For what’s there in a name,
A line that has been immortal
Since long before the age of cheap *** and roadside motels,
Still stands true
In the age of golden whiskey
And sunset kisses, a little too risky.

For a name can make scars bleed
Open up wounds which had long been sealed.
A hit to the heart can prove fatal
Just like the story about Romeo that’s now a fable.
So what name is it, in the story of your life
That made you drink enough to forget your own for a while?

A little girl once dreamed of a fairytale ending and a big white horse, ridden by a knight fairer than all.
For stories and tales that grandma told always said that happiness came with a big white bow and a ring on your fourth.
So the little girl heard and believed as she was told, fables and myths she followed with her eyes closed.
She waited and waited for a knight with white armour to come and save her. From what? She wasn’t really sure.
Years passed and the lass lost hope. But once on a moon lit night came riding a young man on his own.
Bewitched by love, the lass couldn’t see the young man was indeed the devil on his knees.
He cast into the sky a spell so dark and heavy, the young girl couldn’t escape even with a rope at the ready.
For she hoped that another man with the intentions of a knight would come rescue her from the gloom of the night.
And one fine day the lass got fed up with time, and taking matters into her own hands, she climbed out and didn’t give a dime.
For the lass had learned that the stories were fake, the myths were shackles and the waiting was insane.
A hidden sword, a hidden pen, was all that was needed to bring light to her darkest days.
So she picked up the pen and began to write, a story without a brilliant, white knight.

Like a mother knows her child,
Like a reader knows his books
I knew you inside out despite all the shields that you put.
I knew what made you laugh,
I knew what made you cry
I knew what you wanted at 3 at night
I knew that your mind was part *******, part church,
the poles hidden behind swanky curtains that were a little out of touch.
I knew what it was like to be with you at noon and night
I knew everything about you, could’ve told you apart
with a blindfold on, in room that was dark.

Behind all the light, it was a little gloomy,
behind all the happiness , there was some fear.
I guess that’s where I felt short in knowing you, my dear.
For all the claims I make about knowing you in every way
I never could’ve predicted the way we fell and frayed.
Now we pass each other in the street and look away
as if we weren’t there for each other at noon and night every day.

I once had a story I couldn’t wait to tell,
a little girl with dreams about a world that went to hell.
The sky looked pretty, the stars within her reach,
her dreams escalated quickly to the ever tallest trees.
No nook, no cranny did she wanted to leave unseen,
no village, no valley that ever escaped from her dreams.
The sky is the limit, she always believed,
till the world came crashing on her little perfect dream.
The lights were blinding, the sky turned dark,
reality exploded like a burning car.
Her dreams went quiet, her eyes became soaked,
the day she realized the world was really a hellhole.
The little girl grew up that day
she was stared upon and laughed away.
The sky looked vicious and the stars didn’t seem
like they ever planned to be in the little girl’s reach.

Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?

The little child afraid of ghosts, ghouls and things that go bump in the night,
could never fathom being haunted by someone that is still alive.               The kid who hid behind his mother’s arm,
now stays awake at night dreaming of being in another’s arms.
The toddler who used to laugh all day,
searches online for reasons to stay alive .
The infant with the starry eyes and dreamy smile,
has forgotten what a laugh feels like.
The teenager who loved haunted houses and scary movies nights,
now cries herself to bed over lover boy.
How odd it is to be haunted by someone that is still alive.

I’d give you my heart but another already took it,
I’d give you my love but there isn’t much left,
I’d give you every pretty thing in life if it would make you mine.
But presents were never really your thing, neither mine.

So I’ll give you my future,
I’ll give you my time,
I’ll give you my word that I’ll never leave your side.
I’d give you my life but it would never be enough,
So I’ll give you my poetry , it’s all that they left untouched.