Beautiful raindrops of happiness
Cloud the windshield of my mind
Why is it that I love not being able to *see

The Tome with out a Name
Without Subtance to Blame
Empty of Meaning and Void
Almost as though to Annoy
No message hidden Within
Never Started, no where to Begin
Yet Empty and without End
Without title it can't be Owned
So I guess this Isn't My Poem...JMF 2/1/15

Roses are red,
                         violets are blue,
                                                     when things fall apart,
                                                                                            love is our glue.

You think you are fine
               *But in reality, you just want to be saved

Ah, to write with glorious sight
All life's joy and all its pain
To color in the shadows and highlight their beauty
To fill emptiness with gradients of emotion
Oh yes, a pencil can pierce a lung if stabbed with enough force
A sketch can elicit unexpected responses
And the words of a stranger can feel like home
In the subtleties of one's own emotion
In the thoughts that build our fear,
There is only loneliness when the pictures don't hit the page
For in our isolation, there is unity
In our pain... passion
In our hate... love
And in all things... beauty
2815

I hate love and how it is so deceiving
It lures you in with a promise that this will be just like the movies
Giving us an image in our minds
This will be something so sweet
But instead it just cuts the roof of your mouth
And leaves a bitter aftertaste on your tongue

Poetry isn't about the words,
Or the emotions,
Or sounding beautiful,
Or looking smart,
Or knowing big words
Like ephemeral.
It isn't about alliteration
Or similes and metaphors.
Poetry is about what it doesn't say.
The silence between the words,
That's what matters.

الامانة ليست كلمات براقة و جميلة فقط                                                                                    و لكنها                                                                                                                          فعل                                                                                                                               نشعر به و نعيش في عالمه الجميل ...                                                                                     الحياة بلا امانة                                                                                                                 وهم كبير ...                                                                                                                    Honesty is not just bright and pretty words ,but                                                   An act                                                                                                                        That we feel it and we live in its pretty world ...                                                   Life is a big illusion if                                   Lacks that honesty .

I grew up and still live in the "Blackest state in America".
I live simply two counties shy of the "Blackest county in America".
I did not see color until just recently, and I'll tell you why.
If a white cisgendered person opens up their Tumblr, Tumblr will tell them "goodbye".
If you go to Button Poetry and watch any African American's poem, they will tell you that the white person is dangerous.
Stay away from us.
These words.. they sadden me..
I did not see color until recently.
My best friend is a lesbian, I've dated a black man.
But no, all white people are the same, stay away from as many as you can!
I've asked my friend, Lexie, (her mom is black, her dad is white)
I've asked her what her opinion was on this fight.
Her eyes swelled with tears, she simply can't understand
Why some choose to like or dislike people for whether they are light or dark skinned.
And this is why Pocahontas is my favorite Disney princess.
She teaches everyone can love anyone, race and color are pointless.
I have asked the grinning bobcat why he grins.
It's because I have learned to paint with all the colors of the wind.
Maybe it's your turn to learn to do it, too.
And that's the only way you can find this war to end, I promise you.
I did not see color until just recently.
And now I wish I could go back and learn how to unsee
all the crap that this newfound vision has caused me.

A blue black cloud, all over me is written JOY
in the script of vapor, dense, moist and meaningful,
I am light, like a feather, the breeze is in love with me for that,
I love his gentle persuasion to waft, move about, explore..
and then--ravaged by wind my love changes direction.

I love freedom more than anything, but forgot limits, hover
now, I am no more attached to the green hills, they are jealous,
far above them am I, untouched by their vainglorious pride,
I am not hard-hearted, parched fields send shivers of lightning
break me in to thousand  smaller pieces, scatter around.

My love for this earth is kindled by the sights unfurling below
all the egrets, cormorants, storks and herons of great magnificence,
those kind hearted friends that fly with me often are in pain
like the farmers, there isn't enough water for anything.

A cloud is a thought, inspired by the love for mother earth
by the ocean I am gifted to the breeze, to tour around,
on many lands fell my shade, found life in all varieties,
now is the time to be kind at heart, melt, fall in torrents.