She probably wanted to be free,
I've wanted to be free of it all sometimes too.
I wonder if she grew wings before she fell?
Cause you could see the pain in her eyes
when you saw her cry.
And you could feel the anger in her voice,
from a past that wasn't her choice.
But you could also hear a person in need,
a woman dying to be free,
free of the hurt and sorrow life had given her.
But also a girl who didn't want give in yet.
She was the only Queen in Drag,
who could strut her stuff like a Barbie.
She could make everyone smile,
Just by walking in the room and grinning.
She will always be missed,
So let me "Blow you,
One last kiss"
Cause I know you liked P!nk,
What Barbie wouldn't?
Now life continues on,
But I'll never forget the wings Ms. Barbie had
when she was alive.
She was a bright, colorful woman,
filled to the brink with energetic personality.
Goodbye my dear friend.

Wanted: v.; to desire, to lack

I wanted you to be the stars to my sky --
I would have let you form
galaxies and constellations
to the edge of infinity,
in whatever shapes you pleased.
I wanted you to be the pen,
while I, the paper,
let you write across me,
telling me your story,
blending it with mine.
You were the avalanche
to my echoing heartbeats:
unstable, unstoppable,
a snowflake turned by rage
into a force incomparable.
You were the thunder
to my summer storm:
inconstant, intemperate,
a distant reminder
of things worse to come.

I wanted you to be a sonnet,
but instead you were an elegy
for a love unrequited.

And I would hold your hand,
but I can grasp a pen;
and it makes me free to know
that unlike you
the pen
will not
let go.

Unchain me please
as I've never been this baffled
by the fact that these
3 simple words
could turn my life into
a living wreck.

Promises were made
Hearts were crossed
Pinky promises, we once did
but none of them lasted
as time traveled faster
than it seemed to be

Memories took hold of me
The way you handled me with care
The way you touched me gently
The way you held me like
a delicate little bird.

You never complained when
I cried over the simplest of things
and yet you held me tightly
and said "it'll all be okay"

What changed us?
Distance mocked us harder
Time envied us
and so
we went our separate ways.
Never to be seen again
Never to be heard again
Vanished as light went away
When darkness arises

maps don't exist for
the hardest routes,
instead only for those green diamond
lines playing over manuscript flat paper,
long like flutes extending out over and up
mountain ridges, down across narrow
beaches leading to fisherman rooftops
taking hits from the ocean in front.

We must make our own way lost,
ending up somewhere ill and icy,
dressed up in the frost in nothing but socks, unwashed
from the running, screaming grace from the
windowsills;
it's a place most won't meet, won't want to meet,
but will nevertheless greet with wide open, French patio door
arms.

Afternoons that were once body clock mornings turned to early mornings
which became sweet evening bath time odes to rest;
they’re tests we all win at because the prize is quietness,
primary-school-hands-on-heads quietness,
so still it hurts to sleep because
comfort has wrapped every bone in
ill fitting armour making it, once moved,
difficult to find that point of paralysis once again.

Piano-flat black rooms are lit
by dark midnight suns, the bulbs
burning through, the taps in their place,
chairs thrown under tables away from the morning queue
yet to form for the day.

I like my men like I like my tea;
Strong and hot.

But not the hot that has attraction
And *** appeal written all over,

With those "come and get me"
Eyes and glances that leave women half naked in beds.

No, the kind of hot that when I
Ingest his words and thoughts

My soul becomes warm and
Open, warming the rest of me too.

He runs through me, creating an ember-like
Current to jolt me in all the right ways.

He lights a fire in me when he laughs and contemplates;
It's the most welcoming heat I've come to know.

It's like the first warm day of spring
After an endless winter of chill and ice.

His strength, though, need not be
In his arms or calves or thighs-

His strength can come from him
Opening up his world so I can

Enter and see him behind his skin,
Behind his skull so I can see his mind

For the beautiful thing it is.
His strength can be found

When he remains around despite
My insecurities and woes.

His strength is found when he holds me up
From my own tribulations so I can

Learn what it's like to come
From the bottom up.

His strength resides in his hands when
They pull me closer in the middle of the night-

He pulls me closer, and I can hear his heartbeat.
It always makes mine beat a second faster.

His strength rests in his heart when he handed it
Over to me and said, "Here, have this."

He warms me on cold nights,
And keeps me awake during some too.

I'd have him as the sun rises,
And even as is trades off with the moon.

Though a cliché indeed,
I could simply say that he's my perfect cup of tea.