I was detached
so I could wander
hand in hand with the wind.
Who am I now?
I feel so frail
and my flowers are long gone.
“Look what I've become”
I say to no one
as the buzzards cry.
Their shadows circle me
like dark moons in a galaxy
starving for life —
am I not alive?

I've never seen flesh
that was still carrying a soul,
but the wind tells me stories
of slinking through their hair
when the world was young —
I can smell their skin on its breath,
its breath that’s carried me
to the edge of the earth a thousand times
to find only stars
that those ancient, mysterious people worshiped
before I was even a seed.

Am I qualified to pray
to those stars that have lead us
to a thousand sunrises?
Will they even hear me
with this voice that is only a rustle
across rocks and dirt,
this voice that is literally nothing but a ...

my soul who shapes the clouds
who possess my dry body, and countless others all at once
interrupts me
and whispers yes.

I smell the gods in its voice now.

Faith. Hope. Love.
I don't have answers. I don't really know much.
But I know that those things ignite something in your heart, casting away the darkness of fear and regret.

When the cobwebs in the basement are cleared, you find all your old dreams hidden in corners you forgot about.

And when you pound your fist in the dirt, and say enough is enough... I'm not here to survive, I'm here to LIVE... to laugh and play and realize my deepest passions... to find the ocean of joy and invite everyone I know to swim in it with me. To love myself daringly; to dance with the darkness of my fears and invite their lessons in.

Something doesn't have to change. Everything has to change.
I'm not interested in being right anymore.
I'm interested in being ALIVE.

When you commit these things to yourself, and fight for love, for hope, for the adventure of really living all the way... something happens.

Something flips inside you, and heaven begins pounding at your door.

Life has always waited patiently on you to stop waiting patiently.

Adventure isn't around the corner. It's hiding underneath your heart.

Right here. Right now.

I am not a perfect angel
Or a fairy in a jar.
No gossamer winged thing, I
am flawed, I am imperfect
And I sometimes fail.
Falling for you was my redemption.
While yearning for perfection,
I had nothing to give, I had no way to grow,
Frozen by rejection
All my courage had fled,
There was nowhere to go.
I can fly now, without wings,
Floating up, up,
I am borne by wizard gifted magic.
Even so
I am not a perfect angel
Or a fairy in a jar.

laying in my bed, trying to write this poem
Being in a small town, wishing somewhere bigger and brighter was my home.
A place where people don't sleep.
Where the night owls thrive.
A place where everything is always alive.
I look outside my window and see nothing but darkness and an empty street.
Nothing but one street lamp, how does everyone feel complete?
Do people ever get lonely and want something more?
Doesn't anyone always want an open door?
I want to look out my window, and see action.
Taxi's and people and human interaction.
Not some empty street that's a depressing distraction.
I want something more, bright lights galore, a place where sleep doesn't have to be an option anymore.

and we asked you for help
and you laughed at the candor
and we dropped dead like flies.

****** t-shirts falling from
clothing lines as clothing pins
litter the floor of the morgue

and parents pick out caskets
ten sizes too small, for dead
babies and children of the

night, the ones who had been hanging
from street lights and shooting stars,
who asked for help in the form

of loud music, slow dancing,
painting in dark colors, tying
red balloons to doorknobs,

and leaving home without layers.
these children, they’re wearing t-shirts
in late december and you’re

wondering why they’re shivering.
in the mean time, you turn your cheek
and lift the zipper of your fur coats.

There's a front door
To the back door . . . of life
There's an upstairs
To fall down upon your past

We all are dreaming , scheming
Tyring to find a perfect life
One that's full of meaning , preening
That's devoid of strife

There's a front door
To the back door of life
There's an open window
To the closed minded lies

We are all driving way to fast
The day's become our demise
The future is just a thin piece of glass
You are the hammer in disguise

There's a front door
To the back door of life