"I wish you well."
                                                          ­                    



                                         ­                                     (but not too well without me)

Its a little outlandish,
Dont you think,
To believe what you hear
And confess that is the truth?
Isn't it naive to think,
Think that the world is too nice,
That everyone's just as convincing
As your own nonchalant notion of life?
Isn't it foolish,
To fall in love
With the same broken heart
And still preach that it'll be alright?
Dont you think
Your life is much more than a period,
But it is one where you can be yourself
For the world to see
To behold
And to be?
If only you could open your eyes
To the things you thought were true.
If only you could let your mind wander
And set it free in the corn fields.
If only your ideas were a product of will power
And probably then see it fly in the wind.
Why do you hold yourself back
When you only have just this lifetime,
This short span of life to cherish?
Why do you worry about the petty things in life
When clearly you're so close to falling off the edge?
Why do you hide your dreams
So that you can be a part of some society
Aching to strip you of your individuality?
Why do you refuse to be you,
When this is the best **** person you'll ever be?

why do I buy books I won't read
maybe it's the same reason
I fall in love with people I can't have
I never reach out quite far enough
so that these experiences are tantalizingly
untantalizing
and maybe I select a great deal of books
in the hopes of finding one that I will actually enjoy
and I read such a small fraction of them
that I seem to be misspending my money.
but I will continue my vice and form a collection
of books that were
never intended to be read
to sit forever on the bookshelf of my memory,
quiet and untouched
maybe there only to be in stark contrast
to the ones I have opened
and destroyed.

You are my moon.
I know it's a metaphor and
I know it's prone to misinterpretation
But isn't that what's great about metaphors?

You are the sky.

What do you mean?

It means what it means and what you think it means.

What do you think it means?

It doesn't matter what I think it means.

But you wrote it, didn't you? You ought to know.

That's the thing about writers. We write things and we don't know
what they mean, really. For there is not one frame for each line
and each picture we paint. It's about writing masterpieces that can be
broken down to different pieces. Maybe even to the point that it is
crushed to sand and turned to dust. Dust flies away with the wind and
if poetry might turn to dust, then I will be glad.

-D.D.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my *******,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

We wear X's on our hands
Right below our middle fingers
That tap in sync with the music
Like a pen that bruises paper.

"PUT off that mask of burning gold
With emerald eyes."
"O no, my dear, you make so bold
To find if hearts be wild and wise,
And yet not cold."
"I would but find what's there to find,
Love or deceit."
"It was the mask engaged your mind,
And after set your heart to beat,
Not what's behind."
"But lest you are my enemy,
I must enquire."
"O no, my dear, let all that be;
What matter, so there is but fire
In you, in me?"