I often wonder whether I am failing myself but then I remember the girl I once was the one who was always the third wheel who carefully planned out and calculated her words only to be talked over when she finally spoke the one who was bullied by her first grade teacher who hated her looks and despised her body
who stared blankly into space until her mind was elsewhere the one who was called useless after trying her best throwing kindness like confetti at people who couldn't care less what would be the look on her face if she found out that I am working at a summer camp as happy as could be holding out my hand rather than being walked over cracking jokes without fear choking me to death opening the lid to my box a little more each day if only I could have washed her tears away hugged her and told her it will be okay

she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could

my dad used to say all of the songs were about being seventeen young and sweet, wind in your hair, excitement in your veins and I thought wow, that means seventeen could be my year will my fairy godmother spare a wish? can my rags of hopelessness finally sparkle? maybe seventeen is the excuse I need to be brave to take the shot in the dark if it means finding light to cross the unbeaten path even though tree roots are out to get me to express the love flowing in the canyons of my heart to stop closing doors as quickly as I open them my age is young, but my dreams are old with this next chapter comes stories untold
I've had 536,457,600 seconds of air and don't want to waste one more

The Lilac trees were bushes then
In the front yard of where I grew up.
Their perfume filled the small front room
Of the tiny little house we lived in.

Across the yard were Holly trees
One for each of us three kids
Who loved to push each other
Laughing, onto their sharp leaves.

Three Lilacs and three Holly trees
All planted by my mother
And all of them were tiny shrubs
Just like her little children.

The kids and bushes grew in sync
As days and years meandered by
Until the kids were grown and gone
And left the bushes growing there

To mark the passing of the days
That added up to childhoods filled
With  perfume in the afternoons
And sometimes thorns into the fingers.
ljm

There she lay
No beautiful smile
No sparkling eyes
All life's energy spent
Now peace
In eternal sleep

She is gone
Only if we forget
The love she gave
Is ours to keep

We who knew her best
Are compelled by her noble way
To heed a greater love
Beyond flesh and blood

Let us sing her song again
Love is the key
Her spirit is ours
For all eternity

There is nothing
All the jars and cans
Sit empty on the shelves.
There is no hope for more.
The roads to everywhere are closed.
And Greyhound doesn’t stop here any more.

Everything is nebulous.
The equipment is all broken down
And rusting outside in the rain.
We ordered from a catalog
But never got a shipment back,
And our check was never cashed.

There is nothing in the pipeline.
The doorbell doesn’t seem to work.
The screen door has a hole in it,
Patched with pages
Ripped from next week’s calendar,
And the phone declines to ring.

Everything is over now,
The happy times
Are past and gone.
All that’s left to us is weeping
And the Kleenex box is empty,
So the tears make puddles on the floor.

All we see through tear filled eyes:
Another day in paradise.
            ljm

If you feel alone,
look up at the sky.
The stars are always up there
twinkling for you.

Pretty things fare well
Everyone loves pretty things
Pretty flowers, pretty houses, pretty faces
We don't visit ugly places
The under belly, the blood, the snot
Perhaps ugly things are best forgot
Pretty, it fades if we see it each day
Fresh eyes wouldn't focus on the magnitude of decay
But the slight beauty that grows around
Well, that would be found right away