I’ve lost more than I’d wish
to lose
and learned more than
I’d like to.

This is what happens
when kids
grow up.

I am a product
of a broken boy
becoming a
measly man
in a
wallowed world
that has no room for

generosity.

The world will not end
with a spark
to the neck or a
chill
on the spine.

The world will not
die silently into
a night that
no good man
can bare.

The world will end
when the
human race
allows greed
to conquer
grace.

And my friends,

we are
well on our
way.

I woke up under a bridge
alone
it's dark under here
my eyes still haven't adjusted
I think I have bed bugs
at least I am dry, well sort of
recalling yesterday
my morning spent packing
rain is clearly taking my home
I feel it in my bones
hurry
no one is going to help
where did all this stuff come from?
I really don't need this or this or this or this
what a day that was
today will be worse
the ground is wet and mud is abound
stinky already, just wait till it settles
homeless has a smell
rain is not my friend
surely it is not the same as before
when the sky was not my ceiling

Becky Jo  Gibson

Father:
I have rights, O dishonesty, to crush you in my child

It's been far too long
Since I heard your smile
Or felt beautiful reflected in your eyes

The warmth of your skin
Is a vibrant memory
That tucks me in at night

It's the only reason
I bother trying to sleep

Memories taste sour
When waking
From the reality of dreams

The universe is cruel
While love is kind,
Or perhaps that's backwards

Maybe...
It's just been far too long
Since I heard your smile

To the girl that now holds
every last bit of my happiness between her fingers,
i have a box that belongs to you too now,
i guess.
It's nothing special
it's just filled with all the roses
he planted in my brain in place of pain
and cocoons of the butterflies that continue to flutter
against the fences of my stomach
that have yet to hatch
and managed to survive
the avalanche of  
your arrival

We could be in a room full of people  and my eyes would always meet his, just to find that he had  already been looking.

Electric fingers
run themselves
over and through
patches of frayed soul.
To wake and make
her breathe again,
they pull and dig,
intending to heal,
laboring on a level
never made known
to darkness;
never touched
by light.

When suppression pierces debate rises