In one day,
she discovered herself.
In the next,
she restarted her life.
She put books, movies, and mementos on a shelf,
and in the bottom desk drawer, she secured away her knife.

In one month,
she was smiling again.
In the next,
she could see, for herself, a future.
All of her sadness had suddenly disappeared, like bathwater through an open drain.
A new approach to living, she felt mature.

In one span of time,
she made a mistake.
In the next,
she had plugged the tub and uncorked a bottle.
A tidal wave of rolling destruction left in the wake.
From bad to worse as more pressure added to the throttle.

And one day,
she hopefully will figure out,
whether she wants the lights on,
or to take a different route.

I need a sharp
paper-thin
note.

Stretched     taught
and dried
eyes staring.

Feathers
Dipped in red
and put to parchment.

A bird's surprise
to carry a message
a call.

A warning to flee,
now fly,
and bring the men galloping.

Escape
was a factor
A pipe dream    unfair.

To trumpet's song,
and ****** battlefields
bathed, enriched
in history.

To be told
and retold.

What is a poet?

A poet is able to capture a feeling with words.
To adeptly potray one. single. instance.
with words.
With scribbled, illegible
Or cleansingly, typed
clear, crystal, words.

I,
am not a poet.

I am a monkey,
deftly punching on a typewriter,
finger smashing keys,
expecting Shakespeare
to appear on a backlit screen
or a pure white notepad.

I am,
not a poet.

I am the grouch,
in a trash can.
Yellow moss on a rock,
pointing south. South.

I am not,
a poet.

I thought I dripped words
like blood out of my veins.
I thought my muse,
was darkness.
Then the sun came out.

So,
I am not a,
poet.

I am a high school English paper.
I am the run-ons,
too many ands,
too many commas.
Not even a proper sentence.
I am the red-marked essay.


I am not a poet.

And I have nothing else to say.

Where can I go?
Can I go across the road?
I am a chicken.

I just want to curl up
and give up.
Practice my lines
and snort a few lines.

Let me fall into bliss
not drown in a vat of chocolate bliss.
I want to be in the fetal position
not this life and death limbo position.

Give me a reason to
and I will give you an excuse.
I will tell you the truth for a reason
and you will give me an excuse to.

Change the conversation to focus on you
and I will steal it back to me.
I want to help you,
but I will steal it back to me.

Don't want to be here,
you don't have to hear.
I promise not to share many more
if only I couldn't breathe any more.