We confidently dove into the blue river-
The two of us, swimmers at heart.
It didn’t matter that sometimes we shivered,
We never wanted to be apart.

Now you say there’s too much of a current.
But... you told me before, that you were a swimmer.
What you said to me that those other girls weren’t,
You said that I was. I was your winner.

So you ask to let go; you say you’re exhausted
And you want the current to take you away.
But I am afraid- what has this costed?
Will going with the river cause us to decay?

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve done him right.
As a mother watching him grow,
Not letting him out of my sight,
Oh I worry so.

Authority isn’t my strong suit,
I have never been in charge,
But better than being mute,
Like his father, at large.

When it comes to being a single mother,
There are times when I must let him go,
And although I want to hover,
Being a good parent is what I must show.

I love the boy who I pledged to raise,
From that very first moment, that very first day.

religion should be about hope
not putting fear in other people's souls
should be about about peace
not about starting wars
about forgiveness
not about punishing innocent hearts

imagine all the people living life in peace

but how can one do this when bombs are thrown
instead of love
when moms cry
and children die
peace is impossible to be seen
when music dies and we hear only desperate hearts
praying
begging
wondering why.

we have different Gods and rules
our prayers sound different
our holy books are not the same
and
there are many sins in our souls
but
you're not God, nor am I
and none of us should play
the game of washing sins away
with spilled blood
and shed tears.

I snort poetry
Just give me a rhyme
I'll breathe it in deep
Like a******* line
I love words
Poetry and prose
I'll snort 'em right up
Like I'm sniffin a rose
They give me a buzz
Get me high
Give me wings
And then I fly
Way more addictive
Than any drug I've tried
Write me a poem
I'll read it and get fried

He isn't the moon,
But its sultry glow

He isn't the sun,
But its shine

He isn't the clock,
But its time

He isn't the hands,
But the holding

He isn't the poem,
But its rhyme

He isn't love,
But my heart