I have my
half written poems
I have this blue window
to look through
when I’m lonely
I ignore its
invitation
I sit on this bed
like it’s the edge
of the world
the white sheets
sleep behind me
like restless angels
I scribble words
I call it poetry
I write the word
love in black ink
and the walls
become irritable
deep blue shadows
swallow my room
of souvenirs
I want to hear the
sound of violins
I want to hear the
sadness in your voice
become clear
I need a pleasant dream
I need something solid
to lean upon
I need something to
sooth these
shaking hands …
Clay.M

one little thing at a time
                 ...and bring a pen.



I feared i might sober up
and there wouldn't be much to write,
but slowing down to take a look,
moving at the pace of life,

not rushing it,
but taking it as it is,
seems so much more now to jot down,
I can hardly keep up with pen.

This is where the real poetry is,
and where it's always been...

Those loooong Journeys
cross-countries by foot,
and deeper still,
on more spiritual quests within.

Strolling along without worry or care,
relying on faith without understanding of a godlike dose of "luck"
that seems ta always just,     be  here.

The poetry is in the moment
when it's written, where it's found,
life exciting, breathing, be still and
          witness it all around.

You sit in leather,
sign your names on paper
that ultimately becomes chains,
binding bodies you will never know,
dictating futures you will never know.
you preach protection,
you wrap us in a lie called love,
while you slice away autonomy,
carve out dignity,
turn our pain into a headline,
our lives into statistics.
you do not know what it’s like to flinch,
to walk home at night with keys clenched tight
like weapons, like armor,
you do not know what it’s like to wonder
if you’ll be believed,
if justice even has a name,
if freedom even has a face.

we were only kids
thirteen and twelve
you'll never understand the grief you caused--
i lost myself

adrift in a world of nightmares flashing always, never ceasing
you had me on the run
from everything that i was thinking, wanting, feeling

tracking calories and body weight to regain control
spiraled into darkness with drugs and alcohol

my head is and was and always will be such a mess
i swear i screamed out NO but all you heard was Yes

~

what the **** happened to you

and, more importantly,

what happened to me?