Do not pity me, for I do not wake in the middle of the night from hunger, as some do…
Nor do I suffer not being able to hold my love, for at least I have arms to hold her.
Though I may not have riches to see a fine play or dine in pleasure,
I can wake to a morning sunrise, and drink of it’s beauty till I am full.
My shoes may not be the fanciest, nor keep my feet dry in the rain,
But they remind me that I do not have to walk bare foot upon the stones.

I once raced along life’s highways, working frenziedly for things of wealth.
I see now as I walk more slowly, that which I had passed by unseen.
For by giving up some of the luxury of life, I have found more time for beauty.
Without  riches, I still have more treasure in simple things once taken for granted.
Castles and fine rugs can only soften my step, they cannot teach me how to walk.

Do not pity me, for life has taught me more than I could teach myself,
In the hardships I have learned to survive, and appreciate simpler things.
When I sit and enjoy the twilight show of a setting sun, I pray for those who cannot see,
I close my eyes and feel the warmth, and listen to the wind as they do, and enjoy it still.
I take a moment to reflect upon what I have enjoyed this day.
And when the morrow comes, I will seek out other of life’s simple treasures.

Do not pity me, for my treasures abound… in life.

this place really ***** your soul out
it leaves you so empty that there is no room for more empty inside.
it leaves you broken down on the side of the road with a broken down cell phone and a broken down heart.
it kicks you in the gut and expects you to continue breathing just like nothing happened
it throws people and places and words and numbers at you and expects you to somehow make sense of the nonsensical string of thoughts tossed together in a stew of confusion and hair-pulling-graying stress.
it gives you a person who leaves you the same way it left you, empty without context or direction
it's magnetic
it causes the compass in your heart to spin wildly out of control leaving you lost and alone
i shows you jealousy and envokes hatred that you never knew existed
but you realize it's not the place at all
it's the people
and you.
you.

Have you ever spoken to the moon?
I wonder how many secrets its craters hold.
I wonder if the secrets are what give it it's beauty.
I ask you, does your soul wander when you look up to the night sky,
Then get lost between the moon rocks?
Do you see yourself reflecting back?
Or the man on the moon watching, observing and protecting you?
Is it a refreshing feeling knowing you are insignificant
Against a giant porcelain beauty?
Does the coolness of the moons beams fill you,
And give you new hope in a home long destroyed?
Can you find peace within the moon?
Can you find peace within me?
Close your eyes, search deeper in your veins.
You'll find beauty, peace and happiness soon enough.

i think it is beautiful
that poets,
from all over,
are able to gather here
to share what we
have a passion for.
and there are writers,
who would rather
write about the bright side
than the darkness,
and there are others
who are comfortable doing
the opposite.

to create something lovely,
we write by ourselves,
but we are also writing
together.
and i am not sure if
this is as sincere
as i would like for it to be,
but i want to say thank you
for writing with me.

I run and hide inside a place I call my head
I stay for hours in the surrounding walls of my mind
Escaping to a forrest of random scattered thoughts
that float in and out of space
For each one I capture I make there cage a blank sheet of paper
A display of words forming sentences created by my thoughts
Go ahead and take a peak
You found this old journal sitting in my room cluttered amongst my books while I wasn't there
Even though it clearly said in bold black letters Do Not Read you went ahead and turned to the first page
Instant break of a unspoken trust
My feelings, memories, moments
My thoughts, dreams, emotions
My love my loss my heart break
These were my private things and not for you or anyone else to read
The only thing I can honestly call my very own
My innocence my childhood the only thing a young girl can call her very own was stolen was taken a long time ago by a figure in the dark
This is all I had to call my own