she never had a favorite color
always finding beauty in every shade
and when asked her favorite color
she simply spoke in a daze

"the greens of summer grass
bright and welcoming bare feet

the golden yellow of evening sun rays
how they dance across the sea

the deep red of fresh cut roses
brought to lovers doorsteps

the pale pink of early morning skies
the orange and scarlet that melts with it"

she had so many favorites
until she met him

for the second
she caught a glimpse
of his light eyes
that made even a clear ocean
seem mundane
she undoubtedly knew

her favorite color was blue

s.s

I will ask you a question

“Do you remember the child you once were?

Who colored the crayons beyond the lines, shaping everything in that child’s imagination.

That painted the rivers green and the trees blue, full of wonder, putting nothing in order.

Now, I ask you this… What happened to that child?”

Why is that child now organizing the shapes, his head now a machine on rotate

He solves the puzzles but not his dreams
He gives the leaves a touch green, and rivers with blue...

What happened to the child who once ruled the world?

Now the World ruled the child."

I will always be too much to love
I’ll always love too much
I find my love is not enough
I find myself empty
Seeking validation in other souls
Outside my own,
Messy and alone,
I’ll always be too much to love

sometimes i feel too much
sometimes i feel too little
i wish i could stay in that happy place
that lies right in the middle

when i feel too much
it's a torrent of emotion
a downpour of epic proportion
and i pray for it to end

yet when it does i don't feel enough
i'm numb, frozen, depressed.
I then pray for this to end
and i'd do anything to feel again

so i'm stuck in this happy limbo
never feeling quite right
like goldilocks in the three bear's house
i can't sleep at night

there is something to be said
about
          walking
                         alone.

- (something beautiful)

when you pass my way, know that my Wi-Fi network
requires no password to gain entry,
thus it comes with a security recommendation:

there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable:

how came Excalibur into the rock,
will our children have better lives than us,
can we define accurately finite,
why can't we add new letters to our alphabet,
will my poems live longer than I

so when you pass my way
walk right in, sit right down,
greet madness,
thy new boon companion,

who will not ask you for the password...
8/27/17 11:43pm

she dreams of him at night
touching herself
under the covers

silent beautiful moans
escape her parted lips
as her dainty fingers
linger to the most
precious part of her

slowly moving in and out
imagining it's him
touching her all over

she closes her eyes
picturing his rough
large hands roaming
all over her petite body

her breath hitches
her toes curl
her stomach knots

it's coming
she's coming

all because of him

- wet dreams