Ever wonder where  a cowboy's stares  
lead him looking off into all those sunsets,
those puffy clouds on the range
arranged in crimson glory,
he feels , but,
puts on his cowboy hat,
and hides his eyes and dreams

He looks off, a song humming,
recalling a girl so long gone,
expresses his toughness, by that tear you never see.
Rides alone the prairies, him and his steed.

His dusk is all life long. He is tough, granted.
He has a poem inside, tearing him apart.

And, keeps on riding.

Her insides reflect broken shards
Digging corsets 
And sweetheart neck lines 
Blotches of wrong shades 
Splashed with pink blushes
To mask the pale and pasty 
You would never see the eyes that never sleep
Deep dark ***** depths 
Of a mind constantly thinking 
Secrets she's carrying 
Sick diseases of this world
The shadows call out
And lure her in 
With promises of moments of peace 
That will touch her shell
But never penetrate her soul
Yet still she's sold 
Peace is a longing that never gets old 
Meeting with guilt 
On a dusty road 
She searches the path of amnesia
Through echoing confessions
She never wanted to be told 
She watched them get drunk on tears 
And bathe in justice 
Dancing to the music of her cries 
Watching her turn crazy
And feed herself lies 
On how everything is going to be alright

breeeathe

r ~ 10/18/14

Wanna get to know you,
Feel you inside,
What's your favorite song?
I wanna know what your laugh is like.
Your face looks like the sky after the snow,
Your scent like the rain in a fully bloomed meadow,
I want you in the winter.
Baby, I want you in the winter.

We can wake up and make coffee,
Or maybe just sleep.
I can feel your spirit next to me and it flooding me with electricity,
You ever feel that way?
Well, maybe it's just me.
But I want you in the winter,
Baby I want you in the winter.

Because what is love without a little cold weather?
What is love without a little bite?
Keep me warm with the whiskey and your cigarette breath,
Keep me warm in the blankets of a soft pale moonlight,
The way you light me up like a million strands of tiny bulbs,
I want you in the winter,
Baby, I want you in the winter.

At the age of five
she had big blue eyes
and never left her mother side
and loved to see her daddy and mother smile.
At the age of seven
her long blonde hair was all the way down to her hips
she saw her sister with the curly blonde hair at her shoulders
and told her mom she wanted it cut.
Her mom cried when she cut it to her ears.
At the age of ten she entered third grade
with short hair
and a loving smile.
The boy she liked then told her to check yes
or no on a note if she wanted to date him.
She checked yes and spent the whole day smiling.
She was thirteen her hair now past her shoulders
and her eyes covered in makeup
but it still didn't work to keep the boy
that she checked yes for.
At age 15
her hair is now long and her eyes are now dull.
she spends most of her time in her room
staring at herself in the mirror
and picking out every flaw
then covering up what she can
with makeup
she barely goes to school
she hasn't seen her mom and dad smile at each other anymore
and now her mom has way more things to cry about
than cut hair
she has given up on boys
even the one who wrote her poems instead of boxes to check.
Age 16
and she has wrote her last poem
for the boy who never did her any harm
then decided she had one more note to write
but left it unfinished.
Because she couldn't hold on any longer.

This number, the intangible phenomenon
That governs our lives
We are separated, categorised
Stereotyped by this number

But who's to say this number needs be comparable?
Isn't it full of subjectivity
And experiences, immeasurable data
That cannot be programmed into any system

To give us a true idea
First, tell us how many times you have been around the sun
Then tell us
Your age