She’s more fun when she is drunk
At least…until she’s not
Because she’s puking in the toilet
And regretting her last shot

She’s more confident when she’s drunk
Gorgeous and ready to score
Until she looks in a mirror
And feels even uglier than before

She likes herself more when she is drunk
Until that feeling goes away
When she is so far beyond gone
That her self-hatred comes out to play

She’s happier when she’s drunk
All her issues leave her brain
But they all come crashing back at once
And cause her so much pain

She likes the world more when drunk
It’s filled with so much good
Until one little thing sets her off
And she hates it all more than she should

She likes life more when she’s drunk
Her mind for once feels still
Terrified of losing that feeling
She soon wants to end things with a pill

But she can stop any time she wants
Or so she’d have you believe
Because alcohol makes her seem so happy
That is, until all her friends leave

To my friends
who can write
fresh-smelling
bouquets of words
with splendid color,
I offer my envy.
Mine are the blunt, stunted words,
rooted in the cracks
in pavement,
or forcing their way
to light around
overbearing rocks.
Some useful
in their own way,
edible or flavorful,
some with a
pedestrian beauty,
but few that one
would bring home in a bunch
with a box of candy.
More appropriate
in a grimy, young fist
crumpled in love,
destined to be vased
in a water glass
by a doting mother,
or shredded petal by petal
for the sake of soothsaying...
he loves me, he loves me not.

Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots

And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again

I hold you tight up against my body
I take you with me even to the party

I rub you back and forth
Up and down from south to north

I love the way you sing hard and soft
I just can't keep my hands off

I pull you close
From coast to coast

You are beautifully sound
I will never pass you around

Magnificently perfect
You have all of my respect

You are my best friend
Till the end

White and blue now move to orange,
in flames that lick the tempting air,
dancing round a burning fire,
lost in thought- without a care,

Gypsy hearts they move in rhythms,
as fire builds with stomping feet,
the wafting smell of soft patchouli,
hints of savory with the sweet,

Tousled locks they flow on shoulders,
as arms and hands are lifted high,
clapping, moving to the pulses,
hearts are upward to the sky,

Many nights with many dances,
to dance before Aurora's throne,
as magic colors still transforming,
in sky of midnight - moon of bone,

To dance with many or to dance alone,

It doesn't matter -
just dance.

Ma Cherie © 2017

To live a life only vicariously,
is to be blinded to the beauty of it.

Ma Cherie © 2017

A smile hides the searing pain,
pushed up close an cheek to cheek,
her love for him she gives in vain,
a knotted throat she mustn't speak,

People see just what they want,
a beauty with a smiling face,
she hides the bitter truth behind,
her well lit eyes of tempered grace,

It's not she doesn't love him,
she adores his every wrinkle,
it's just she doesn't see the same,
her eyes no longer twinkle,

Hopes they daily deeper go,
to places that she'd rather hide,
she dare not even mention them,
too many minutes to abide,
wanting her to go again,
an not be at his beckon side,
to stay is wrong you say,
does she not have any pride?

She's in the same place over,
an over again-
it seems,
it's Groundhog day,
so she reaches out a tired hand -
again and dreams,
as the alarm again will play,

Her dreams are but a distant place,
a summit she can't reach,
a shore to call her heart back home,
a hauntingly familiar beach
with some shells around her ankle,
an scarring from blood-******* leach,
painful is the bite you know,
her freedom brought by what it teach,

With her toes beneath-
the wave of coming fortune,
the one he says that cleanses all,
as it dies before it gets to her,
well she thinks that thing has got some gall,

She takes a calming moment,
and the deepest poet's sigh,
as she is ever grateful,
this is not her sad goodbye,

Thankful she was watching,
with the other useful eye,

Safe from certain disaster,
watching the angry wave,
dissipate unto it's own oblivion,

an blessed she can still see -
with her eyes completely shut.

Ma Cherie © 2017