It’s your life. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for living it your way.

A dandelion allures an essence of the innocent,
Distinct from a ****, once puffed flurries offspring of homogenous descent.

Proletarian by nature, now **** without seed,
That puff propels my wealth and now I can lament.

Bees harbor resentment, “You can’t pollenate me!",
Enticed by sinuous poison and overlooked by the Bourgeoisie,
Cautiously creeping like honey’s viscosity in vain,
Synchronicity is cut short swiftly by A Coup de Main.

_TRF

Indulge in chaos with an appetite of tremendous conviction.
Hastily retrace your preamble that drapes the window pane like the silhouette of a cynic,
Divulge the albatross of plight to escape eviction
And lay waste the shambles that shape a widow’ s pain beset by a mimic.

An insipid eye for uninspired lies,
She forged herself an eponymous name,
Like holding a vigil for a pessimist when in Retrospect the glass is half full.
An under-dog recounts our demise,
Misfortune subsides having only the ***** to blame,
Lack of abuse is an act of kindness,
As Jan-Erik Olsson has no sympathy for the devil.

_TRF

Lost amidst the inferiority of adult life I strive to find the person whom you once met,
That fire I ignited has simmered to a shameful sullen faced embarrassment
My love , my might,, let us not fight
Let us ****** through the prefabrication that dictates
Let us once again breathe to be free
Let poetry prevail
Set the wind in our sail
As in the darkness of tomorrows hopes we forage
We shall be as one, we shall smile , laugh, and watch the setting of another sun

I am hurting my child,
I am weeping through the pain,
May be it is no big deal,
For me, I have lost my heart.

I am grieving for you my child,
Even though it was just four weeks,
I always wanted you in my life,
It was not just the moment.

I am hoping to see you my child,
During my life this time,
To hold you in my arms,
And look into your eyes.

I am sending you my child,
All the love I have for you,
I beg you to forgive me,
You too deserve the world.

I am waiting for you my child,
To call me your mother for once,
Even though my fate is unknown,
I want to feel your breath on mine.

I am fighting for you my child,
To live in this world of hell,
Because one day I believe,
You will be my saviour.

We will be united again,
because you already are mine,
From where you came and gone,
I am still yours, my child....

I hate to admit it, but I want to feel special.
I entomb myself in the reality of mundane dribblings but truly my heart is wrenching as it can smell the fantasy.
The thought of someone wanting to know my favorite movie and memorize it like their sacred duty.
I'm soft; a kettle brewing with pang splintered yearning.
I want the waves of people to pander to me surrendering at my feet collapsing with poised beauty whispering "you are worthy"
I want to feel special, yet I know that I am not. I am amongst the innumerable flesh ridden boats of existence buoying about in angst and desperation.
I am alone and am pleased in this pod of solace.
But a broad stroking mansuetude hand that may caress my face and help proliferate the love I hide within myself.
Well, I guess that may be nice...

My Teardrops

If I showed you my teardrops, would you collect them like rain?
Store them in jars, and label them “Pain”.
Would you follow their tracks from my eyes down my cheeks, as I write the poems I'm too inarticulate to speak?.
Would you stop them with kisses,and,bring their flow to a halt?.
As you teach me that pain isn't always my fault.
Would you hold my face gently as you dry both my eyes?.
And whisper to me “You're too beautiful to cry”.
If I showed you my teardrops,
Would you show me your own?
Embracing my loneliness
Until I'm no longer alone?.


Randy McPeek

If eyes are windows
to the heart and soul
an inkling of what
lies beneath the skin

Then thank goodness
for locks that veil a face
and hide in waves
what lies within

If eyes are windows
to the heart and soul
then welcome shades
dark or rose tinged

A screen between the I
and the world at day
where none can see
the core within

If eyes are windows
to the heart and soul
a glimpse into fears, tears,
when a heart cries

Then thank goodness
it takes but a moment
to draw down lashes
and close the eyes

My brain says no
My heart begs no
*But my soul screams your name

You can't remember where
Your buried treasures lie;
It's been years
Since you turned the earth,
Measured the wealth,
Stored it for days of leisure.
You lost the life mapped
With the X.
Why?
Did you mark the spot with G,
Or did you sell the  plunder?
Remember, you're no younger.
All your troves,
Blue ribbons and bows,
The buttons, the pins,
Your souveniers and sins
Have left you bankrupt.
I'm not a parrot keeper,
Can't curl my lip like Elvis;
Or sail into bays
To recover lost treasures.

I don't know what hurts more
: you don't love me
: you don't want to remember me
: you don't try to understand...like I want to understand you
: or that you're really not here with me and the scenery is so close to your beauty