i am holding my towel, mid-air,
arm outstretched,
fingers clenched,
with a millisecond to decide
if i throw it in

i hate that i've gotten this far,
but lately it's all fast forward
with little retraction, relfection, or restriction

i spend hours in the mirror
trying to see myself,
but there's this big headed *****
with green eyes full of envy
and a gaping hole of a mouth
full of excuses,
that refuses to get out of the way

As each day closes,
A moment of my hope dies within its passing.
Unanswered prayers lie about the floor,
In puddles of tears.

My deadly sin of pride,
Deems acceptance of responsibility,
For your pain I have awakened,
By sending you astray.

Dreams shattered now,
On deaf ears fall my cries for absolution,
Heart’s lack of breath in suffocation,
By my own hand.

The irony of guilt.

She shook her box of puzzle pieces and said,
“There’s some missing. But I still put it together sometimes,
And pretend that it’s still all there.”

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

it was my little heart that could not give
to the brittle hands that could not hold
you were so thin, i couldn't get my arms around you
with your shiny and your new
and your little stick with the loud bark
i could almost hear my tears,
taking tiny steps in the big house
you're a monster- my abuse
i'm your garden- that's my use
you used to love me-
my excuse