He was under the couch
next to two dollars
which bought me lunch
at McDonalds
I sat God next to my Gold Buddha
and what do you know?
My luck ran out
the very next day
I hate to say
that while the two dollars
filled my belly
for a little while
God seemed clean me out
quicker than a day old burrito
from Taco Bell
and reminds me
to never introduce Him
to my friends
Two dollars was an awesome find
who knows what lives
beneath a couch?
A word of warning
Grab the money and run!
Leave everything else!

A poem, that's not a poem
but gets 2 thousands reads
lands on the Daily
and makes my heart bleed
So much fighting, back biting,
such inverted sense
of there own
proliferate nonsense
Drowning out the artful voices
of the souls that bleed
poetic choices
Sitting in their towers
built from dung
measuring  how meanly
they are hung
while many other voices
chime in and you can't hear the truth
crowing inside the din
it's like an ache in a tooth!

Some truly beautiful poems
that will hold your heart,
most bearing their souls
and simply enjoying the art!
Connecting on a level
that cares little for 'hearts'
just waiting for someone to say
'Hi, I feel what you wrote'
Not caring about figures, or charts

Be you one voice under one name
or one voice under many
If one is a vitriolic persona
rest assured the others are just as ugly

I'd have to give HP
a 2/10 this week

Sadly it's impossible to articulate
while being drowned when trying to speak.

two small letters just drifting
under the weight of meaning

is this ok?
does this look ok?

is so and so ok?
blah blah blah ok?

so, ok, it's short on verse
lets say, okay
or oakey dokay or
right e o then....

lets not pretend that everything
is right even when we say, hey~
I'm O K...

it's only when I say
or you to me
"are we ok?"
and the reply is
"yeah, I think we are"

that I know the world is right
this night and you're ok
and so am I

:-)

I spoke to you in whispers
but you shouted out my shame
My confidence is now just splinters
I can no longer speak your name

At dawn the sun broke my mask
I wore to dance to your tune
Now I'm just a broken mess
for you look down upon as your due

Can we never hear the music again
that was once our beating pulse?
Why is it you're always the one
that sings more quietly than most?

While we blind ourselves
we simply drown with the tide
Echoes of the past reflect only the failures and so shall it always be

Tomorrows promise is a kiss of remorse
just the same, we shall part
Can we leave what was only,
to pretend what never will be?

As you pull me from the depths
I simply leave you waiting
The nightmares will fade
but will the dreams ever again ring true?

So why do we dance to the same old tune?
When the music goes away
do we simply just nod to each other
knowing there's no other day?
At midnight do we excuse ourselves
to slumber separately with our demons?
Or do we simply hold onto
each other
to survive through the next season?

I taste the goodbye upon your lips
I hear our song slowly fade
Can you not simply follow me
to the shore
where new memories could be made?

In bittersweet reprise is our closing
Here do the credits role
Tonight is a moment and it bleeds the memories
Soon only to be pages from our past

Paint this moments portrait,
and stand back, not see the flaws
It is all in the illusion after all

Except for, in the grains of sand
upon which we danced
are the footsteps of our past
just washing away
Do the pages just turn on?
Because if you asked me in the beginning
I would have told you I didn't dance
But you grabbed me and started swaying
without me having a chance
to tell you I can't hear the music
I just move to a certain beat
The illusion is the only thing
that will move me to my feet

Isn't it after all, the flaws,
that will crack
and we will tumble
You may walk away singing,
while I still fumble with the illusion that we danced so pretty
under a fractured moonlight
While I tried to hold onto you
upon a tortured shore
You walked away from me
Leaving me in the dark of night

he asks me

How are you?

I reply

You know...
same old same,
desolate...
antsy, empty...
and you?

His reply?

Same difference
but I won't complain
I'm breathing and talking
to you

He sits me down
in front of a virtual fireplace
and instructs me through life
leaving just a minuscule trace
of his own footsteps
even though his tread
should be heavier
for the burdens he carries
are colossal against mine

but he takes the time...

To listen to my words
and answer my pleas
He understands
and sees what I don't see

I erred in titling this
my friend
I meant
my Mentor
my Heart~ache, my Hero
my understanding unconsciousness
give, Give, give, never take

I have this friend
who never unanswered
any prayer
if you have an Angel

that you can spare...

