I am an idol,
For those looking to find fickle peace,
After years of grueling pain.

I am the title,
To a collection of poems,
Featuring the every raw creation.

I am nothing compared to everything else,
But my creations can be something.

I'm a person,
You made me,
I'm a product of you,
Your loving touch,
I'm a compound,
Your atoms make me up,

The universe has so much matter,
But none of it matters,
Without you,

You,

I make the bed in my heart,
So you have somewhere to sleep,
I carve out room,
Where I store my love for you,

I'm a creature,
But I'm human when I'm around you,

You make me human,
Human,
Human,
Who?

The sun is setting,
On another windy day,

Cold and brittle,
Perfect for a *** roast!
We'd take to the grill,

But the weather had other plans.

Thankful for every passing cloud,

They reflect the sun so well.

Like butterflies as they rest their wings
and prepare for another day
So will you take time off once in a while
to re-coop and breathe
When rainy days come and you had enough
do like the butterfly in the sky
Close up your wings and sit for a while
you'll fly again soon, when its over.
Its ok to rest during life's biggest storms
rain can damage many a wing
So wrap those weary arms around you
then close your eyes and pray

You'll fly again some day, you'll see !

I was starving in
Pennsylvania.
One night, I had
enough.
Done with it all.
The poverty and
sickness.
The drunken mad
nights
and dog-fight days.
Brutality for breakfast.
Served sunny side up
runny yolks with
butterflies trapped in
the yellow sunshine.
Spiders built webs in
my soul.

I stood on the torn-up
couch in my living room and
yelled at the walls.

Listen, you devil.
You want me, you better be
ready for a fight.
I paced the floor like a
washed-up heavyweight champ,
eyeing the ceiling like a
drunken sparrow in a cat's mouth.

Young men in glazy unison
wreck over lipstick shoals

until last call's klaxons
lure a few to paddle back

& pony up for a last fist
of foaming heart.

I'm past my sailing days,
so I watch from hot shade

with germanium on/off eyes,
surrounded by ten brave

who said yes to an evening.
Leaving into the electric bower

under bud-sparked trees,
our heels are free of night,

everything is open,
& forty-five seems no great age.

There’s enough language inside of my mouth to be understood.
I unhinge my jaw
my tongue rolls out
you can see the words sewn into my muscular tissue.
sentences lodged deep into my pharynx.
I clean my act, flash my cheekbones.
So there’s enough language inside of my body
to create the thought in your mind that
“I’m okay.”
Pain masked in articulation.
The lack to find all the points in communication.
The curse of comprehension.
All while sitting with what doesn’t exist outside of the novel continuously writing in my head.
There’s enough language inside of the world
to prove that no word can describe
my intelligence of my own being;
with coexisting with people who become illiterate
to the dictations of my mind.

I am an assertive being.
destructive.
mortal.
Extremely impulsive with frenzied thoughts.
I am a woman with affection that only exists
inside of my bones.
lethal.
This affection confused as violence.
frenetic.
I do not express it with lip stains on envelopes or heart shaped doodles on letters.
It’s a demonstration of my eyes piercing into yours.
Willingly suffocating in the thought of you.
Repeatedly carving your existence in my head.
This planet will come for me and continue to spin
but here he is, a mosaic of my memory.
A love that tears me to shreds.
strips me bare.
I am in my purest form when I’m with you.