There is a quiet thunder to the way she walks, and a heavy rainfall when she leaves. She treads water trying to reach islands that will house her but cannot reach the shore before her hurricane mind carries her away to new homes, homes she finds in people, and often the wrong people. But she is strong and stands like the tallest oak, letting gale force winds bend her branches so that she may feel what is to live, but never has she broken. Her voice is the sound of birds in the spring with all the melodies and lullabies of the early morning, she has a light in her that is both the sun and the fireflies and it will illuminate your heart should you ever let her in. Sometimes she is wilted but even beautiful roses have thorns and she draws blood if you try to pick her petals. She is the earth and the wind and the sky and though her roots are strong she is not always smiling, but just like a flower she grows from the ground up and all will gather to awe at her beauty when she sees it within herself.

Gypsy likes it when it rains
Teardrops wreck the sky coming from a better place
Liquid pain falling from an angel's face
Gypsy trembles under her velvet and lace

Poet, be not afraid.
There are far worse things than
Bad poetry.

Keep writing; like a child keeps
Drawing with the purest of
Disregards to likeness.

The more stones you turn, the more
Gems you produce.

The more ink you rain,
The more gracious your written
Children grow.

All flexing builds muscle.

Rough bricks form castles.

Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds
And started anew
Not caring too much.
Not caring

Too much
To keep painting.

Just another name scribbled in the corner of my notebook.

An artist paints himself in memories
and long lost dreams of yesteryears
lying in a field of laughing daffodils
he waters each with endless tears

Placing a box of love that never was
with shaking hands upon the shelf
wondering why it’s so hard to find
while he cannot love or find himself

Recklessly navigating a sea of sorrow
wishing to dive into its deadly deep
but lacking the courage for even that
a child slowly cries himself to sleep