Free her wings and let her fly
she knows where she is going
and she knows why
where she needs to be...

tell my friend I sent her

Angel dust and fairy wishes
are what he needs to see :)

it's not worth
dropping angst
over the edge
of the ravine
just so the troll
can feed
they hide under bushes
and tickle snakes bellies
for a reason
because once
they were
The Captain
of their own ship
but couldn't steer past
the rocks of their own
****
now laying deep
as rusty bones
of their own ignorance
of the lighthouse
The just want to haunt
another house
Like anything starved
it will just whither
and die
Feeding the troll
gives it good eating
Hold onto your
success, so fleeting
just cross the bridge
and let it be buried
beneath its own lies

they come easier
when the rain
washes away
tears, all becomes
so much clearer
when answers
become questions
and time becomes
finite
when hurt becomes
just a fickle memory
just a trickle of shivers
that run down
a spine
distance remembers
that unjust thoughts
are a simple art
that carry their own
magic
we danced
on razors blades
in the end
forgetting
the softness
of the feathers
where we bedded
at the start
but what is
tragic?
is that I never
apologised
Not for my
words,or
my actions
or,
for why I thought
you would
care?
I want to apologise
that I occupied
the same space
as you
and you never
really knew
I was there

*i am so sorry

You write the most beautiful words
for the woman in your life
I get it now, I'm such a cow
I only see destruction and strife
I'm lying right next to him
just now, as I write
he doesn't know
I'm twisting the knife
I want to be that woman
so proud, so bold
but in his eyes I've grown
so bitter, so cold
except I've had to weather
such unexpected plans
that all I can do
is look down
at my upturned hands
palms out in supplication
raised as a defence
ready to hold against a cheek
that doesn't take offence
I read words from such males
that hold a vow so sacred
and epiphanies become true to me
that leave me standing raw and naked

I watched a video once
about a song competition
Where artists were invited
to send their masterpieces in
The winner to be recorded
for eternal prosperity
because even if the world
Hated it, it would still be out there

Obviously in this technical age
many online videos arrived
what they didn't expect was the envelope
that cost less then a dollar to mail
it held their interest without fail

Fred was 94 years old
and he'd written a song
for his wife, his sweet Lorraine
neatly hand written and mailed
he had nothing he wanted to gain
Just to tell these people
of his sweet Lorraine

75 years they shared a love
that would most of us shame
the year of the the competition
He lost his sweet Lorraine
and even though he couldn't compare
to the incredible musical talent out there
The music studio visited Fred
and said
We also love your sweet Lorraine
and we want her to live, for you, again

And they wrote the music to Fred's words
and sat with him as he listened
as his old heavy eyes glistened
he just nodded and said
Yep

What makes me cry
is this emotion called Love
While joyous moments are undeniable
the lows must be spoken of
I'm more afraid than ever
of the deep abiding Love
I share with other half of my soul
the one who truly knows me
the only one that will really care
Then when I go before him
his heart will shatter
but Love will still beat
with nobody left to share it with
and only memories in retreat

So yeah, Love makes me sad, makes me cry and I'll always be afraid of it, even as I own it

I feel the itch,
I try not scratch
scratches can heal themselves
cuts are not the answer
especially cuts made
by someone else

picking at the scabs
only creates a scar
now I only wonder
briefly
where you are

pick, pick, pick
scratch, scratch, scratch

you're just a memory
of an unwelcome rash

I run my hands
upon my skin
and try to exorcise
foreign anomalies

That would be
the traces of
your fingertips
which I continue
to feel upon me

pick, pick, pick
scratch, scratch, scratch

you're just a scar, upon my skin

I wish you were just a memory

I am Ruby Red eyes
peering into the window
of your soul

I am the creepy scratching
that the leafless tree
is tapping upon the glass
in the night
My smile is a gaping maw
begging to swallow you whole

I am the heart of your fear
that you cut into pieces
and dined on in elegance

I am your surprise package

Yours to unfold

Hidden in the deepest layers
of tissue and delicate lace
Is everything you wished for
and nothing you wish to face

I am something/nothing/exactly
like you
I've danced along treetops
only to fall  into a pit
scrabbled sideways
into a hole I couldn't fit

I've cursed the day I was born
and I curse the day I will die
because mortality has robbed me
of the voice that could make me

Fly

Fly my precious
Seek surcease in the arms
of those that would only
want to hold your light
higher than your heart
Desist of your sadness
it beats like poison in veins
Madness is just a beginning
Bleeding from a subconscious
will be just a start

Spit out the remains of bone
that are caught in your teeth
Only the marrow of Heart and Soul
will feed you in your grief

If you see them

With their tongues
down another's throat

Through a red haze
as you choke

Standing outside
the clinic
having a smoke
Planned Parenthood
or checking for STDs

It's a sign

you see???

