Our shelves are stacked
With novels
Retelling the journey.
Before novels,
There was poetry.

Our textbooks
Bind essays
Explaining and outlining
The thoughts
Of great thinkers.
Before essays,
There was poetry.

Our stage,
Our world,
Are replete
With dramas
Mirroring our plight.
Before drama,
There was poetry.

Before poetry,
There was
The Great Boom,
Expanding into
The vacuum;
Making the universe
Our metaphor.

I'm seriously thinking of making
A mixtape page of all my poems
Taking out my favorite lines
From all of the ones that I've wrote

Putting them all together
Down onto one page
Then label it quite proudly
My poetry mixtape

Sort of like a greatest hits
All of the stuff that I'm proud
Ask a few friends what they'd like in the mix
May take time but I'll figure it out

I'll fill it up with happy stuff
Add a few lines that are sad
Even throw in a bit of humor
So halfway through I'll get a laugh

Then I'll take it with me out to the streets
Along with a portable mic
Read it out loud to the maddening crowds
Perhaps breaking up a few fights

They'll be hugging and kissing in no time
Dancing in line to the rhymes
Passing out copies of my mixtape poetry page
So they too can recite all the lines

Yes, a mixtape page of my poetry
Might be just the thing to do the trick
The more I'm thinking of this idea
The more I'm liking it

wide the door open
now there is no door-
you have stepped-
through a million stars
chosen and choosing-
the road of love.

In the silence of a day like today
In the wake of yesterday's dreams
Forgetfulness feels like noncompliance
In a world where defiance still seems
Like a benign inaction of innocence
Though it feels like a stabbing of spite
Willing to kneel to your Goddess
Yet unable to yeild to Her might
There is no weakness to worship at Her altar
It takes strength to relinquish control
Relax and trust in the knowledge
Acquiesce and watch it unfold
There is freedom in the smile of an angel
There is love to be had all around
There is power in making Her smile
Don't be the sadness beind every frown
Inaction, as innocent as it seems
Breeds disappointment that infects every smile
And all those little requests
Will stop being wanted after awhile
See, for all the deeds left unfinished
And all those tiny tasks left undone
Will chisel away Her hearts desire
Leaving Her another invisible no one
An empty shell of a Goddess
Whose glory, in your heart will remain
While She curses her very existence
Languishing in true-love's refrain

inhale
barely living, surviving
day dreams of being hit driving
crying myself to sleep
doesn't work to count sheep
hating who i am
minds a broken dam
thoughts flooding inside
i just want to hide
i never want to wake
nothing to give or take
feeling done with it all
fist punching the wall
am i mad
or am i sad
i don't know anymore
my inside is sore
i can't be fixed
feelings so mixed

exhale.

Remember that overused line
about how opposites attract

As if we were comparable
to the idea of magnets
where North and South linked each other

Meaning our bond was built like this,
where we knew we were different,
but still we wound up together.

But later on we figured out
that there was not much between us,
that we’re more same than different

If its true how the saying goes,
there would be no reason for me
to even think why we’re apart.

Because opposites do attract,
and we found out we’re more alike.
So maybe that's the answer why.
Why it felt like you were drifting,
slowly drifting away from me.

Because when it comes to magnets,
opposites do attract each other.
But then we weren’t opposites,
because we saw ourselves in each other.

I call out your name from another room
but your mind is trapped inside the color blue
I want to pull you out of shattered glass --
from all that haunts you in your past  
you are here but you're still there
where bombs, and blood are everywhere --
lost in the color blue while you're
wandering from room to room  
you are trapped inside the color blue
I keep searching for an open door
to tell you that you're home from war
you are here but you're still there
trapped inside the color blue
but, I keep searching from room to room
forever, and ever until I've found you.

Clever is not poetry.
It's readable.
It's admirable.
Sometimes, memorable.
It's clever.
A word game.
Poetry is not a game.
No winners.
No losers.
Not even
A draw.