People say that newborns are difficult
They don't sleep through the night
They don't eat at predetermined times
They don't communicate with words
No, a newborn won't play by your rules

A newborn can't grasp your concept of "life"
They are aware of only a need
for parental affection
They are tiny and helpless, so
Learn their feeding cues
Or notice if they just need you,
Not necessarily want the ****,
Because daddies are important too
They need your warmth, your breath, your scent

Don't be upset at a tiny babe for crying in the night
Respond to their heart wrenching cries
Which wake you from your slumber
Do it gently for their comfort is far more important
Than what ever schedule you're under

The hazy fading days blur into one another
until they're gone
and life becomes much harder
Suddenly, you've got yourself a toddler.

We hang
precariously
by the lies
we present as truth.

Dispensing tainted words
we thought inconsequential.
Ill-conceived notions
we sowed and nurtured.

But now we dangle
by the skin
of our fingers over this cliff...
Desperately clawing
to find purchase...
And gravity is a
mean *****.

Who are we to say
that a love is not to be?
That a love does not belong
and can never be set free?

Who are we to think
that a kind is not our people?
That a kind is far beneath us
and will never be as equal?

Who are we to feel
that a face can look unusual?
That a face must be a canvas
and be painted to be beautiful?

Who are we to judge?
To say love is prohibited?
To think below of others?  
To feel minds can be limited?

©

The more you think about the past
The more you live in it

A flower so grand
in itself, vivid in
details, following no pattern
like the leaves of the plant.

All the leaves are the same
but a single flower so distinct
one does and the other doesn't
add to the plant's fame.

In its life of just a day, it steals the show
and spreads so much happiness
though the leaves may, in silence keep low,
diligently work for air's cleanliness.


Even then it sticks to the branch
as its life is given by
the apparently dreary plant.
Here, all its coming generations
will choose to be born,
and this plant only will they adorn.