heart
makes the chaos rhyme.

There was once a stingy, little toad
with fire upon its head,
a shrilly voice of ignorance
that left annoyance in its stead.

The rules it made were silly
and gave good reason to rebel.
It wouldn't let the others speak.
Why? No one could tell.

Its disconnect was obvious
when treating toads like flies.
And all pretended to do what told
until it turned its eyes.

It sits upon its lily pad
as if better than the rest--
unaware that the other toads
are, frankly, sick to death.

In my throat, there is a lump.
I'm on the edge, about to jump.
The wind rushes across my face
where I keep the scars I can't erase.
The tears are gone; they're all dried up.
My only choice is to jump.