You have a right to change your mind about me,
yes, you are free, to think what you like about what you see,
and what you think you see —
don't see —
about what you want me to be.
Because that's more about you than me.
so, go right ahead and think differently —
it is freeing then, immediately.

I've spent the majority
of my life performing to your tune,
the one you fiddled on your flute
rather than changing your own swoon,
it must be pretty difficult
waiting for others to change
all the while stagnating
in your narcissistic slime.

You have a right to change your mind about me,
I'm a maverick, you'll see!
Through trials and forced transmutation;
I am a girl and a woman,
I am a heart and an evolution
of a story still being told —
That's just it, never will my spirit grow old.

To be the black sheep of the family —
what a terrible thing to be.

All the neighbors and relatives
heap praise on my super-successful siblings
and hurl insults at me
at the first chance they get.

I know all too well –
it is their jealousy of my siblings' success
that they take it out on me.

If success is measured by
money and fame,
I am not going to take that bait –
I am happy as I am.

Insult me all you can,
I can take it all in.
For you can only give
what you have,
and for that reason
I forgive you.

I remain the black sheep
of my family–
by choice,
at peace and forever free.

In the rivers where there are many fish,
the paths are winding.
The fisherman longs to get there.
Fast rivers are more dangerous
like unfulfilled dreams that we have forgotten.
Every morning, the fisherman goes out to fish,
dreaming of reaching those depths.

my mask has gotten oh so heavy
but i don't want them to see
the person behind the facade
the real me

they barely see me, they see the mask
but it's cracking through
if i took off my mask
would you still love me like i love you?

i wish i could be me
but they would hurt me again
so i'll keep wearing this heavy mask
until i can finally break the chain

Poetry should  be taught —
But it's better to be tried.

Poetry can be taught;
But it's better to be lived!

Fallen cherry blooms,
Sticks to my wet skin like grief,
Brief and hard to hold.

The spider web cracked mirror in my room
will never regain its clean, sheer surface,
but if I look from the proper angle,
or tilt my head to the side a tad bit,
I will see a face that once reflected
the promising light in my mother’s eye.