she's one of those girls with
painted eyes and
long sleeves in summer,
a vacant stare
and nowhere left to turn,
long red lines
slashed over years of cross hatched moon white scars.
she'll tell you dying is an art.

cigarette filter ringed with red lipstick,
she pursues her death in slow steps,
still hoping in some hidden secret place
for someone to kiss her wrists and tell her she did okay,
to fall in love with her beautiful tragedy.

and she is beautiful,
but not for the reasons she's assembled in her head.
there is nothing lovely or romantic
in her quest for self-destruction,
but there is beauty in her strength.
the glory is not in her pursuit of death,
but her ability to live.
she does not need you to save her,
and you cannot,
as much as she'll beg you to try.

kiss her lips instead of her scars.
love the breath in her lungs and the life in her veins.
treat her body like something too precious to destroy.
give her love to hold onto
while she learns to create her own.

it is up to you to love her,
should you choose.
it is up to her to decide
that death can wait.

It's time for a name
Not to be just another 'name'

To anyone who lost a life
You didn't die in vain

Colour doesn't matter
Inside we're all the same

It's time to stop the suffering
It's time to stop the pain

There was a child in the heart of our land emaciated, starving, weak.
And there he sat on sticks and stones to beaten down to speak.
So he dreamed, our little boy, of things he wished he had.
He dreamed of things like food and food so he wouldn’t feel so sad.
A bite of food was a dream indeed, better than any other
And for one, selfish as it may seem, he'd push aside his brother.
So he stuffed his face with a dream, the glutton, his eyes squeezed so, so tight.
His belly full with tasty thoughts, he savored every bite.
And once, the moon, who’d seen his dreams, asked the glutton why.
Our little boy he closed his eyes and said this with a sigh;
“I’ve never felt my belly full and begging for release. I’ve starved my days, yes all of them and longed for nothing but peace.
So leave me to my deadly sin, I’ll pay for it in time
for you have yours which I know not and gluttony is mine”.

"Softly, softly" sang the breeze
Sweeping across hills and trees,
"Sweetest kiss given to Man
Is in the sight of his friend."
"Softly, softly" sang the breeze,
"Utter no noise nor a sneeze,
Lest you disturb lovers sweet,
Who on this cool evening meet.

Sweetest things given to Man,
Never last unto the end;
So all lovers sweet and true,
Why not meet under this blue?
Whispers will be my singing
To brighten all life in Spring
All clouds shall I blow away,
To mark this lovely Spring day."

Oh, would that the words
from this page could rise
up and paint me the picture
they portray.

Then, whisk me away
and surround me  with
their promise of love
and safety.

Words are my friends,
keeper of my dreams.
They walk with me in the
realm of fantasy.

They support me on
stormy seas. They give
me hope that someday,
someday will come.

Take me from this world
of daily sameness into
your world of wonder
and challenge.

People look but don’t see,
people hear but don’t listen
In your world, all things are possible.
I can be me.

And powered resistance..
The clash of separation
Which we view as
We always have viewed
Thru our fallen lenses..
Ongoing dark turmoil to
Bring at last..humility
And clarity to our
Convincing and clinging
...Fallen lenses...