I am not a concept.
I am not an idea.
I am a woman,
with eyes that see yours wandering up and down my body.
And ears that hear the calls from across the street.
I am not a prize,
to be won by the strongest competitor.
I am a woman,
with ******* not for your entertainment.
And legs longer than your desire.
I have feelings,
even when I'm not on my period.
One day I hope to find someone that can respect my body as it's meant to be,
and not as a blow doll that's kept in the closet until he's ***** and needs something to ****.
I am a woman.

Everyone*




Needs to hear that *it's going to be okay sometimes.


And it **will.

A picture's worth
One thousand words,
Yet there's only  one word
In "Selfie?"
The "I" creates
One thousand shots,
So shooters
Do your worse.

I found a hundred dollar bill
In the Target parking lot
Placed an ad with some guy named Craig
To find who's bill it was they lost

I truly am amazed
At the people calling me
And how many lose their money
Like it was grown on trees

When I asked the question of
Round about what date
There was silence on the line
Guess they really couldn't say

But they all swore up and down
That it was their hundred bill
I informed them all that I'd get back
As my phone would not stay still

I had so many heartfelt calls
That it made me think
Of this one grand idea
As I headed to the bank

I really felt so bad
For all the people and their woes
That I emptied out my account
Of all of it's doe

I looked all the people who called me up
And drove out to their place
It was worth the money
To see the joy on every face

Now I'm broke as I can be
No more money have I got
Spending the days left to me
Scouring the Target parking lot

These empty rooms
devoid of life,
behind a bookcase
in the hall.
This was, for a time,
our home
while the Germans
held the Dutch in thrall.
My wife since dead from huger,
my daughters in a common grave.
I, Otto Frank, the sole survivor.
Is there no one I can save?
Annelise, my dearest daughter,
Miep Gies gave me your book.
The Germans cast it on the floor
without a second look.
Here in your words I find
perhaps not all of you has died.
Here in print your words may speak
for all who suffered, all who cried.
Its small comfort for an old man,
broken, ready for the grave,
but my girl might be a symbol
for all those we could not save.