A psych ward is the place to be,
Come along, and you will see.
You'll be welcomed by forgotten silent deaths
and torturous screams.
An everlasting place of a need to be free.

Come on down to the "freak show",
We'll show you how we rock and roll,
Some say that we're unhinged,
But trust me honey, the fun is about to begin.

A lobotomy a day keeps the schizophrenia away they say,
An electric chair isn't the cruelest thing there,
By far it is knowing that you are not crazy, amongst a world that is.

We'll dance for you, we do it well.
But if we don't, torture will make it amends.
We sit here day on day, hoping for freedom,
Uncanny, unlikely, and an impossible dream.

A  psych ward is the place to be,
We'll grow old here and die a forgotten death,
The music is still playing,
The patients are still dancing,
This is my last day.

So come on down to our freak show, join our family, we'll show you how to rock and roll,
And die insanely.

When it comes to matters financial
we all need an ounce of sense
They say a fool is very soon stripped
of his pounds shillings and pence

And if we borrow we have to be sure
we can pay back what has been lent
or else we get in a muddle
with our pounds shillings and pence

Diddlers thieves and con men
can cause us immense expense
so don't let them get their ***** hands
on your pounds shillings and pence

We come into the world with nothing
with nothing away we are sent
but in between it's handy to have
some pounds shillings and pence

The universe holds me
Tenderly in her arms
Gently caressing me with
What i desire
With holding from me
That which i yearn

Taking away and giving
Life, people, circumstances
Dreams, disappointments, hope
Music, tears and catastrophe

Each a stroke
A melody
A whisper of sweetness
Eternal expansive
A drop of pure love

Gratitude
The feeling you have
When you win the lottery
without buying a ticket

Gratitude
a smile in your heart
for no reason
or a reason so small
yet a feeling so sweet
Like rainbows dancing
On a snowy night
Amidst sparkling stars

Gratitude is here
Feel her gentle touch

Smile into the sweetness
live in the openness
bloom in the ray
of simple happiness

this goes out to all little sisters, big, little or tall, small too. She crunches ice cubes in her mouth, wondering if it's bad for her teeth, she bought another ice cube tray just to get more retreat from underneath the heavy petting that's only fifteen years past early bed wetting, it seems, oh my sister, don't give up so easily. Boys are just...so 1 out of 10 decently pleasing. I can only name two or three that practice chivalry in a blizzard, suffering for you quietly, waking up early to turn the water on so it's hot when you wake up early to go to work and you'll be showering. Don't let the things he buys full or fuel you, too much money means he'll be expecting things from you that you work harder for yourself.

If I could write the perfect letter that could set the trend for every boy you'd ever meet, or who'd greet you on the street, I'd probably be better leaving this letter alone. But lonely we, we're not just two he and she, we're you and me, and when he brings you home past the time you set for yourself, speak up and tell him how disappointed you are. You can't let boys set expectations on the things no one else gets for free. You earn being trustworthy, your curves are not just a place for his hands to go, make him sit on his hands and watch you flip your hair into curls without mentioning how physically beautiful you are. Your beauty starts with the passion you take with you to the ungrateful students you teach day in day out that you never tell them how much you're disappointed, it carries itself around the brown paper lunch you bring so you can save $7 dollars a day to take a trip to California like you've been promising yourself you'll take since before our family was bringing us back and forth to the OC. I bequeath you your sheath, now use it wisely.

Sister remember that boys will say anything and everything when they want to be physical, but nothing they say is emotional. Don't let anyone convince you to do something you wouldn't even do to yourself, don't let yourself be treated any less than what your fantasy brings your eyes to sleep like when you were too young to count and I sang you to sleep with the numbered keep of sheep.

Remember it's better to complain about not having the boy of your dreams, than regretting you let the wrong boy into your jeans. Beautiful is the way you were born, and it's easy to point out what's obvious, so invest in a boy that's interested in more than whether you keep piercings under your clothes, or whether you let your sexuality be too undercover that you can't even e

I am human. I am just like you.
There is nothing different between us.
But that’s where it gets complicated.
I am not the same as you. I am a different person
I have a different life. I have a different background
I have a different face.
I have a different past, and I have a different future.
If you look around yourself, this is true for all of the faces that surround you.
But we are the same, right?
We are all human; we are all part of the same earth
The same creation story. But that’s not true either.
Your creation story might be different than my creation story.
And your story might not accept me as a part of humanity.
I cannot change who I am. When I was born
I fell into a concept most of you didn’t.
The faces I first saw were so similar. Both bearded.
Short hair, tears running down their faces.
Two men sobbing tears of joy. Their daughter had been born.
The first two years of my life I thought that having two dads was normal.
Little did I know then, it was. But not the normal other people think of.
People think normal is a mom and a dad and two beautiful children.
I was never able to call anyone “mommy,” and I turned out perfectly fine.
My whole life I have been surrounded by men loving other men
And women loving other women etc. My best friend has two moms.
One day, when we were seven years old
Someone came up to us and said
“Hey, your dads should get married to your moms.”
I laughed then and walked away, but I never realized
How much that would hurt five minutes later.
Those words were like knives. They burned like fire.
I wanted to go back and yell at that kid.
His ignorance blinded me, and I could not speak.
His words didn’t leave my head and never have.
I like boys, yes, but guess what? I also like girls. And that’s normal.
I can love a boy, but I can also love a girl.
I have been telling myself this my entire life, and I realize that it’s true.
It’s who I am, and I can’t change it.
I don’t want to change it, because I am human
And you are human, and you can love whomever you want.

Your star freckled hands
reach inside me-
Pleasure making me forget even momentarily
That this, is not a love story.

Your hands do nothing to soothe the empty hunger left behind.
When my bedsheets are no longer warmed with your body.

Like an echo I can feel my heart beat against my rib cage.
A violent rally of
Alone.
And it screams
Alone.
Thumps
Alone.
And my fingers trace it into your skin when you are making my body your temporary home
(Alone . Alone . Alone it sings )

And I must never forget that
your hands can make me moan your name
Shout praises to a god I don't even believe in-
But your heart could not bear
to love me for anything more than my body

-to the girls who confuse *** with love
And to the boys who think an ****** is a job well done

In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the old raggety rocker,
The one that always tips back too far
And my heart skips a beat as I
Secretly enjoy the thrill.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the mounds of old recipes on
The counter, yellowing with age, being
Ripped from ancient editions of
House and Home magazines.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the constant pleasant aroma of
Cookies, chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin
And snickerdoodle, the presence of cookie
Jars that are quickly ransacked by us.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There is the collection of teapots on
The shelf, the daily weather forecast that
Grandpa writes out every day on the table,
The forest of palms and tiger lilies in the center.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
Time seems to stand still, and everything
Is perfect, familiar, right.
Even when the room itself doesn’t belong to
Her anymore, it will always be to me
Grandma’s kitchen.