I feel it in my heart
I think it in my mind
I hear it every day
It's immortal in its time

I wear it on my sleeve
I hold it in my hand
I utter it repeatedly
every second that I can

I always think of you
the feelings overwhelming
It always reminds me of you
the incantation can be telling

just a little four letter word
that can, with any luck
completely describe my feelings

*****

You're my favorite pastime
You're the flavor of all my years
You're the beat that starts my heart
You're the salt that tints my tears

You're the red haze of my anger
and the white mist as it clears
You're the new leaf on my tree
and the root of all my fears

You're my every kiss goodnight
You're my sunrise in the morning
You're my thought throughout the day
You're my moon as the night is dawning

You're my cup of coffee
you're my drink of wine
You're my shot of whiskey
You're my everything that is fine

You are so perfect in my head
so perfect in my heart
so perfect in the beginning
even more perfect at the last

You're my best friend, my lover
my partner and my all
You're the foundation of all of me
Without you I may fall

You're the one who taught me
that one plus one equals us
though the equation is now minus
I trust to go on, I must...

hahahaha
strangled choke

with your head in the sand
standing bent over
for just any man to walk by
still you try to mumble
while I sigh...

You make me cry

while all your life prose
cools just like a *******
upon a body not breathing
stiff as a cold breeze
You sit like a scarecrow
guarding your non de plume
drowning out your own scream

why don't you

attract that ravenous beast
that will feed upon
your braggart heart, tear apart
your broken bones to the meat
that rots like a rancid ****,
all covered in mildewed
strawberries
and curdled cream

You were never smart

Eating away at the morning dew
chomping on a feast that few
ever completely inhaled
but only just nibbled on
bit by bit except

I did

but do you know
what really gets my goat?

I do

Steel bites, nips with pain
Ruby tears spill, painting eyes
silver, like cold rain

you weep upon a mound of dirt
pretending I'm beneath the earth
but I'm the bird upon the sky
the brightly colored butterfly
the flower that blooms through the crack
all the regrets that you'll never get back
I'm the rainbow that never ends
the forgiving heart that always bends
the light in the middle of the night
I'm the monster under your bed
the one inside your head
that will make everything all right
I'm not dead
I'm just gone
you weep over an empty grave
it's not goodbye
just... so long

she sat
with her back
against
the closed door
but mostly
she laid
upon the floor,
tracing patterns
upon the wood,
whispering wishes
to the choking
dust
knowing she could
just weave a
dreamcatcher
from ****** hair
ripped from
the scalp
or draw an SOS
in the dancing
dust motes
in a silent scream
for help
then she stood,
lightly rapping
upon the door
asking if there
was anything
more
she could do
might do
or say?
When the
demons
screamed
once again
She could do
no other
but
walk away

I miss you
We used to have such fun
Was it something I said?
Something I done?
It’s hard to believe
that you made a run…

I’m standing in front
of the open fridge
but it is not Misery
that is piercing my chest
**** useless emotion
would not be so bold
It’s not because I’m hungry
and I welcome the cold

It’s nostalgia that carries me away
as I catch sight of what is sitting
on the back of the shelf
All alone
A can of Harden Up
your favorite drink
but you didn’t know
I used to slip it
into your white wine spritzer
to try and stop your self esteem
sinking
like a stone

But now your gone

Right in the middle of planning
our next dinner date
where we sit and shoot daggers
at each other
through candlelight
as we eye
a great big plate

of

Revenge

But you'll be late
again
and as usual
it will be served cold
again

Why did I ever hope for more?
We were like a complimentary meal
served by the most
lowest of restaurants
Free
Wholly unsatisfactory
more like takeaway
really...

You're not coming back are you?

