Trapped in a world where the weak can't survive
where the voice of the poor can't be heard for afar,
where one's dream falls apart and reaching for it
seems impossible, where the tears of a man can't
resolve any obstacles.

Only thoughts of fright cross your mind all day long,
feeling like your heart has been ripped from your
soul, looking to your side and no friends you can
find, trying to figure out how much longer will all
this last.

Words like humble and sweet are effaced from your
mind, while anguish and affliction become examples
of your daily life, you won't hear the kind remarks
that might be said about you, for you can't appreciate
what your heart is not accustomed to.

18 years you have lived yet your beauty has
faded away, your innocence has been stolen from you
and the're many suspects to blame, there's no point
trying to fix what has what has already been destroyed,
your genial smile was erased and your youthfulness
came to a stop.

There's no mountain you can climb nor a path you
can walk, nor a forty miles ride you can jump in and
go, nor a train you can board or a plane you'd come up
to, that will ever even lead you to accomplish your
dreams and goals.

Searching for a way out, even though out you are,
four dollars is all there's left, to feed the kids pay rent
and try to survive, blindfolded you are, you won't
see what you want, putting your aspirations to vanish
into a thing of the past, why are you simply living
the life that you're told t? why can't you for once
live the life you always desired to?

In a time where the corrupt owns it all and much more,
where a man's state of frenzy is irrelevant even to the poor,
where the lion hunts the deer and its flesh is torn apart, where
words like "finally I did it" are only said by plutocrats.

The mountain was to high for you to climb it all, its height
was to extreme, you fail at going up, there weren't any
guides that showed you how to climb, or give you any tips
at how to safely survive, however there were signs at every
place you looked, which said that at some point a fall
you must endure.

I'm not broken so why are you trying to fix me?
My wings are not fractured so why are you trying to mend them?
My world is not drifting apart so why are you trying to glue it back together?
My body is not injured so why are you determined to heal it?
My thoughts are not scrambled so why are you obsessed with  decoding them?
My love is not wounded so why are you trying to change it?
Stop trying to fix me I'm not broken, I'm just built differently.

She's the quiet one, who
never stands out the chick
who'll rather write a poem
than speak to a crowd.

The one nobody notices
when she walks down the
hall, the girl who's voice is
unknown but her mind's
full of thoughts.

She's the introvert, the girl
in disguise, the one who
builds up walls so her
life won't collapse.

The one whose tough
exterior in reality is
full of cracks.

She's a timid soul, a
daydreamer at heart,
creating the ideal future
while she tries to
forget her past.

The person who tells
her pains to a stranger
who asks, but can't
have a conversation
with those that are
by her side.

She's your classmate,
she's your sister and
friend, she's your
cousin and niece, she's
your aunt, she's your tale.

she's the girl that stares
back when you glance
at the lake, the one
no one knows, she is I,
she is her.

fogs on the pond,
gleam like fire on a voile.
awes flying with comets,
painting upon a starless sky.

lily pads silvered,
blue night young with shivers.
dulcet tone of the harp croons,
melodic like a poet's rhymes.

crystallized blood sweet of mist,
lingering on her lily-white ribs.
in the land where Mozart's energy sought,
in staccato his beauty fought.

To the doors,
the moors hide;
behind the half-light,
the garden ripe.

 in fey music, in sullen mist,
       the agonies and myths,
together in all
bequeath,
        to the flow of a rosary's beads.

Before you start reading this I feel I must tell you, this is long and very possibly, very very boring but, so very important to me and hopefully to my dedicated*


I sat back upon cracked heels
that represented, simply,
just a good place to sit
Somewhere close to the ground
where I could trail fingertips
in the dirt, drawing pictures
of deserted castles
and skeleton butterflies
with wings of fractutured glass
and fairies
with silken headdresses
of thorns
and Unicorns,
missing their horns
and other creatures
of similar ilk

Staring at the fence,
Fifty million years high
I sigh
because beyond the fence
in a babble of voices
they whisper of
Contentment
The underlying sentiment
of precocious antic dotes
spilling precious needs upon
any slight breeze
drifting like glowing dust motes
fills me with a resentment
that is voraciously ferocious
because they
spoke to each other
while all I had was dirt
beneath my fingernails
and partially deformed nightmares
that blew away
on the slightest exhale

