Faith, patience, perfection
Truly one of a kind
Words cannot define
Emotions in my mind
But the thought
Of seeing you again
Makes me smile
Falling forward
The depths of longing
Live my life
Live yours too
In the end
I know we’ll be there soon

It was cold
the night she left us.
Her body ached in pain
as she held the gun.
Her thoughts were dark, dreary, morbid.
We never thought to ask
why she didn't smile anymore.
Her eyes were like a shut down motel,
dark and closed and creepy.
Her teeth were yellow,
for only they could stop the words from spilling out.
She had stopped eating,
she left for lunch.
But we just thought she had met someone.
And we were right,
in one way or another.
She had met a man,
a man that reeks of decay, and death, and sorrow.
He only wears black, even on the hottest days.
His face is made of bone, and nothing but.
We will all meet this man at one point,
he is Death.
How we meet him, well that is up to him.
For her, he chose sooner rather than later.
I wonder if she regrets it,
I hope she doesn't.
She deserves to be happy now.
I wonder what caused her to do it.
Was it Bill, who played practical jokes?
No, she loved those.
Was it Ted, who hit on her everyday?
No, he apologized.
Was it me? Did I do it?
Yes. I must've. I had to.
Why else would she do it?
Maybe it was when I tripped her.
But she knew that was on accident.
Maybe it was when I kissed her.
But she kissed me back.
Maybe, just maybe, it was because I never told her I loved her.
Maybe. That word will be the death of me.
As it was of her.

Speak not for the sake of reaction.
Speaking is to take action.
Speaking requires contribution.
So why anonymously contribute?
How can a speaker write without someone to listen?
When the audience is the thinker’s heart it shall not matter.
Not by the power of the words one uses.
But by the power of the meaningfulness.
Relevance to self is all that matters.
Because relevance to self is what created the idea in the first place.

Hands on rope
Swaying frayed and free,
Palms torn and burnt

A reckless lover waiting for arms outstretched,
But free fall in bliss!

Forbidden fruit of Barbados
Oh how she glows.

Sectional sweetness
Bitter in aftertaste

My favorite things in life
Always seem to be similar

Maybe because
I prefer the familiar

The curve and the shape
Contour and ripe

As I slice thee in half
I notice your walls

Serrated spoon in hand
Showing gratitude toward the land

For it bears blessed fruits
The fruit blesses me

Upon receiving sour
Bite after bite

The bitterness sets in
Night after night

Grapefruit makes me happy
Grapefruit makes me smile

I hope that I don’t get sick
At least not for a while