Obviously you are now finding
your own brand
of fun
I thought we had it all
But I guess I was wrong
and you proved it

You're just a big coward

Run

Baby

*Run

I have very little time for me
5.30am I wake, so I can read
6am I'm waking school children
6.30am I'm making lunches
and waking them again
7am I'm ready and waking them again
in between, I try to read...
3pm, after work, I've picked them up,
home again, I have no luck
I'm reading homework, doing washing,
cooking dinner while they sit watching
asking questions, demanding my time
showing me answers, I can't say Nien!
at the time they are ready for quiet
I'm deep into my own bottle of Claret!
I've exhausted topics from
Logistics to get to the Fete,
and simple dress changes
that relate, if acceptable for camp?
and can my girlfriend stay
just for a night?
Mum! Look at me dance?
Have I got it tight?
I'm tapping away trying express
my own thought
then comes a little voice
that breaks down my fort...
And I realise,
I can't tap out a rhyme
the could ever compete
to the little dancing feet
that demands my attention
no less than your poem
but rest assured
as you have written it
I've read it, I just thought
*you should know

Chapter 1
No one is ever going to look at you
like you're insane, only the mirror,
as you poke faces at it, while it stares at you, projecting blame, simply declaring you insane as you stare at the back of your head, in the mirror, because even your reflection could not look you in the face, it's not disgrace, it's just an automatic response to the pain.

Chapter 2
When in a grocery store, it's clearly not sane to ask the cereal box to prove their claim of bringing joy to the day, in a Special K way, nor appropriate to argue with said box as you tightly grip it's cardboard bits and demand it kiss you on the lips with its Special K brand.
It's just not okay.

Chapter 3
When tossing pennies in the fountain with a special wish, just let said penny float to the bottom. When wanting to take back said wish, it's clearly not acceptable to strip to your tighty whiteys and yell Never *****!!! will I spend one cent on you and a useless wish then execute a perfect swan dive into three feet of water then pretend to drown while trying to rescue your wish... Insanity does not work like this! (reference the criminally insane handbook titled I Stalk You For MY Pleasure)

Chapter 4**
Love is a bottomless pit of Insanity. It's like a honey jar that attracts nothing more then a colony of ants, one or two bees, (wondering where their honey went) and a rabid badger that can't ***** off the lid. Aforementioned badger will proceed to pound said honey *** against a rock, perhaps killing an ant or two an maybe a bee, but not gaining access to the honey in a jar that looks like glass but is actually clear titanium, the best protection against Love... see?
It's easy!

his little red car didn't do 100
it didn't even do 55
it just scooted around the carpet
getting stuck on sticky substances
that were not embarrassing
his little red car drove along
uneven ground, and occasionally
ran into feet, that were mountains
that crushed the little red car
in anger and under the heel of rage
he was lost for words
his little red car, not broken
still on four wheels still drove on
until the day it ran into Mommas hand
it backed up and drove forward again
and the hand didn't move
it didn't ruffle angelic hair
and it didn't wave away his little red car
with indulgence
it didn't move at all
he was lost for words
he drives slowly along the streets
in his black car, red a color of agony
while he scoots around the alleys
his bare feet cold upon metal
there is no carpet, no stickiness
to be left as an unknown substance
allowed to cloud his vision
of how it is to be to drive around
carefree
at a loss for words

Dinner is done but there are still the dishes. Piled high in the empty sink they mock the fact that the meal was delicious but they lay there waiting to be washed. Grace is defiant toward the quietness that surrounds her as she clears the kitchen and all her convictions are squashed.

Dissatisfaction is her only distraction. There is no equal ground and the hours outside of his pleasure are hers to squander. The simple notion of a handmaiden that waxes bare and parades in barely there attention is a question that is rarely asked and is next to never pondered and makes a person wonder.

The clock counts down the hours, creeping toward another day but still Grace is defiant toward the odds that she will recover an ounce of self loathing that she has bathed in and she waits, with bated breath until the time she can redeem herself in the eyes of the monster that has molded her actions and created her as a scourge of the Gods

Grace?
Are you coming to bed?
I’ve had a shave.
I’m well feed
I wanting you
here
by my side.
Why do you continue to hide?

She slips into the bathroom to examine her face, her body, her soul, in the mirror she can not hide from the mounting desire, the heady mixture of dominance that has beaten her down but picked her up from the ground to show her there is something higher than laying down

She showers and scrubs her skin with 3 different scents, each to disguise all the previous rules that she has bent and to mask her own unique allure where she stops being Grace and becomes something more pure. Last comes the outfit that makes her more than just Grace.

