An old man knocked on my door and gave me flowers
He said "darling keep these forever" and he walked away.
So I sat and wondered about the death of these flowers I was told to keep forever
And I put them in a vase and slept.
When I awoke I was an old woman with a house made entirely out of roses
With the old man sitting next to me.
"I see you got the roses.
The ones I always meant to give you when I first saw you."
I could see in his eyes that I'd always loved him.
And that we were young.

He was writing the greatest love letter of all time
Because, he said, it was about the greatest woman to walk the Earth
And how she single-handedly melted the world and buckled knees with her stare.
Had a smile that made you feel things with senses you couldn't begin to understand.
He was writing her a love letter with words
That were the most horribly inadequate words to describe her.
Words like beautiful, special, life-changing, perfect.
The love letter he would never finish because of her brilliance.
A love letter thrown away when he saw her holding hands with a man.
And replaced with tears and floral arrangements.
The greatest love note ever written became his entire life
Left in a box
Six feet underground.

He ferociously chained himself to the wrong fence
Protesting a battle that never happened on a ground that never wept.
The fence was glad for company she kept the battle raging
The blind protester yelled and screamed and chained himself more tightly.
And the ground stained with blood of soldiers
Fruitless, scarred and dead
Watched the blind protester weep and watched the land smile at her instead.
The ******* limps towards the sea to drown before she dies.
As the land the protester missed did flee
From all the fences lies.
And weep she did the land did weep and lament the passing friend.
As the protester blindly yelled in pain until the very end.

People don't die beautifully for living plainly.
The most gorgeous deaths stem from lives made entirely of chafing and scratching
At the eyes of bystanders and the legs of elites pushing pencils and having babies.
Women do not make history sleeping in the arms of men
That stroke their hair and tell them they're beautiful.
Nor do they change the course of a nation by smiling at those they're told to smile at,
By following rules and setting limits on their intellect and imagination.
Likewise men do not make history kneeling in front of a stone with the word destiny written in repetition
On its surface.
Men do not alter reality by being societal representations of men. Of trees. Of beasts.
Men, and women, who make history,
Who have died beautifully, tragically, desperately,
Have died in incredible circumstances. Have been remembered
For being a thorn in the side or the splinter in the eye of the path laid out by reality
So every breath and every sight was them. Pestering.
Until they could no longer be tolerated.
That's when they were remembered.

If I died today,
Would the people care,
Would they take notice,
Of every wound implanted; every tear?
But my soul has died today,
And my heart, a solid black,
Then the tears came again,
If only I died a heart-attack.

To give up without a fair fight..

Is like being killed in the dead night
A cat ran over by a ten wheeler truck
A man playing gulf when a lightning struck
Poor mouse caught in a trap
Climbing a weathered tree and snapped
Failing an exam two or three times
Placing your hands in a reeking slime
The sea came crushing in your castle
Waiting in the line with all the hustle
Unpayed bills gives all the trouble
Cruising the Atlantic lots of wobble
Ugly presents during Christmas
Pretending you have no neck mass
I could go forever as i wrote
All i need is one Antidote

the brown of my eyes has a story to tell:
a recollection of sorts, filled with
family vacations,
love, petty arguments and a
lust
for life and yet as i sit here
with my pen and a page
i'm left drowning in my thoughts --
overtaken by my internal current.

my eyes used to be much lighter,
but with each argument
2 a.m. stress cleaning session,
and panic attack,
a certain darkness took her place
******* the color and
will to live
from my brown eyes.

now as i stand,
looking through memories
like my favorite picture book,
my eyes have turned dull and
black.
i have nothing left to give.