I believe in ghosts.
I want to.
I believe in all gods; therefore

None.
I believe in both the survival and
Demise of Mankind.

I believe in the perfection within
Every shard and smithereen.  
Existence is

Excellence.
Stop. Stop correcting yourself
To pieces.

You don't need to drop those sizes.
You don't need those wrinkles
Gone.

You don't need that stanza to
Rhyme; to reverberate; to shine
Standing out like

Embraces on a battlefield.
Everything created is an
Infant. Approve of it.

Adore it. Admire it.
Love your child, and
Forgive it. For

All it
Refuses
To be.

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Please go through these. It's wonderful, you won't regret.

I watched as the storm gathered its strength                         c. 6.11.14 J.Ray
As it summoned its lightning from the heavens
I listened for the thunder and marveled at its resonance.
I watched as the rains came and drenched the land
Each grain of dry land was consumed by its own thirst.
I watched as the river roared, and carved a new way
I watched as the trees swayed, but stood firm in the soil
I watched as the storm passed, along with its darkness and unfounded fear
As the darkness gave way to light, the sun no longer hides his face from me
We weather the storms that life brings, this way we can appreciate the sun
Sometimes we tend to go our own way, as the river, and carve out our existence
Sometimes we are swayed, but must stand firm, and hold on by our roots
Sometimes we are so overcome by want, that we are consumed by that very desire
As does the ground, we remain, and bask in the light.
Watching and waiting
For the next storm

She was as delicate,
as a flower.

                                   But with time, all her beautiful petals,
                                   had fallen off because of her sadness.

He left, her bestfriend left,
All her leaves, weren't green,
Anymore.

                                  She broke a little inside;
                                  Slowly, with time,
                                  The delicate, beautiful,
                                  flower, died.

She was Orphic.

I have the special ability to spit spliced railroad tracks into all the right places. I Filled my ears with drainage tubes down complicated compliments through subway grates to visit the homeless man that believes in a better tomorrow. Because someone has to. Now I have never been on a subway, but the way your presence flows through my veins like a bullet in a barrel makes me feel that maybe i can be the one to deliver this moment. The moment that I was late for. Two years late. It took me a while to understand that the platform we have eloquently been slapping graffiti across will one day be our home. A home of every moment we have shared. Home has always been a place of here and there. I have never been able to stay in a specific longitude for more than a lifetime of awkward moments shared between a ******* and a clergy man. I choose to live in a mobile home. With wheels built off rotating personality disorders that refuse to believe in teamwork. We traveled through state borders leaving the past inside us for all to confide in. In my home, I have a room. I keep in there everything you don't know about. It builds comfort through my sternum. Exploding into my ribs that hug my organs with safety. Home is the place I want to be. My veins are electrical cords spitting energy though plywood walls charged with dreams about a remodel. A 4x2 for a spine stiff enough to support this bobble head of mine. My knee caps still need to be replaced at some point. They don't know how to walk in a straight line yet. Finding curves in my consciousness. Although  Constructing this safe haven has been a Wreckless abandonment of everything I have learned from informercials at 4am. It started with a foundation of this will never go anywhere, transitioned into a tumbling saw blade crashing through dandelions for being so **** confusing. I still can't tell the difference between those and flowers. We ended here. In the dumpsters Bags I hide under my eyes. Full of memories from every time I said "I can sleep when I'm dead". Its all stuck in my head like a diamond plated dorito that was prized in a box for those who want more than good enough. So as I cough up my confidence I will sit next to you, on this subway, the one I have never been on. I will muster up some courage to honor all the good in you, and ask you simple questions like how was your day? What's your middle name? And where do you paint your home? Spray me across the definite realization that home is where you are.

"It was rather beautiful;
The way she put her insecurities to sleep,
And the way he dove into her eyes and starved
All the fears and tasted all the dreams,
She kept beneath her bones."

I'm glad
finally
you
once thought
to think
about me
before
your ego....

i hope
one day
soon
you will know
how much
you mean
to me,
in my life....

you are
the love of
my life
and
you are
the life of
my love

As your brush
Gently, softly strokes
The white canvas on easel
The paint swirls delicately
Ingeniously you mix the rainbow
Of colors on your magical palette
Blending them all together to create your scene
You could create a whole new world of wonder
Just for me and you
And I often wonder what I would paint
If I were such an artist as you
And held all the magical illusions
Right at my fingertips
But since I am not an artist
I can still soak—drink in
The beauty only you can give birth to
The worlds of imagination
Only you can see
And paint upon canvas
For a poetess to see!

~Marian~

During the very earliest 1900s
A little boy walked a gravel road
With his grandfather.

The old man kept whittling him
Birch shoots that he whipped at
Weeds with, before he threw them

Aside; ready for another. "Cut me a
Whip, grandpa." "Cut me another."
The old man obeyed smiling.

The man was my great-great
Grandfather. The boy,
My grandfather's oldest brother.

I grew up walking
Those same gravel roads.
Whipping.