It’s Lace
His heart will race
She will become more than his disgrace

Far off shores are memories
inside the hull of a leaking boat
I've seen the victories of freedom
in the pamphlet where they promote
Opportunity for everyone
even someone like me
but they don't show the lonliness
of being far out to sea, in the dark
raging to be free

I've spent a thousand lifetimes
being  small in a place of awe
I've covered all my bruises
with a sense of propriety
and I'm pretty sure
that you won't see them
unless you read between the lines
Words are just a jumble of characters
that won't make sense
unless they're mine

Ive been in love with losers
and in lust with absolute rakes
My heart has broken a time or two
I've endured whatever it takes
to find my happy ending
and to make words of common sense
unless the end of everything begins with
if only I looked over the fence

I've been in love
I've been abused
I've been abandoned
I've been used

I found forever
I found the road
I lost my best friend
I never went home

I got what I was looking for
when it was least expected
I walked away from a mistake
before I became infected

I endured all the emotion,
absorbed whatever it took
With a sigh, I shut my eyes
and close the book

What if God was there
as you lay inside your cardboard box
What if God was there
as you drowned in your Whiskey on rocks
What if God was there
when you laid your child down
six feet under the ground
What if God was there
but never made a sound
What if God was there
when you shot a foreign stranger in the chest
What if God was there
playing the weakest against the next best
What if God was there
when your car left the road
What if God was there
and did nothing, although
he. would. have. known
What if God cured World Hunger
Stopped Wars and abolished Cancer
What If God stopped Greed and Avarice
and just gave the world a coherent answer?
What if God is just someone
to hold on to throughout the bad times
What if God just doesn't really care
and you are simply responsible
for your own crimes?

Sifting through the confetti
of the nightmare that snowed
me in, looking for the remnants
of my armour that melted
from my skin, I barely breath
through lungs that have been
completely singed by sin
Coffee colored caricatures
laugh softly at an empty
attempt to rearrange scattered
memories, untwisting skeletons
that are bent while crushing dreams
into tin can cymbals arguing
against the tunes that have fled
I deny to partake of the feast
today
I think I'll stay abed

(just cross out the non applicable)

Helen was
a great chick/a stupid *****/my best friend

Her last words were
**** this ****/is that Saturn?/is this the end?

She always made me
toast for dinner/creeped out/laugh until I peed

She reminded me of
rain showers in sunshine/Chuckys bride/a most persistent ****

She always thought of
others first/her own miserable hide/ Wine

She devoted herself to
Family/Debauchery/Wine

She will know I'm here today because I
had the day off/wanted to make sure she's dead/want to go with her

She will probably be ******* if I
cry/stabbed her again/kissed her

She will know who
laughed at the sad bits/ drank the holy water/climbed into her casket

She will be thrilled if
tissues are unused/no one gropes her Husband/she fits in a Handbasket

it's chilly tonight
the kids are sleeping
I came home late from work
you questioned the hours
I'm keeping
so I sit alone
outside, where I like to hide
you went to bed hours ago
alone in the space
where we divide
I'm going to come to you
after just one more drink
and a little pep talk to myself
I hope, I think,
you'll be asleep
and the awkward conversation
that's rotting on the beach
with each low tide
Is something we can
look forward to
tomorrow
when I've borrowed
some more pride

I can claim it
as Australian
back then
when
it was fashionable
to steal people
from their homes
for trying to feed
their children

****** English curs

riding roughshod
over people herds
sending them
to the 'Colonies'

Oh, Irish I might be
except
that the English
had no problem
dealing the same fate
to their own

No, I don't claim Irish
for that alone
I claim 5th generation
Australian, on a Paternal side
Dad never was one to hide
the fact we were born
of a Bushrangers lot
I never forgot
where my Maiden name
came from

I married an Irishman

I am a Doogan
(spelling changed
when coming to this land)

I don't claim Irish
but am proud to be
a part of a heritage
that lives to be free
That just wants freedom
to have their own day
Not to be oppressed
by a country that has no right
to suckle at its breast

Happy St Patricks Day

:)

Sometimes, I remember the good times
but I struggle to remember when times
were good
Sometimes, I remember the bad times
but I can always seem to remember
where I stood
Sometimes, I remember the memories
planted firmly inside my dreams
Sometimes I'm a tightly woven nightmare
Sometimes I'm ripped wide open
at the seams
Sometimes I'm a closed book
Sometimes I'm an open prayer
Sometimes I'm promissory
Sometimes I'm not even there
Sometimes I think that parts of me
should be sold as a sealed section
unwrapped in a place of loneliness
feeding just another's addiction
Sometimes when I lay down at night
I pray to be someone I could be
Sometimes when I lay down at night
I wish there was someone next to me

Someone to hold me
Someone to care
Someone who knows
*Sometimes, I'm there

You penned a soliloquy
yet I heard my own voice
You spoke of your own hardship
yet you gave me no choice
You talked about your pain
yet I writhe in agony
You penned a soliloquy
yet you said nothing worthy

You spoke of nothing but yourself
you spoke only of your pain
You spoke of a singular truth
you forgot to mention my heart slain

What?
You couldn't write a sonnet?
14 artful lines are not that long
You couldn't Acrostic this?
I HURT SOMEONE

No!

