2052, 2069 or 2075?
A bottle of Coke everyday
Much earlier perhaps

An accident?
Due to old age?
For sure it'll come so sudden

Ah, I should prepare a list
Of accounts and passwords
For my sister to access

She will have to put a year after '1992 - ',
Update my status to 'deceased'
And respond to the grieving comments too

Brace yourselves for the loving messages
And stories of how amazing I was
That will sure flood from my funeral's guests

They will range from people I hold dear
To people I barely know
And from those who doesn't really care

It will be fun to watch from the sidelines
And a little sad too
To see them desperately hold on to what's gone

I guess that's the joke of life
You'll know its importance once its out of your hands
I guess I'll have fun, while I'm alive

Oh the irony!
I am celebrating my birth
By writing a poem about my death

i will start a bonfire
and throw in all that i've been
all that i've ever touched
with my fingertips
or with my heart,
all my clothes
and nights with no dreams
all the stars i've watched thinking of you
the moon and the rainbows too
all the beds i've made love in
all the songs i find you in
the poems i  wrote
my tears and smiles
all my soul
my eyes,
this skin you'll never touch
the way i want you to,
all my seasons
and all the years i'll have to live without you.
i'll make a bonfire
and i will throw in all i've got
all the trees
and everything surrounding me
a great bonfire, indeed
designed to put me on desolation row
for eternity.
i'll throw in all that hurts the most
except for my love for you
and a picture with your name on it
that i keep
for rainy days like these.

1016

The Hills in Purple syllables
The Day’s Adventures tell
To little Groups of Continents
Just going Home from School.

Not cancer within our bones,
But it’s a cancer of our homes.
It’s a “hierarchy” deemed “alright”
But it’s a battle – a true fight.

It’s a longing for control and
It’s a simple punch, fist, hand
Or not even that. It could be
Lashing words that ignore her plea.

He denies her to her loved ones
For that’s who would step up with guns
Of love, ropes of safety. “Keep quiet,”
She’s told, which is now her best bet.

It’s shame that keeps her in silence.
It’s love that frees her from *violence.

You know you're a poet
When you have walked the tightropes
Of being placed into a confined label
And still look up to a brighter sky of hope.

You know you're a poet
When you hear echoes of voices
That resonate within your mind
From all the mistakes and bad choices.

You know you're a poet
When you can see shades of colour
Within a black and white film
And see value beyond the dollar.

You know you're a poet
When the winter comes you cheer
For all the new found imagery
Like the sight of snow that is white clear.

You know you're a poet
When spring has arrived
You think of a spring in a step
and how a pen-spring is alive.

You know you're a poet
When heartbreak is motivation
For a chance to write sullen words
And heart ache becomes a wonderful creation.

Blossoms are the
Hopes and dreams
Attached to the thorny
Stems of life
We all have to climb
To smell the roses

meaningless things drifting in your mind
they don't matter
they can't change anything
they say
sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never harm me

thats not true
words hurt
through and through
they make you shrink
inside yourself
smaller and smaller
until there is nothing left
and nothing left for you to do