Why is it that someone
Can make your heart lurch forward
Why is it that they tell you all the reasons
That you are amazing
But then intend only to break you
To make you hate yourself
For not being good enough for them
When all they ever said was how good you were

Why is that we play games with one another
What is this facade
And when will it end?

by now i
should have could have would have
had all parts of me
in words
scattered all across the cyberspace
grabbing eyeballs from
all continents.

but without my voice
i'm struggling,
(my wings have been slashed),
its been
days
weeks
months,
*i cannot write.

My father was strict
that is all I knew of him
for many a year
but time softened his armor
and I caught fleeting glimpses
of a wild, young, smart alex
a wise guy in the thirties
cruised the world on a steamship
from Montreal he sailed
through the atlantic ocean
St. Helena, round the horn
Polinesia, Asia
New Zealand, Australia
then around Cape of Good Hope
and back to Montreal town
Canada mid-depression
he drove from Ontario
to BC's wild coast
it's there he met my mother
and she hated him at first
but his bright, sparkling blue eyes
shock of red hair and sharp wit
soon won her heart completely
but when they were to marry
the world war got in the way
so it was off to England,
then to sunny Sicily
and up through old Italy
one week Yugoslavia
then up through France and Belgium
struggles in the Netherlands
and into the fatherland
thinking his luck had run out
then saved by a rosary
remaining an agnostic
and part of a force that
relieved one of the death camps
and seared by what he saw there
then returning home again
into the arms of his love
i arrived some years later
when his time came and he passed
and i was clearing his things
i noticed a framed picture
that he kept by his bedside
a sepia photograph
of a tiny, barefoot boy
wearing a ragged straw hat
astride a giant clydesdale
sporting a sassy, bright smile
i wish i knew him

i hide away during the days
watching the other birds in flight
i don't know their tunes, they say
those songbirds are the social type

i guess the day was made for them
just like the night was made for me
i'll just wait here until the dusk
all alone, in my tree

i don't fit in with their flashy ways
my feathers just aren't as bright
they sing so pretty in sunlight rays
as i await my turn to cry at night

Most mornings I think of you
Today I cried
Thoughts about our happiness overwhelm me in the realization they are no more
We are never going back there
And I miss those days more than anything
Waking up next to you once was a dream
The comfort was so real
I would look into your resting body and felt something I can no longer explain
It was a love
Not lust or greed of wanting all of you
It was undeniably real care and love
We lost it