You write a soliloquy
Where your discourse is so obtuse!
Even in the form of Poetry
you deny me

*Is it the truth?

There was no one before
who cared or
who would mind...

Until a hand
curled inside mine
and a little voice said
"I'm here, with you, for you"
and inside my head
flowers bloomed
and storms abated
Death was less
than it had been fated

a little voice whispered
"Don't doubt yourself..."
without the cover of darkness
I was less likely to be myself

The hand that held mine
was as soft as warm light
in a grip so tight
no one had ever cared to hold my hand
before the one that held it just right

sometime, last night, I wrapped the sheet that was trapped between our heat, around my slender hips, across my bared chest and I tiptoed across the floor, to the door, that took me down the quiet hall and into the kitchen, where memories of our last fight sat congealing on the bench and on the floor, in between the broken wine bottle and the knife standing on its tip, embedded in the breadboard.
Last night, my love burned to ashes on a pyre of self loathing and bitter sweet regrets as I undressed and laid myself before you like dessert, even though the meal was less fine, and you whispered over and over you're mine and each heartbeat, last night, was for you, each whimper borne from pain, from shame, without a name, last night, it was all for you...
Last night you broke me, last night you spoke to me in ways that will always remain my terror, where you are the demon, ever ruling forever, my secret domain.
Last night, as I ghosted through the door, wrapped in our sweat stained sheet, a whisper beneath my feet and my soul dragging behind me like a long lost sheep...
I entered the kitchen and ignored
the evidence of our last hope and reached out a steady hand toward the breadboard.

This morning, I am a brand new woman

I've got your kids
I've got your wife
in a stranglehold
I've got your life

I've got your joy
I've got your smile
I'll take it all
in a small while

I'll take it all
in a measure of time
through the splits
in your heart
and the cracks
of your mind

I'll mask all your grief
with a tiny white pill
I'll set your loved ones
free
once you lay still

I've got your family
I've got your friends
they were easier to
persuade
the feelings should end

I've got your hopes
your wishes, your dreams
locked inside a prison
crafted by you, it seems

I've got your mentality,
your morality,
your questionable
standing within society
so, don't dally
What's it to be?

Signed

**Your Anxiety

you don't fool all!

you might hide behind
a glass of mesquite
but most people (beings)
read beneath your depth

that may be as shallow as a puddle

but don't we all muddle
through the rain?
and see our feet get wet?

However!?

There are roads that most won't
purposely walk at night
because on such desolate paths
things are wont to cause fright

However

Our Gonzo sits in the middle
of the path
a drink in one hand
and in the other?
Part of an old soul escaped
just looking for the other half
telling jokes about himself
that make others laugh
and he sips their happiness
from a half empty glass

Gonzo is just a paperweight
that sits heavily on a boney frame
John Patrick Robbins is an amazing writer, flesh and blood
A lover, a fighter
that leaves little rays of sunshine
on the path to Insane

At the end of seven minutes
What will remain?
Hopefully not
an empty page
I'll test these glorious minutes
as if the end if my soul
is nigh
and try
To live to the fullest
I leave with a dry eye
an burbling well
of unused thoughts
a special little piece
of me
That I never thought
I could wrap with any sort
of decorum
Leaving it under the seat
of a well trafficked forum
Just a little surprise
to light someone's eyes
Just a tiny thought
plucked from so many
*Desire the world
claim your own little part
insider your heart
and never let any
deny your pleasure
For what we all treasure
is something that lives
inside us that is our very own
Our own little piece of the world
Where we can be some one

the mirrors reflection
only ever spoke of her
as
weak, alone, a ghost
pitiful, mournful
wonder-less at most

it was her place to hide
but the mirror
LIED

she punched it
with her fist
until it was
shattered
and
broken
bleeding into the cracks
until it became
a
*reflection
                 truly
                          spoken