Two heads
rest upon the bed
where genetics went haywire.
A simple mistake
with a complicated result
often too much for some to take.
Little cat, tumbling to life
two faces morphed and mewing
stumbling right to eternal sleep.
But it's not a life lost-no
it's a spectacle,
tiny monster,
floating in a jar
for nothing but "oohs", "aahs", and study.
Nobody mourns the little cat,
a second face deeming it unworthy
of concern.
Did mama cat know
her precious baby wasn't called a "kitten"?
but a Janus Monster,
a freak of nature,
a prime scientific diamond.
Little monster cat won't get a coffin,
it'll be jarred-catalogued-and stored,
burried in dust instead of dirt.

You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.

Since when was being called a child an insult?
Is a child so dumb and unknowing?
Is a child not a sponge absorbing knowledge and experience?

If I'm called childish, it seems more a compliment than an insult.

the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.

i yearn for a love
that does not exist
a love so rare
it would not fit

it would turn
my skin on fire
it would make
me feel alive

i would dance
and i would not care
the prying eyes
how they would stare

oh how i wish
for no guidelines to exist
for a love so rare
it would not fit