I hate you more than you'll ever know,
I hate you more than I'll ever show,
I deserve so much better than what you were,
I deserved something a thousand times more,
You are everything I ever hated,
And all this time I have just waited,
To let you know your every flaw,
Every imperfection I ever saw,
You are a liar and a user,
A calloused, abusive loser,
You were killing me from the start,
You drained my soul and broke my heart,
I hate you more than I'll ever show,
I hate you more than I even know.

She knows she’s in
the sepia photograph
but doesn’t remember why
or who the others are

or why she dressed
as she did back then
or why there was a dog there
at the front

she keeps the photograph
tucked between
the pages
of the black Bible

some clergy gave her
and a dark secret
she was forbidden to tell
and sometimes

that short woman
with the Mongolian features
steals it to gawk at
then she has to go get it back

sometimes violently
which brings the nurses running
with their rough hands
and strait jackets

or that skinny woman
who always stares
takes hold of it
and stares at it

pointing to the various faces
of the males and females
and at the dog
and smiles and wets herself

and then laughs loudly
which causes
the other inmates
to bellow or laugh

or cry or scream
bringing the nurses trotting
with their what’s going on?
or what’s all this then?

she holds the photograph
to her ***** when she can
or tries to remember
who they all are

staring back at her
including herself
and when the quacks
question her

about the photo
as to who is who
or why she has kept it
she doesn’t have a clue

and one said
she ought not to have it
as it disturbed her
but a nice nurse

(and there were some) said
o no doctor she needs that
there will be hell to pay
if she doesn’t have it

tucked between the pages
of the Good Book
she kisses herself some days
talks to one or two

of the others there
but who they were
or to whom she speaks
she doesn’t know

and on cold wintery days
she looks toward the sun
for a message
or a warming glow.

I'm smiling out of no reason,
talking to your pictures
for I don't have the courage
to talk to you in person,
I'm writing a letter I won't send,
every time I see you
my heart skips a beat
and it's a fact that I'm so stupid.

There were times I dialed your number,
but then I just canceled it, my choice,
well, it seems so hard for me
to hear even a single word
from your voice,
I can't speak what my heart
is beating so loud,
and it's a fact that I'm still
hiding in the clouds.

It's the unusual me,
and I don't even know it,
honestly, I'm always a coward
when it comes to you,
my smiles couldn't conceal
these feelings I feel for you
and it's a fact that I'm here
just waiting.

Waiting for the right time, I guess.

I sit here
drinking six bag Bengal Spice tea
listening to Pandora
while my brother eats his breakfast behind me.
The song changes and I recognize it,
a little too well;
One Saturday at the Sequim food bank,
the only week he ever had me man the meat freezer
and not the bread room or dairy room.
I had to sneeze
So I took the back hallway
to stand among the shelves of toilet paper and soap.
She was taking a load out front-
soap and cans from the canning room.
She was singing this song
didn't see me standing on the other side of that shelf.
She had been the reason I started volunteering here,
or half the reason;
I wanted to volunteer and do something fulfilling
but I also wanted to learn her name.

This is one of the only times in my life
where I acted on impulse-
I started singing too,
my deep bass and her soprano creating a melody
that makes me want to skip this song
because it isn't the same.
But I listen to remember her reaction-
instead of walking away, stopping or sighing-
she kept singing, laughing just a little bit
letting me hear the smile on her lips.

She finished grabbing what she needed
and walked away, still laughing
still smiling as she walked into the hallway
(which was the only lit place back here)
and kept singing, even as she sat back at the front desk.
I returned to my position a minute later-
15 feet from her.

In ten weeks of volunteering there
that was the most we ever spoke to each other
and I wouldn't wish it any other way.

There is a love
Growing deep inside
Rolling at the edges of me
Like the dunes

Rising higher than the tall grass
That shelters shy lovers

When I close my eyes
I dream of making love to you
Can you feel the pull of
This love inside my heart

Surging ~ Swelling ~ Crashing
A yearning that erodes boundaries

Lover, can you hear the call of my ocean
My tide rising to meet you
Wade into my deep waters
Lacy froth rushing upon the shore

I am eager to know the touch of your warm flesh
Let me cradle you between my waves

Woke up this morning, remembering the day.
The last thing on my mind was what people would say
When I walked into the cafeteria with ashes upon my face,
And folded my hands in my lap to say grace.
All of my life on this day there's been a smudge
Right on my forehead for everyone to judge,
But it's different this year, in college, all alone
Not going to church with my family and back home.
"What's on your face?" they asked me today,
All I could explain was that "It's Ash Wednesday."
Eyes on my forehead instead of my face,
Fish on my plate while feeling out of place...
My friends made jokes, and I tried to laugh along,
But it's real to me though people think I'm wrong.
Some ask me why I'm Catholic, and do I really confess my sins,
Do I believe in purgatory? Where do I even begin...
Lent is a time for sacrifice and a season that makes me proud.
Yes, I am a Catholic, I love God, and say it out loud.
So when people take strange looks at the ashes on my face,
I will only smile back because these ashes bring me grace.