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She broke my Mother's heart
Before I had chance to meet it
Coming feet first and cold into the world.
She never kicked or swore
She never said NO.
Perfect sister, perfectly still.

She got so close to leaving the gates,
Like a child on her first day of school,
She approached them slowly and cautiously
Harboring a stomach of flight,
And as she moved closer she saw
Heartache and sadness in the world.

She saw pain in the world
And she turned back,
Refused to enter a place such as that.

Beautiful sister,
You remain unknown and perfect.
I sometimes wish
I had followed in your footsteps.
You never know do you?
Don't you get that feeling?
Where you think you're walking
Working all day and all night
Everyday with no motivation at all
Unhappiness, Awkwardness and Stressfulness
But never moving forward
While the others are already at the end of the finish line
You're still at the start of the line
Still alive but I'm barely breathing
Next thing I know I'm falling to pieces
What am I going to do when I'm all
choked up and you're okay
When the best part of me was always you
I'm falling to pieces
Brokenhearted, Loneliness, Heartbreak
I'm gonna get a heart attack soon
And going to die slowly
I let all of this happen
I let myself cause my heart so much misery
I will not break myself
I've learnt the hard way
to never let it get that far
because of you
i find it hard to trust not only me,
but everyone around me
I am afraid
I lose my ways
I cannot cry
Because I know that's weakness
I'm forced to fake a smile everyday of my life
my heart can't possibly break
I learn to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt
But, I'll move on, stay strong and move forward
I don't need those silly boys
I don't need a man
I can live by myself and
I don't  need any friends
Forget about them
They're not worth my time at all
I can do it
I am strong
I should , I should just move on
Get on back with my life.
Who said that love was fire?
I know that love is ash.
It is the thing which remains
When the fire is spent,
The holy essence of experience.
he seeks shelter from the rain
in the coffee shop
she offers him a cup of joe
she offers a moment to reflect

the hipsters and hangers about
fill her world with sight and sound
fill her senses with smiles and joy
but inside she know she needs something more
that this place is just an emblem
and cannot sustain a soul like her

she could have anything
she just need ask
but she cant find the words to describe
cant find an image to convey
her souls need

but its clear to him
its a ship sailing to distant spain
its a road leading out into a western desert
its a train rolling thru a dark stormy night to a northern town
its a footpath thru mist
its a man seeking shelter from the rain

he leaves with her smile
which she gave with a hopefull heart

now
wrestle with the shadows in his heart
but its her face that lingers
in the late hour
in this last time he will stand

the standards of the champions
the fighters for truth
the liars
and the ones too dark to do else but die
they gather in harsh light
and prepare to do battle and stand their ground

a prince of the beasts proud and fair
a champion to the ones who have no strength to call their own
the frame of time captures only the movement
but the fickle thought of who he is
prince of beasts proud and fair
champion of the clean linen uniform
regal bearer of the standard of a rising sun

reflected only in the young eyes
those cheering champions like him on from the side
but its only her smile that lingers for him
as his life flows spent onto the sand

she never did catch that train
never did escape that shop
never did grow beyond the borders
of the hipsters and hangers on
but least they loved her too
in their way
and that is some comfort
the girl, the coffee shop, the cup of coffee all happened...the rest was changed to incriminate the innocent

edit: the cup of coffee may have been a illusion. it has been redacted from reality
You're a beautiful mystery clad in gorgeous enigma.
You're poetry that looks good in a skirt.

There's an orchestra on your tongue, playing the sound of your voice like a melody I can't forget,
matching the tempo of the drums in my heart
and the broken strings of my violin compliments.

You are a notebook, a yearbook, a sketchbook, a burn book,
every facet of you written in swirling cursive,
rhymes and famous signatures snaking between cinnamon hair and cleverness.

You are a pen running out of ink,
bleeding dry in Barnes and  Noble Moleskin journals,
but that's okay because I have more ink,
and you can borrow whatever you want from me--
store it in the heart you stole if you're bored enough to hunt my words for the pieces.
You have the key already.

You're the first dream of the boy too scared of nightmares to sleep again.

You are the taste of honey and cigarettes on the lips of the first girl that boy ever kissed,
because she was a rebel and he needed a hero
who wore boots instead of Mary-Janes
and band t-shirts instead of blouses.

You are the rose he drew when he was bored,
an outline with potential,
mysterious, entrancing, incomplete,
not yet ablaze with the red of desire
because he was never good at finishing things.
You are a dictionary. Your picture isn't just under "beautiful."
It's under "dangerous" and "witty" and "myth"
because Medusa bowed at your feet next to James Bond and Edgar Allan Poe,
and you're too good to be true anyways.

You are a poem, a telltale heart beating inside a lesson in vengeance,
temporary only because nothing gold can stay.
You've walked past where the sidewalk ends (certainly the road less traveled by)
and come back far more darling than any buds of May.

(You are the paperback novel he read under the covers,
the flashlight only bright enough to show paragraphs,
and every new page unique in shape and form
while the text remains the same.

You are the raw words read aloud by the daring poet,
standing beneath midnight moon,
the power of the throne,
the breath of a whispered promise falling upon the ear,
the warmth of kisses on the cheek,
the passion of all hope there ever was in trust and truth.

You are the fire in lightning,
the sparkle in the snow and the glitter in the rain,
the fierceness of the wind and the gentle, soothing peace,
the blazing chill of winter and the roar of summer's heat.)

But you're still a mystery.
A beautiful,
beautiful
mystery.
It all started out so innocently
A thrift store here, a garage sale there
Anyways, Lord knows how bad I needed
The chartreuse rug of that polyester bear

It goes perfect in my kitchen
Though I can barely see the floor
Just need to move a few piles that grew
From me buying trinkets by the score

Some say I'm a crazy hoarder
I've seen the show and I'm not that bad
Anyway who doesn't need
A stuffed albino Siamese cat

Then there's all the broken plates of china
That I got for a steal
If I ever do find my stove again
I'll use them for my next meal

Why ask why I save all these milk jugs
You never do know when
A herd of cattle will be passing through
The middle of my den

You may say crazy hoarder
I may say I think not
When I look at pile after pile
Of all the treasures that I've got

If you ever care to visit
Just step over this, crawl over that
Till you come to that little itty bitty empty spot
Where we can sit back and relax
And have a little chat,
over this this and that,
maybe why it is ducks quack,
is it brains that they lack,
that my friend is whack...

Crazy Hoarder?!?
Don't make me laugh...
I can not stay still.
I'm not of wood
But of water.

If I remain still I grow stale
Become useless to all,
And harmful to those who try drink me.

He tried to hold me back with anger,
With lingering glares
And wolfish growls.

He tried to hold me back with pity,
With new found pleasures he'd never tasted before
With words to prove his mind was similar to my twisted own.

He tried to hold me back with promises,
Of change and getting better
And everything being perfect in the end.

I would not have it.

I am water,
And not meant to be contained.
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