As I cleaned the slate
with a flick of my wrist
Rain turned to mist
my dust board of memories
became a mud pile
I couldn't smile
I could hardly even frown
I was still as close as I could ever be
to the ground
I was now no longer kneeling
I was laying with one cheek
against my impression of Calliope,
who is carvorting silently
with rucked up skirts and lute in hand
but not longer in motion
just a muddied mess of dirt and tears
capturing all my naked fears
erased beneath a spirit
that hides in the dirt
on the other side of the fence

This is where he found me
All ragged and breathing stale air
All gasping for solace
trying to wrap myself in warmth
of the voices
from the other side of the fence
It was not blanket sized
more just a crocheted square
enough to cover my heart
which needed the warmth
I swear, I went cold so often
that the dirt that remained
under my fingernails
was the only thing
that kept my fingers warm

He crouched beside me
and said softly
What have we here?
Oh baby bird with broken wing
but whose song I did hear sing
Little Callista, mute from your screams
Broken from your nightmares
that started as dreams...
I saw you through the fence

As I stared into tapestry eyes
and followed the outstretched hand
that didn't try to touch me
sensing my fragility
He pointed to a pinprick space
devoid of concrete and mortar
Just inches from my dirtied face
in the Fifty million year high fence
he graced me with a weary look
I heard you ask once
while chasing skeleton butterflies
if they came from over fence...
Would you like a look?

He stood up over ten feet tall,
simply clasped his hand together
With eyebrow raised
and a twitch to lips
he invited me to stand
with a nod of his head
and a flick of eyes to the fence
I simply unwove all my dreams
and delicious unfantasies
stood, put a hand on his shoulder
a ***** foot in his palms
and he hoisted me

What I saw over the fence was
Magical, Mystical
a complete break to my reality

A simple garden of verdant green
the sublime shade of an unspoken tree
a single little girl
with ten thousand voices
spilling from her lips
from her I caught
just a small crocheted square
on the other side
but it still made no sense
what I saw,
hanging from the fence
until I looked back down
into taperstry eyes
that smiled
with a knowledge of Soloman
having pulled apart
and put back together
a struggling humanity
He simply grinned at me
and trumpeted
She is you, she writes Poetry
You are her and I, We, believe
in both of you.
As you can clearly see
there is nothing beyond the fence
that you cannot be

And he simply bent his knees
and lifted his hands
to the Sun
and toppled me over the fence
so I could, again
become one

sigh

I wish I wasn't writing this
I had something else to say, but
Yesterday turned into Tomorrow
and I'm reluctant to come and play

I don't usually explain my Poetry
but I no longer have 'the gift'
No longer have I the emotions
Eternal despair has caused a rift

so I'll whisper my meanings to you
all my words mean nothing to me
just what I gathered from the universe
I'm an Empath, you see

I can no longer hold
all your feelings
in my heart
I can no longer
cry for you
laugh with you
or sit silently
as you fill me
with emotions
I can't cope with
I never wanted this
from the start

but I never denied you

So this is *Goodbye
let go of my hand
unwrap your arms
from beneath my soul

Don't cry for me
or laugh at me
or catch your breath
or try to see
Where I'm going,
you can't follow me

My journey is ended

The price....

                    *Untold

out of the arm of one love
and into the arms of another
I have been saved from dying on the cross
by a lady who smokes ***
writes songs and stories
and is much kinder than the last,
much much kinder,
and the *** is just as good or better.
it isn't pleasant to be put on the cross and left there,
it is much more pleasant to forget a love which didn't
work
as all love
finally
doesn't work ...
it is much more pleasant to make love
along the shore in Del Mar
in room 42, and afterwards
sitting up in bed
drinking good wine, talking and touching
smoking
listening to the waves ...

I have died too many times
believing and waiting, waiting
in a room
staring at a cracked ceiling
wating for the phone, a letter, a knock, a sound ...
going wild inside
while she danced with strangers in nightclubs ...
out of the arms of one love
and into the arms of another
it's not pleasant to die on the cross,
it is much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in
the dark.

I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on a
train and that they never were recovered.
I can't match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3-page poem
upon this computer
and through my lack of diligence and
practice
and by playing around with commands
on the menu
I somehow managed to erase the poem
forever.
believe me, such a thing is difficult to do
even for a novice
but I somehow managed to do
it.

now I don't think this 3-pager was immor-
tal
but there were some crazy wild lines,
now gone forever.
it bothers more than a touch, it's some-
thing like knocking over a good bottle of
wine.

and writing about it hardly makes a good
poem.
still, I thought somehow you'd like to
know?

if not, at least you've read this far
and there could be better work
down the line.

let's hope so, for your sake
and
mine.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?