What happened to dancing?
And I mean grooving
Moving to the beat of the music
not that
back to front, raunchy, distasteful, vertical *** on the dancefloor foolishness
I don't want any of that unclassy bending over
***** pressed up against a stranger, up in my face,
I mean up in my behind business type of dancing.
None of that too-close for comfort, get-a-room type of grind
I want some of that smooth jazzy, hold my hand and spin me around moving, and
I want some of that 80's finger-snappin', and some of those Breakfast Club hip-shaking, arm-gyrating
What I don't get is why
The moves from ***** Dancing seem cleaner than today's so-called dancing.
I want to be able to go to a club
And have enough space for myself and you to be dancing like we're dancing at home,
with the privacy of our rooms
I want to be able to dance, and let us return
and have a much-needed cultural dance revolution where it doesn't have to be something your mama won't be ashamed of.
I want some of that jiving, and more of that 70's finger-pointing, and fast-feet moving
Man, I just want all of us to dance without it suggesting anything more than smooching.

What do I want?

Have you ever asked me that?

It would be nice if you did.

Because

I want you.

I want you to love me like the world ends tonight

I want you to hold me with the care you would give to a newborn

I want you to look at me like you’ve never seen anything so beautiful

I want you to guard me with your life and

Cherish me like fine gold

I want to be loved by you

I want to love you too

I want our hand-holding to be something others will be jealous of

because it will be so great and

our immense compassion would radiate from

our inseparable hands

our

inseparable lips.

I want all this.

I just wish you would have asked.

We turn to these things because that's what we think we have
The phone calls at 7 began to stop
Don't throw away our love they said
Don't throw it away
Today
It's different
You find yourself here and not there
Do you wanna be there?
He's scared
Make a choice
Are they changed?
Nope
Still the same
Just distant
It seems that over there is too far a walk
Why does my mind always lead back to you in my thoughts?
Empty life, is this what this is
You say you're over it
It's in the past
Whatever, whatever
And you're there
Having a blast
Here in my solitude
I hear the drums
The death march or peace time song
I'm over it
It's done
Right back in the past
Tomorrow a new day but same old silly schedule
I copied her poem in a hurry, disheveled
But still it's my life, one like no other
And these moments they spill onto the canvas
each drop after another
The paint can never runs dry
the pigments dark now
But wait till  tomorrow
Maybe these will be brighter.
Brighter than today's I hope
But as we speak hoping's not enough
Waiting can't wait
jump out
get in
stop dealing with this sin
you say it's over
Oh,
it's done.

Sometimes I have something to say

And so I want to come to you

And I lay it all out

I have important things on my mind

And I want to tell you

I want to tell you how my heart stopped

It skipped a beat

And I can’t help it

Every single time

we meet

and boy,

when I see you

when I see that hair flip

man, that makes my heart flip

I get this feeling inside

But I can’t fathom the words

I want to tell you that those

sneaky side glances

sends shivers up

and everywhere

but I can’t fathom the words

I want to tell you that you’re the last thing

I’m thinking about

And the first thing on my mind

in the morning

in class

all the time

I want to tell you this

but I can’t fathom the words

Oh,

I want to tell you

that I’ve already named our phantom children

That one’s Johnny,

the second one is Drake.

Man,

I want to tell you we’ve exchanged vows a million times

in my mind…

I know that’s sad,

but man,

I want to tell you so bad.

But I can’t fathom the words.

So as I just peeked

above my test in class

to look over my shoulder

at you across the room

forget this test

I’m writing these words down for you.

There is a blankness that  rests in your eyes
There are times when the eyes can’t see, when the mouth can’t speak.
There is a blankness in your eyes, and a solitude within
There are times when you look up
And all there is are Van Gogh swirls
And the illumination of skies far away.
She looks at you and you don’t know what to say
You look around and there is black paint splattered on the
walls of your heart
You look around and the ground your bare feet walk on is as rough as your calloused hands
You look on
And in the distance lies the future you’ve always dreamed of reaching
laced with the unreachable, unnatainable qualities of the niavate you lost years ago.
You look on into the reflection in the water at the lies that have become your reality and you saw everything as truth
And she looks at you still,
and yet your mouth has shut, stapled down by the incorrigible boy of you that knows you have sinned.
And yes, you have sinned.
You have sinned.
And she wants to help. She looks at you
with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen
And for once
You finally look at her and say
“I have sinned”
“I have sinned”.

There is always a somethingness
and never a nothingness
Never believe in the nothingness because nothingness is what kills the dreams and what desecrates and obliterates the child.
There is always a somethingness in what you perceive as nothingness.
Never forget that.

I am in love

with Michael Douglas

and I’m not going to complain

About the wrinkles, the wife, the age,

Watch Wall Street and tell me how it makes you feel

to watch such brilliant divine acting portrayed with the most cavalier feel

to hear that bravado and smooth hypnotizing talk,

to watch that strong confidence epitomized in that hand-in-pocket walk

to experience that indescribable flair a man must be born with

I know I’m just a kid

But understand if you can,

That Michael Douglas is the man.

I hear the silent sun beaming down, peeking through the window
I hear the music of a girl I've never met and
I hear my insistent cough rise from the depths of
my chest
and I hear it storm cataclysmically up my throat
spewing disgusting coughing germs on my forearm
my fist
I still hear the girl I've never met playing the music I have never heard before and I like it
and she continues playing
I see the sun outside taunting me with its dominion
And I remain seated on a chair thousands have sat on before
As I cough
And cough once more
I just want to go home.