please believe me when i say
that you are not unwanted.
please believe me when i say
that you are not unloved.

you are an incredible creation,
spun delicately by the deft fingers of fate;
made with the sole purpose of setting
every corner of the world
on fire.

please believe me when i say
that you are not unwanted.
please believe me when i say
that you are not unloved.

you are as crucial to the earth as
even the slightest streams are to oceans;
as breezes are to the early springtime air -
sending dandelion puffs whirling hand-in-hand
with wishes sent into being from beneath
tightly shut eyes.

There is an a c h i n g in my bones.
                                     A raw power.
         A thirst for desire… A n e e d.
      This night in all its innocence…

                                                              is nothing but a distraction to me.
               A way to elude the demons.
                      To resist the temptation.
                                                              To fight my urge.

Let me forget myself.  Lose myself.            

                                                               It is terrifying to think…



Yet, I will.

Some are almost shattered.

They’re pieces,       scratching         tearing  grinding 

     wearing 
down.
You can tell something       isn't
       right.


Like a ceramic         vase         dragged      across                 gravel. 


Their moods are brief flashes 
of—           mommy's hugs

and strangers—kicking the **** 
      out  of     their bowels. 


They aren't even w  h  o  l   e,

merely p i e c e s         of ceramic and clay.

Some are smooth, held in a gentle hand.


But others are jagged reminders of being hurled into a wall.


I often wonder if it's my responsibility to mend these pieces,
or just let them be
as I've grown to admire the individuality
of these shattered personalities.

I could never say
I would like for you  to be stronger
than the wind or rain.
You sparkle
even when raging tempests
are knocking
on the door of time.

I can hear passion in your voice
when you tell me
you remember
how I sang I love you
in your ear
and called you my Muse
that whispers words of love
over my shoulder.

I look into the window of your soul
see my own
smiling back happily
in the reflection of a mirror
that ripples stronger
every day.
I can see myself there
still singing to you
within this art
I write in my tears
of joyful rain.

If a painting of the skies could open up
a tidal wave of hidden emotions
that would change life for the better,
I would learn
how to paint for you.
Then you could breathe in
how I feel
when you touch me
each time
you look at my painting again.

I would never expect you to be stronger
than the wind or rain
and I know you don’t expect me
to paint the sky.
  So for now
I will write the words of love
you whisper over my shoulder
and sing I love you,
in your ear
until the day
I die.

If loose lips sink ships

Then this buzz has unanchored the foot in my mouth

And now I really have some **** to say

Because the only time my mouth might look like it were about to launch torpedoes is

Now

Similar to blowing a bubble

Or anticipating a kiss

I aim to sink heavy metal devils with this drunken word stumble

I am done feeling lost in your sea

Waiting for your wind to take me away from unrequited

To simply sunken

Bring on your lovely devils

And apology notes

I’ll grit my teeth and bear it

I mean pretending not to care has never really been easy for me

I mean if I were an ostrich

I’d have my head in the ground right now

But thank god for beer

And best friends who owe you money

And the silence and patience it takes to decipher

The mental drunken slur of

“Stop hurting me like that”

Like Frank Sinatra said

“The best part about waking up with a hangover is

the only thing you have to look forward to

is feeling better”

I can’t wait to feel better

So bring on your jazz and work me up

And trumpet your lies

Mock love forgiveness

This headache was worth the trouble of forgetting

Sea foam

Beer foam

Either way I’m drowning with this ship

And either way I’m waking up

Missing you

And regretting everything I’ve said

If there was another way to say it;
An easy way for you to understand...
I would not be pouring out these words
In an attempt to paint a picture.
I wouldn't be desperate to bottle
My emotions and thoughts
Into these stained glass letters,
With the tin syntax lid.
Poking holes through the top
Of my head,
So you could see.
Firefly ideas.

I am a photographer of hearts and minds.
The blood red room holds
My negatives.
How can I make them easier for you to see?
The composition so sweet,
The lighting so contrasted with
The shadows hiding the everyday.

What I really want you to do is stop reading.
Go look into the eyes of a lover.
Go hold a child's hand while they sing.
Listen to the wind change.
Feel the pulse of a city.
Cry with old wrinkled skin
For youth and life, and hope.

That is what my poem means.
It is a pulsing picture
Held captive in rhetoric.

Two beings,
one invisible to society,
the other invisible to the unseen he loves,
the same problem,
the same hurt

She cries and cries,
but doesn't notice the one willing to help,
the one man who deeply loves her,
for she is all he sees,
no one else but her

She takes a moment to stop her tears,
he gets closer,
and looks deeply into her eyes,
as she stares at nothing

Hurt,
she is hurt,
but underneath all the pain,
pure,
wanting to be pure,
but doesn't even have the will to move on

But are hindered,
but are hurt,
one invisible to society,
and one can only see the other,
but invisible to her at the same time.

s** o broken. so desperate.
h oping for nothing but perfect numbness -
e scape from the pain, the guilt, the constant haunting of 'what if?'.

s o torn. so lost.
t he ache inside appeared when the door shut behind her everything.
i should have, would have, could not have stopped him'.
l ost in a swirl of colored memories that render her breathless;
l eaving her scrambling to pick up the shattered pieces.

l et this be the bitter end of trust, the bitter end of love.
o ver and over, the dusty record repeats itself;
v erse after verse and chorus after chorus.
e ven after the ones before, his promises convinced her to try again.
s hould have, would have, could not have stopped that record from starting over.

y et, through the numbness, the pain, the hurt, the betrayal,
o ne thing echoes in her ears, within her heart - it is better to have loved
u nconditionally and lost than to never have loved at all.

Am I right?
Am I wrong?
Am I walking towards the dawn
Or the eternal night
Seeing my future
Set in stone
The path laid before me
My steps already made
I see the paths of others
Their predetermined fates
Some will rise while others fall
They are always walking
Towards their fate
Following the path blindly
Is this the point of life
To be told what to do
I see the answer
Ahead of me
I know what I am supposed to do
I try to break free
But chains just force me back
Fate won’t lose
I’ve seen my death
It happens now
The darkness grips
I’m pulled towards the eternal night
Nowhere to go
My mind is slipping
My legs won’t work
Nothing left
Before I’m gone
I look behind me
I see the face of Fate
A face carved out of stone
In its raspy voice it says
“This is you destiny
You have no choice,but to accept
Now goodbye”
Fate is gone
The darkness is closer
Swallowing me whole
With my final breath I whisper
“No
This isn’t my fate”
I fight
I break the chains
I break free
I take a step off the path
And find my own way in the darkness
I look behind
And Fate smirks