You always use the back button
on your phone,
never the home button.
You’re scared of exiting something completely.
You’re scared of leaving things behind.
You’re scared that home will take you far away.
But home was never meant to be something
to run away from.
It isn’t the park down the street
where you played as a kid,
or the hardwood floor you collapse onto
when hours past midnight become
too much to handle.
It’s not the splintered wood and bent nails
that keep the four walls around you standing.
Home doesn’t have an address.
Home never had an address.
Home was always right here with you.
It’s always right here with you.
So when things become too much
and you feel too weak to push forward,
you will learn to push the home button,
and you will find me.
I will be home for you.
I will always be home for you.

I'd just like to meet someone.
 
there was a girl I knew who would follow me,
as we followed our souls,
into the deepest parts of wherever we were,
when we were merely 4 years old.
 
I miss her organic smile.
 
I imagine her in the roots of trees
giving birth the the air I breathe
simultaneously whispering into my ear
telling me it's alright
that I've got blood dripping
from the sharp teeth in my mouth
as I wander into the depths
in search of the biggest of meals
on all fours.
 
I understand, further now
why the lone wolf howls up into the moon
despite his dissonance
from his pack.
 
I am dead
I will always be dead
and anyone who wishes to love me
will die as well.
 
therefore
I see it only logical
that I have
no hope
 
for a wife.
 
 
nor a life.
 
only a memory I may be
some great amount of years
after my death,
 
just like all the rest
 
who chose to live,
 
in the breath of something
too large to ever be filled.
 
some, thing
which had already been killed.
 
some, thing
never capable of being spilled.
 
someone, of which
all dreams are revealed.
 
never sealed.
 
I'd just like to meet
someone real.

                 isn't it funny                                look so much like capillaries?
hey Lindell,                    how the tops of trees
                 isn't it funny                                look so much like capillaries.

A little girl with eyes of blue
You were your mother's prayer
You are your mother's daughter
With ringlets in your hair

But...

Turn the competition up
Turn the volume up to ten
You're a little tomboy
Your dads daughter then...

You can pick a squirrel from a tree
When you wrestle you won't yield
When you go and play at football
You're the best boy on the field
You can tear apart an engine
You act just like your dad
I've got to say my daughter
Is the son I never had

You dress up for your mother
Wear  a dress to go to school
You have manners like no other
And you know the golden rule

But, when the day is over
The dress is off and jeans on quick
Then you grab your rod and tackle box
And take off fishing at the crick

You can pick a squirrel from a tree
When you wrestle you won't yield
When you go and play at football
You're the best boy on the field
You can tear apart an engine
You act just like your dad
I've got to say my daughter
Is the son I never had


You are your mothers princess
You are your daddy's son
But you are our loving daughter
When it counts, and day is done

You make both of us happy
You make both of us proud
You blush when I yell loudly
That's my daughter....really loud

You can pick a squirrel from a tree
When you wrestle you won't yield
When you go and play at football
You're the best boy on the field
You can tear apart an engine
You act just like your dad
I've got to say my daughter
Is the son I never had

surprise, baby!
daddy brought you
a plethora of pills
a candy-store of homeopathics
a comfortable array of fixer-uppers.

go down the line
taste every flavor
melt them under your tongue
swallow them
drink them
drop them
watch daddy
watch you
for signs of
improve-
ment

he sees you slip away
into a drugged state
a smile slides onto baby's face
like melting butter
daddy is happy
because he thinks
baby
is

Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday
To Me
One Year Older
Another Day Colder
Happy Birthday
To Me

Always fighting for a cause sometikes feels my life is on pause
Thinking of what to say hoping for that day to come
Doing my part hoping things don't fall apart
Changed my ways not going back
Feeling under attack because I know how to act
Know right from wrong don't let good give into bad
Shine for hard work and move forward be better

i opened a text
and then i cried
today.

because the "heeeey :)"
that my bestfriend sent me
isn't a
"let me see
if you're ok"
it's a
"please watch my kid so i can hang out with my boyfriend."

and i
know that you're really happy
that he's made you really happy
but i am so unhappy
and you don't even know
because you don't even ask
you only text me last
minute
and you know
i'll do it
i always do it
because i want you to be happy
but sometimes i want to
be happy
too.

These streets are postcards.
Moments of my youth,
My loves.

Each park bench enveloped within,
Licked and pressed to
My forehead.

Return me to those times.
I want my streets back. My memories
Present and my friends
Still readied for me.
Pour moi.

Pour me another drink
Whilst I forget the ones I had.
Red wine has long since replaced
My blood,

My skin; gone stale.
The streets press in on
My chest.

I can’t breath for the dizzy memoirs,
Yowling at the moon in
My brain.

The simple sway of a tyre swing,
You and I,
The chains.

The simple fog of your ice machine,
You and I,
The cider.

The simplicity of you and me,
You and me,
The years.

These streets are ghost ships now.
Bounty once abound, now gutted.
Do not tease me with your platitudes
Oh town,

And just let me be on my way.