I knew It was coming the moment I opened the door.

The sky warned me. A distant, dull voice whispered, "You can't beat It." The sweetest sadness slowly ****** each syllable. I accepted the challenge and began to pedal. For a while, I pedaled without disturbance, except for a distant, dull sky sadly trailing behind. Watching. Waiting. Knowing.

Then It came. It took its time. It was not the one who needed to hurry. I pedaled on and felt It kiss the tip of my forehead, then lick the side of my nose, leaving me cold. I began to count the touches; one, two -pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal - three - pedal, pedal, pedal - four - pedal - five - pedal, pedal - six -pedal - seven - pedal - eight, nine, ten...

And I’m drenched.

I can write
more poems
than you
can read
so there
I believe
that means
I win
hah

Where have all the
Good words gone?

When did we lose our
Imagination that burns
With passion?

When did language go from
Colorful to colorized?

The
Words
Are raging
Slams
Rips
Blasts

Causing poets
To disappear
Like flour tossed
Into the atmosphere

Hold strong
Hold steady,

Besides what are we fighting for?

The best written poetry
In the world
Still yet to be written

Part of the reason
why
wounded people don't forgive
abusers
is because when they
turn
to their loved ones
for
validation, they're more concerned
with
pacifying the guilty, which
ultimately
keeps the pain alive
inside.

it can be so incredibly amazing
yet so incredibly isolating
to realize you’re one of a kind
and no one will understand your mind

There's a battle that most folk will fight
When old age slips onto the pavement
It's weapon of choice you will find
Is that of sleep deprivation

You lie awake in the middle of night
Tossing and turning on the edge of your dreams
Insomnia its battle cry
As your white flag is torn apart at the seams

With your mind like a kite in the night breeze
Flying this way and that with your lack of sleep
Too far behind the enemy lines
To even find the help that you need

While you'd love to sneak back over the border
Into the comfort of a soft feather bed
One good nights sleep is what the Commandant's ordered
So as to rest your weary head

Still the battle rages on nightly
The enemy both sneaky and sly
In whose grip you will stay as you lay awake
With insomnia as its battle cry

they make goodbyes
sound easy
when they're at your door
late at night
and they scream your
name like a warning
from the bottom
of the staircase
you leave them,
until apologies make
your tongue as raw as
saw-dust
those nameless boys
the one's with
smoky breath,
they write your name
to the skies
constellate it to their
forefingers and cross it
over their forehead
like a baptism
those boys with hands
that eat like worms
at the dying heart
of your feelings
no, they don't love you
only death can
love you,
nameless girl
with the
countless faces.