**** it,
Damage.
The small hole that lies
In all hearts
Is a larger part
Of my whole,
My arteries hold no
Holy blood, but
Ole faithful spurts
More life then ancient articles.
Art is Gold.
Not folded in papers.
Though, these zig-zags have
Had their fair share
Of wear and tear on my soul
My core
Is iron ore
I wore, and tore
The fabric of space
For us
To meet face to face
Fate
Has nothing to do with it
I only ate
The apple
To show the faults
Within me
With sin
I have nothing
Left
But what heaven sent
Right
Next to me.
Where window’s to a soul
Hold enough water
To feel a widows pain.
I see through you
Like sheen stockings
Worn
To hide
What you’re trying to show
On purpose
You’re perping
Like the drug
That deceives me
Into believing that I need it
Needless to say
I’ll take needles
Of your love to vein,
In vane of God’s name
As I search
For the rib
I lost in his name
Competing with
My empty heart
For completeness.

My scars show some type of
Calculated insanity,
An organized sadness
That has the potential to eat
At the flesh of my thoughts.

My scars show some type of
Undefined insecurity,
Repetition proves this
Like science- is that all we are?

My scars do not own me
though, they speak of adolescence,
and the unbearable
hollowness that aches, a dull knife:
“The human condition”

Are we not so hopeless?
My bones cry out in objection
I should think not, they say
No, my scars do not own me, they

exist as a part of
a whole, made of bones and tissue
and something else- striving
to be heard among the clamor
of waking each morning

Something that rumbles deep
and is heard and listens when the
rain kisses my forearm-
each glorious drop is a bell
ringing deliverance

I fall in love with words.

Words written by a pen
or a pencil
or by fingertips on frosted glass.

The soft curve of an 'a' is
Almost as enticing as naked hips.
The smell of ink on aged paper
Is almost as ****** as a
Hard body in my sheets.

Spoken words could never be
As alluring as the ones that
Have been whispered into a heart
By a spread of fingers on skin.

Give me your words and I'll
Give you my heart.

Write them down for me.

Dear Friend whom I love,

Yes I said love,
but don't worry
I am not talking about dates
or chocolate hearts or kisses

I'm just talking about being a person you trust,
who actually listens
and who you actually listen to
the one relentlessly praying,
who nudges
and even slaps you around sometimes,
that points you in the right direction
and in doing so,
I'm reminded of the right direction as well

So listen to me now:

stop

stop
lying to,
cheating,
short changing,
manipulating,
exhausting,
angering,
upsetting,
breaking .....

yourself

I know those are strange things to hear, because
you are "just fine" ...
But you gotta know:
you deserve more than what you accept
believe me, I've done the same thing for the past three years
not exactly the way you have, but it doesn't matter
I know you think I'm naive but
the root of the problem is the same
we are accepting the love we think we deserve

and i know that is a movie line
but for a long time
I believed it wasn't scripted for me to have love
so I accepted none, gave none
and I know you felt that as well,
then we both started consuming what we could find at the bottom of the barrel
because trying to open up to the right thing
seems like it would hurt so much more

but you don't have to sit at the bottom
you can have better

and better is being okay with who you are;
not seeking comfort or validation
from any part of this world
(I hope You know what I mean)
and I realize that abandonment requires giving up things,
but sometimes thats what we need
I am still trying to give up some of my closet secrets
But it is SOOO worth it!
and it is possible, if you want it
and I know you feel you want what you have now
But I know that you want more!

If nothing else, stop for my sake.
Yes, I'll be selfish. I don't care.
I haven't even known you for a year but…
Watching your heart break
through the window where I have to watch your life
as you hold onto brokenness
is breaking me ...

              (Maybe cause it reminds me of myself)

I wish I could say it doesn't nearly bring me to tears,
but I am not that calloused.
Life has served me a hard play, like you
but His Love restored my softness;
has kept me sane.
Kept me from taking my life when I felt useless and worthless
because He told me I was worth something,
even in a dark psychiatric ward.
And I am still learning how in Him I am worth something
He reminds me when people, like you,
reach out to me…

I know you hear it every Sunday,
but the love you want is not that far.
It is not a secret, or shallow touch,
it is not security, attention, momentary bliss of distractions…
its nothing but sacrifice of The Loving Friend.
Recognize you are loved by the One who knows you and understands,
Far better than a girl with years of experience in psychological analyzing
and running on broken parts

I love you friend, and I would love for you to hear me.

Watch me now.
I am the hope in your soul and
my feathers are falling.

My claws are dulling on this branch's bolts
and nuts that loosen under the rusting wood.
I see you through your window prism glass
but your tears don't fall as down as gravity should.

Gravity. Gravity. Gravity.
You see me dance to the waltz of
the apples all falling.

A hammer curls among your right fingers
and heading to your left. You look for me
on the ground and softer branches of fir,
but you've known I'm here in this iron tree.

Melt it down now.
I'd fly away and leave
the tree to its falling.

Your bones are breaking and I am shaking
so I cannot come and would not sweep you
beneath my mother's cotton down wings,
for you have dulled my claws and still your fingers diffuse

to the sound of the

Windows now fogging.
So we scream as
the light is still falling.

Inspiration
Comes knocking twice a year
In the form of gentle snowfalls
Or heart-stopping storms
Moments that are captured
With the click of a button
And the whirring of lens

Is it really that easy
To capture a fleet-footed muse?

Is it really that easy
To capture what's worth ten thousand treasures?

Come back, my muse,
Knock on my door
For I have my camera ready now.

I'm ready for you.