and then somewhere
over a blues song
I can hear your voice
and I miss you,
my feelings, they get harder and harder to breath with
I am dying under some guitar strings
and I want you
and there is no desert that needs water
as much as I need  you.
you to be mine
to be mine

God always listens when you pray.
He hears every word that you say.
Your prayers and faith are important to him.
He won't let you down even if things are grim.
Some times good people feel like losers but in God's eyes, they are winners.
If bad people change their ways, God will forgive them even though they were big sinners.
If you ever think that God doesn't listen to your prayers, please remember that isn't true.
God always listens and he wants to be a part of your life every day because he loves you.

When you feel uncertain and troubled thoughts remain
I will be the one to shelter you from the rain

When your heart is heavy and feeling non but sorrow
I will paint a rainbow to brighten your tomorrow

When your path is rocky and the road aheads not clear
I will guide your way to a path that's without fear

When all your plans have changed and your mind is filled with doubt
And no longer can you see a way to work things out

Remember who you are and all you have achieved
Someone who's succeeded much more than they believed

Remember how much your loved with admiration and respect
Remember the positive impact you've had on all you've met

Remember the wonderful mother~ daughter sister and friend you are
Someone I know and love who shines like the brightest star
One person in this world On who I know I can depend
Remember you changed my life
The day ~you became my friend .............

I see you through fogged glass in a small café, you are sipping apple juice and reading a newspaper even though you get updates to your phone every time a new news story is published. I assume you do it because you’re nervous and your blonde hair looks beautifully unkempt and I smile, inwardly. I stand just long enough to see you take another sip of your apple juice and fumble with your hands slightly before I notice I too am fumbling with my own. We always had a habit of saying and doing things at the same time, as if our subconscious was connected on a level our conscious couldn’t keep up with. I open the café door and the bell chimes, suddenly there is no one else in the room except us and I feel the open air grow thick with excitement and nervous tension.

I would say I could feel your gaze burning the pores of my skin open, but your eyes are too blue that I could do nothing but dive into them, swallowing mouthfuls of unspoken love and all the words you’ve never needed to say as they fill my lungs and I expand. I think this is why I no longer have an appetite; this is why falling in love is so fulfilling because there is too much to chew and so much to swallow and I cannot stop feasting on the thoughts that whirlpool around in your mind. Every day is a three course meal and I am stacking up plates upon plates trying to build something long enough to stretch to the ends of you. I cannot swim but I still continue to dive, filled with mouthfuls of unspoken memories, the parts of you you’re too afraid to give away yet but I was blessed with patience. I am candlelight and you are the flame that allows me to glow, flickering in draughty bedrooms as we sway to a playlist I made especially for us entitled “beginnings” because I believe we will always feel like this. I have been strung out to dry on life’s washing line since I was a child and it wasn’t until you became home that I felt the warmth of candlelight and we become what we love.

I sit down opposite you in a small café, you say “I’ve missed you” and I tell you that I have never stopped missing you. The waitress asks what I’d like to drink and you reply “water” and I smile, inwardly. I stopped fumbling with my hands when they found yours and you persisted I try your apple juice but I was adamant it just wasn’t for me and you smiled, outwardly. I had always been inward but you had taught me that it is okay to be outward and I complimented your smile for what seemed like the hundredth time hoping it would cause you to smile and it did and I told you that you had a face even artists could not create. I told you that there are universes within me and in every single one I have created galleries for you so that no matter where I am, I can always feel like I’m home.

To drown is considered a tragedy but I would anchor myself to the very depths of you and float within the atoms that enable you to be and I would merge myself into the darkness and find comfort within the unknown because part of it resides within me and I would die to be close to you. We become what we love and all I am is a paperback of romantic poetry with brushstrokes underlining the parts that are most important and one day I will whittle to ash in the flame that burns for you in the belly of my stomach and my paperback poetry will shrivel in your whirlpool and the pen will smudge and the writing will smear, but it is ok. Because I am diving into eyes, drowning myself in mouthfuls of the poetry I never sent and choking it back to you with my own eyes so you can see all that I am and all that I ever will be and decide if my candlelight is worth keeping aflame.

Before it tastes like a savory.
But for some reason, it started to taste as what it’s supposed to be.
Sweet, creamy and lovely in every bite.

It was never my favorite in coffee shops.
It was never that tasty enough.
I couldn’t even imagine finishing a piece of this pastry.

I wonder what caused this sudden change of flavor.
I wonder why I have this urge to save it for later.
Perhaps, it was the person who gave and made it taste better.

My thoughts shriek for attention in fear
Because it's afraid the world can't see clear,
But
This face cannot be seen, and this voice unheard.

So I take this brush and paint this canvas of words.

Life is opening the cell to Insanity for its release.
It conquers and eliminates ever being of Peace,
But
I can't make a change since I'm a little child, a little piece of dirt.

So I take this brush and paint this canvas of words.

Depression and Sorrow are pulling the strings of innocent minds
The population of humans starts to decline,
But
I'm chained up by my own weaknesses, who is inflicting more pain than I can endure.

So I take this brush and paint this canvas of words.

Emotions engulf victims into its grasps
Pushing them  to the limit, not caring if they don't last,
But
The feeling has put my throat at the end of a knife, one false move and I'm dead for sure.

So I take this brush and paint this canvas of words.

So I take this brush and paint this canvas of words.

I wish not for glorious riches
I seek not for fame and pride
I dream of a home to look unto
a place where I can be alive

I whisper not prayers of uncanny health
nor wish for eternal wisdom's guide
I dream of whispering "I love you"
to my woman, to my child

And yes, I dream of doors wide open
to my return from a laborious day
and sit to find some bread and porridge
to warm the coldness of my summer's day

So that I may lay round a crowd of few
and close my eyes so weary and sappy
and to barely utter my last words
this, is what will make me happy.

Butane*

You were toxic to me,
you only used me,
but loyalty didn't let me see that,
because I didn't want to see that.
I wanted to ignore the little things
you did that annoyed me,
I wanted to ignore all the jokes
that were too cumbersome with reality.

I wanted to ignore it all when
you began to leave me behind,
I wanted to tell myself it was
all in my mind.
And do you know how ill that makes you-
to feign one's own insanity in
order to not see reality, which is
even more insane?

You attempted to strangle my
inelastic lungs in their small ribcage,
but today, if I see you,
I am reminded to breathe deeper
(luckily we do not breathe the same air)
because now you are no one to me,
just a dull face amongst the others,
no flame or spark ignited.

This twisted spine collapsed down on the world with vengence.

Its crooked maw could not decipher the slithering tongues of monolithic men.

I tore away at my flesh until she returned, beaded eyes white hot with fiendish intentions.

Sparatic jestures have been no strangers here, at this abode we endure, witnessing the violence.