First love is stumbling upon an unfamiliar path
A gust of wind in your sails,
You try to ***** the danger from above
But misty clouds serve as a veil
That's the thing about first love
You can't turn around now that you've departed
You just have to ride it through
These seas left uncharted

I may write
Like someone
Who doesn't
Know the
Difference
Among

Their
They're
There

I may not
Be like
Neruda, Barrett-Browning
Or Shakespeare

But these
Words

They have
Helped me

These
River of words
Ocean of thoughts
Sea of feelings

Have soothed
My soul

Helped me

Healed me

Filled me up

Until
I am
Whole
Again

You are still beside me
yet you are gone!
I walk, feeling for your hand
but there is just thin air
I think of you,
when my mind is already full
Wanting to kiss you,
those lips are no longer there
I sleep with you
but only in my mind
Craving to be with you
even when I want to be alone
Many dreams of you
that I lose and then find
My heart breaking
it weeps and moans
But I know this ....
when I am gone
and I am lost
you will want me
to find you    

x

She,
wanted to share with me
some of her
genetic history
and who am I
to complain.

What if I fell in love
With a broken down *******
Not because I needed to fix him
But simply because I wanted to revel in his beauty
The maddening craziness
Of a life
A life that didn't need to be maintained with perfection
A life where you could just knock down pillars that you didn't need
Destroy friendships that weren't beneficial
A life where one could disown one's own mother
Without the whole neighbourhood offering their tut-tuts
And their 5 cents too many
About how to trim your garden
What if I fell in love with a life
Who let their weeds grow
And created a garden out of thorns
A **** patch that would make those neighbours shriek
What if I fell in love with chaos and disorder
Not to right the tables
Nor to order the shelves
What if I didn't attempt to prune the garden
But I let it grow into a forest
And then laughed when I stepped on a thorn
What if I let the sun shine through the madness
What if I opened my arms to the destruction
What if you sung me a lullaby out of tune
And I asked you to sing it anyways…

i am very pink my legs are very long
in the 1960s i was in a song
i am found in parks sometimes in a zoo
my numbers they are many there are quite a few
tell me what i am the clues are in the rhyme
something you can do to spend a little time

it's nights like this
that i see the true sadness
that seeps into my life,
leaving me drained
a nod to my lack of enthusiasm.

my life
isn't important to me,
my willingness
to carry on
is not there.

when i'm gone
no one notices,
i do not exist
i am
invisible
to
everyone.

Unfortunately,
I have found myself
at the end of another
failed experiment.
SUBJECT 17 has yielded
no results substantial
in deviation relative to the others.
No exceeding qualities
or aspiring hopes,
only the same shallow devotions,
same tangible-driven emotion.
I have only managed to
catalyze tolerance in the
subjects toward my behavior,
with no noticeable steps
moving toward interest.

Give me one woman
who enjoys Hem like me.
One woman
who cares about literature,
or good music that provides
something deeper than the melody.
I've been looking for too long.
17 times I've given myself up for
the experiment, 17 times I've
stepped out on the limb.
However, the poet's life is not a life
of acceptance, interest, or accolade.
We are tolerated
by the subjects we surround
ourselves with,
until they grow tired
of our late nights spent
with attentions elsewhere.
Leaving us with ourselves,
until we realize that isn't
such a loathsome place
to be.