Is it a place that people visit?
A desert with a watering hole in it.
Is it a person that you adore?
Making you laugh till your ribs are sore.

Eyelids heavy on the I-30,
You kissed my hand and told me you loved me.
Not a soul on the road, just you, me and Biggie,
Looking at the sunrise you said, “Isn’t she pretty?”

A little girl looks up at her mother,
She says “when I get older,
I want to be a doctor, or a poet,
A dancer, or a pilot,
A lawyer, or an artist,
A designer, or a pianist”.
Her mother tells her sadly,
“Baby, I want you to be happy,
And do all the things I couldn’t possibly,
And be all the things I could never be”.

A fateful night,
I was restless,
Sleep fleeting my young eyes.
So I rose from bed,
And to my desk I sat.
My pen curled in my fingers,
I wrote.
I wrote of a girl,
Made of spare paper,
And discarded ink.
But never did I guess,
My writing would come true.
Yet come next morning before me lay,
A paper girl with inky eyes.

Life becomes lighter
if you learn to let go
if held tighter
the self will not grow

it will be fettered
its space will be constrained
freedom will be curbed
living will be endlessly strained

Don't say:
'I can't help it'
you certainly can
if you'll keep your wit