Love is the smell of spoiled milk:
even after you're rid of it,
it still lingers in your space of
solace.

Love is persistence
and dedication
even when your best is dismissed,
and your worst is worshiped.

Love is when you can't breathe because you're afraid of stealing someone else's last.

Love is not like -
love is more powerful
than a single syllable;
you should feel the power in every letter.

Love is the word your shoulder Angel sings
that makes you calm;
Love is the word your shoulder Devil
blames for the demons frolicking in your head.

Love is liquid;
it takes the form of something solid
until it eventually spills over.

Love is the understanding
between the sun and the moon -
Though they exist all at once,
they share the sky
so the other can shine.

Love is limitless;
I don't waste time trying to count stars.

Death is an invitation;
it's a cycle that
makes a saint
from a snake,
though the venom still drips
from those pearly whites.

like the snow in a Michigan spring,
do we persist -
do we thaw,
or do we melt?

The apex of meaning
is found in the sweet of honey -
not the pursuit
of righteous gates;

like the green teasing from under the white,
there's always something more.

Whether the rain pours,
hail falls,
and mud seeps inside my shoes,
I always walk.

Whether there's a better,
easier way
to reach where I'm trying to go,
I always walk.

Whether there are hands extended
or faceless shame,
ever since the age of three
I always walk.

Whether you care,
whether the wind is at my back,
I've never been carried,
I always walk.

Even when my mother cries,
even if my father dies,
if my children are my own,
they will walk
close behind.

Whether love
or pollen
pollutes the air
and my red eyes can no longer see,
I will always walk.

Whether the song I sing
is one that you know,
or one that you don't care to hear,
I always walk.

Cars go rushing by,
people pass in silence.
Like the potholes you swerve to avoid,
I persist.

I fell once;
I crawled and begged for a hand,
but I was held down and convinced
I would never walk again.



Then I stood;
On that day,
with vindication in the breath I exhaled,
I swore to always walk -
and even God took note.

I know a girl.
Stunning.
She could **** and get away with it.
Imagine humanitys mother,
And then make her care a little more.

But she has a secret.
She thinks she can fix everyone,
But she cannot fix herself.

She thinks she is broken
Because life told her she was
It struck her down in her stride
And shes never been the same.

So shes singing herself the blues
But only by the sunrise of a new day
Another sleepless night
She does not want you to hear.

But if you listen closely you can hear her song.

In every word she speaks
In every look she gives
In every kind, loving gesture she makes
She hums her song

And it is beautiful
Though she does not know it.

Her song is the song of the broken
Of the ones who are brought to their knees
With nothing left to do but stay there and pray
Her song is the song of the valiant
Who do not look down at the ground
They look up at the sky
Undaunted. The world
Cannot hurt them.

Her song is her song.
And if you're lucky,
One day she'll sing it to you.
You'll know it when you hear it.

Your eyes betray me.
Leaving me to drown
In a sea of confusion.
Your lips, laced in euphoria,
Leave me dazed
Trapping me in your embrace

Why must the hue of your copper eyes
Complement the stares of the skies?

Why must the glimmer of the stars,
The abyss of the night,
Be the prisoners of your stare?

Why must I be trapped by your glare,
Demented by the dream of having
Your hand in mine?