Little soul, little perpetually undressed one,
Do now as I bid you, climb
The shelf-like branches of the spruce tree;
Wait at the top, attentive, like
A sentry or look-out. He will be home soon;
It behooves you to be
Generous. You have not been completely
Perfect either; with your troublesome body
You have done things you shouldn't
Discuss in poems. Therefore
Call out to him over the open water, over the bright
Water
With your dark song, with your grasping,
Unnatural song--passionate,
Like Maria Callas. Who
Wouldn't want you? Whose most demonic appetite
Could you possibly fail to answer? Soon
He will return from wherever he goes in the
Meantime,
Suntanned from his time away, wanting
His grilled chicken. Ah, you must greet him,
You must shake the boughs of the tree
To get his attention,
But carefully, carefully, lest
His beautiful face be marred
By too many falling needles.

i woke at about noon today
and opened a window to air out the room-
it smelled like a ***** girl that i don't
very much care for.
and i put on some clothes and
left and closed the door behind me.

I have no camera
to capture a moment worth memory.
I do not fathom notes of symphonies,
nor can I serenade you with songs unsung.
I have no spices for a delicate meal
or recipes to make food dance on your tongue.
I possess no fabric for fashions to come,
and I am not chiseled in style of Grecian gods
in order to show another’s cloth.
I offer neither paint to spread on any canvas
nor pastels for paper’s surface.
I cannot act as a different person,
Or write you a play that may induce ovation.
I have no story in my head,
waiting to be ink on a page
or scenes in a movie.
I only have my ill-favored voice to be heard
And these words to be read.

I dream of a world beyond my expression
That can only be described by the sensation
in a single emotion at one single moment.
Minds cross and cross over and attach to form one point.
When you feel electricity running all along your nerves
And your breath is deeper and it’s like your head can’t up with your heart
and you aren’t quite sure what’s going on but it is good and it is right.
And it is love. It is what we thrive on. It is behind art, music and drama.
Full of pinks and yellows and greens and sometimes blue.
But sometimes that’s what is part of the spectrum
Your synapses are flooded with serotonin.
You became locked in that single moment and
Even though it’s not perfect, it still feels
Pretty **** close.

Silly of Me, to think this was meant to be.
Always telling myself, “I’m Done.”
But, Tomorrow I’ll be right by your side
I’ll tell myself not to cry
Listen to Bob who said, “Every little thing is gonna be alright.”

But Boy, you steady ready to leave
To find yourself a new miss
Too blind to see this

Sinking
        lower into an
                                abyss

How you made me fall to my knees
Screaming out- "Don’t do this please!"
Holding tight onto small pieces of you
But this love ain't true

What I would of done for you
I’d give you the world
But you already seem to have it
So in love with you like a drug habit it get
One more dose and I’ll be out of it

Won’t take another hit
Checking in,
Letting the pain remit.

This ******* bliss
Girl, you’re smarter than this
You know men
Only out for that thang said Lauryn

Tonight I’ll sing glory amen
Rest my head
Leave words unsaid
I was mislead
Will find myself before I’m dead

Don’t
         f
            a
               l
                 l  
                  in love

Shed it aside,
It’s only a place full of lies and unrelenting cries.

the beginning was a serrated dawn
past and imaginations folded
like the creased edges of a paper fan

raindrops were not calculated trajectories
I had once forced upon myself

but a distant memory
unbeknownst to those who never look past
the tide of their vision
impressions pressed into our days
duties followed; marching to the beat of predecessors

yet the tide rolls in
forevermore relinquishing celestial pull

twilight falls with grievances long overdue
the water births it's friction
straying from wind's course

the end was a planate dusk
chimeric chances and futures rejoiced
like the musical notes of the breeze
the paper fan now blew