One day
When my hair is graying, face is creasing
My husband will be at work
His apathy slowly increasing
And making him a rude ****.
My kids will be at school being fed empty knowledge
Preparing for college
And the TV set will be blaring
I won't be caring
About the static noise filling the beige room,
The news guy speaking of terror and gloom
A blue glare will reflect on the brown stained couch
On which I will be sitting, with a woebegone and wistful slouch
And my brain will drift, slowly searching memory files
Going back for years and endless miles
And I will remember you,
The boy I once knew,
As the boy I never kissed
My eyes will mist
And maybe I'll cry
And give a shaky sigh
For so many reasons, and that lost kiss will merely be one

I'm only 21
And I'm already due
To go
In another 50
Or so

We're not designed to last long
So it's very easy to become overwhelmed
If you look at the timeline
For everything
Living, dead, or inanimate
The length of existence they hold
Is so pitifully short
It makes you sick

It's like
A joke or something
We spend out lives
Preoccupied
Stressed
And
Filled with doubt
And by the time out end is near
We finally want to realize
That the life we've lived
Was not a life at all
More like
A compilation
Of horrible jokes
Fun that lasted mere seconds to minutes
Emotions that mostly
Meant nothing
When it comes to the final
Scheme

I'm not inherently pessimistic
In fact
I've been much more optimistic
Lately than ever
But still
These things surface
When I have a few milliseconds
To philosophize
With myself

Forbear, bold youth; all 's heaven here,
  And what you do aver
To others courtship may appear,
  'Tis sacrilege to her.
She is a public deity;
  And were 't not very odd
She should dispose herself to be
  A petty household god?

First make the sun in private shine
  And bid the world adieu,
That so he may his beams confine
  In compliment to you:
But if of that you do despair,
  Think how you did amiss
To strive to fix her beams which are
  More bright and large than his.

The queen of ice and stone burns deep within-
her passion and her strength deemed a foreign sin.
Yearning for her equal, aching and hollow, her dreams forge a path few would dare follow.
Ignite the quiet embers, smoldering at her core; revive her frozen heart at last- she could ask no more.

There was once a girl who fell madly in love.
Deeply in love with the wrongest of wrongs
the songest of songs
the longest of longs.

Her legs once so stable
collapsed and fell through.
Like mush mashed potatoes,
like nothing she knew.

This innocent girl,
alone and in love.
Made a promise to herself
she wouldn’t give up.

So though she loved wrongly,
though her man kept her safe,
she wanted to run,
run out of this place.

Her true love was not hers.
He was out with some other.
So she prayed and she willed
to be his new lover.

She neither cared that it wrong,
nor that it was lame.
For this was true love
to her not some game.

But this love she loved wrongly,
he just couldn’t see,
that her love was for only
the girl she could be.

He wanted them both,
but wanted his more.
For if he truly loved her
he’d be at her door.

So now she sits lonely.
She sits without any.
She lost her own dear
'cause she wrongly loved many.

i've been
reading poetry
ee cummings and--
sylvia plath
pretty pools of words filled with color

--and ducks

charles bukowski is a
***** old man
lots of ***** old
words
and images
but real dirt, not pretend
real's so hard to find
these days

they talk about love like it's
broken--painful--deadly--
always wonderfully beautiful
(like the beautiful snake whose
poison's killing you)

that's not
love

because it's falling asleep with warm breath on the back of your neck and your bed a little too small
because it's laughing so hard that you almost snort macaroni and cheese out your nose
because it's doing laundry and pausing just to notice how your clothes smell like her
because it's waiting alone, imagining how big you'll smile when she comes back - it's always bigger than you think.
because it's knowing that the pain's not part of love, it's part of being human

they don't know
nearly as much as they
think--
they do

i love--
baseball in the park when it's not too hot
(I play shortstop)
chocolate ice cream cones in the hot sun
(dripping down my hand)
flying kites in autumn winds
(the falling leaves make the difference)
sledding through the snow
(and crashing into snowbanks)

i love--
coca-cola
(in the glass bottles)
root beer
(with vanilla ice cream)
7-up
(it's better than sprite)
mountain dew
(caffeine!)

i love--
you
(and the soapy smell after you shower)
you
(making me laugh more)
you
(how much you care about people)
you
(and you let me, too)

that's my proof they
don't know
(what
they're talking about
that is)
so--
i think poetry
is overrated

Who was there had seen us
  Wouldn't bid him run?
Heavy lay between us
  All our sires had done.

There he was, a-springing
  Of a pious race,
Setting hags a-swinging
  In a market-place;

Sowing turnips over
  Where the poppies lay;
Looking past the clover,
  Adding up the hay;

Shouting through the Spring song,
  Clumping down the sod;
Toadying, in sing-song,
  To a crabbed god.

There I was, that came of
  Folk of mud and name--
I that had my name of
  Them without a name.

Up and down a mountain
  Streeled my silly stock;
Passing by a fountain,
  Wringing at a rock;

Devil-gotten sinners,
  Throwing back their heads,
Fiddling for their dinners,
  Kissing for their beds.

Not a one had seen us
  Wouldn't help him flee.
Angry ran between us
  Blood of him and me.

How shall I be mating
  Who have looked above--
Living for a hating,
  Dying of a love?

Take joy in Touch.
Washing up warm
water on skin.
I re-arranged the books
in my bag; soft,
so they fitted nicely in.

With a firm touch.
So they were just so,
my knuckles slid along
the cool interior.

In love with the world.
Making love,
my goal.