Is there a place where we cross paths, a distant movie screen. Your blue dress sliding from the bones exposed on your shoulders. Where your eyes would slowley raise as they focused in on mine. As the background of flickering candles cast shadows along the walls and two shapes become one.

in my dreams i see you sometimes
i am next to you and your eyes
are not sad
they just smile the way i saw them smiling
only a few times

when i look in the mirror
i hear your voice saying there was beauty in my
smile and in my big blue eyes
i was a little girl then
and many years have gone
and you have gone with them
but
i still remember your hugs
though it feels like decades since i was last in your arms
and your voice still echoes in my brain
i remember the last time we spoke you told me
to not cry,
to be strong
and i am trying to be.
i am.

i pretend that i am.

i see you in my dreams sometimes
and i am again a 6 years old little girl
running to you
when you open the front door
and waking up realising
i will see your face no more
it's the most painful story
and i cry sometimes
but you are not here
to open any door
and i am not 6 years old any more
and there's no beauty
in  my big blue crying eyes.

you left and took away your voice,
your dancing,
your bright face
your warm arms
and your kind eyes,
i am left only with a picture
i keep inside a box
behind the front door of my heart
and i want to go back,
to be your little girl again
and i know i'll never get to tell you
that I don't want to pretend any more
and I want you to tell me
that it's okay if i am not always strong
that it's okay to cry.

in many lines i have tried to write you
but i always do it the wrong way
and it seems impossible to describe
how much i miss you
and i need you
and
how much
i love you.

I do not evade
Nor shun
Visions crude
That come to aid
My drafting pen
And chaperone
To creativities den

Cause I know
Yes I know
My darkest thoughts
Will form a poem

Be so fractioned
my split personality be split
Never know who's comin' out
Kinda like the laundry mat
Does mine at the Wishy Washy

Funny how things get all separated
Whites all in a pile over here
Darks and colors over there
Breaks it down even further

Gotta lotta red
so that gets its own pile
whilst medium and light colors
be divided

Blacks and blues
just lumped together
Then it just gets all mixed up again

'Cause truth is
don't gots the dough to through
down that many loads

This riles Señorita Clarita
Thinks I'm cheap
so mostly, I end up lookin' like some
techno tie-dyed fruit basket
in girly pants

Yeah, still be wearin'
my sister's hand-me-downs
Be some hard times for
The Poet Launderette

I hate writing in pentameter,
That nagging old parameter reduces
The breadth of expression's diameter.
It's a barrier, a boundary, a cage built around me.
I'd rather cast off the impediment and
Allow my thoughts to sediment freely,
Really, I just can't dig it, ya feel me?  
After a while, it gets so **** repetitive, and
I'll bet it did drive Shakespeare nuts
When he wrote all his sonnets, back
When lords rocked big wigs and their
Ladies wore bonnets. That's another thing
It's been used and abused for like six *******
Centuries, contemptibly does this old relic
Haunt us and daunt us and taunt us
Writing's not meant to be a chore,  
It shouldn't bore and indenture me, but
Rather, set me free me and
Instead be adventure, see?

Wow.
I'm Somehow,
Feeling much better now.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
  The flying cloud, the frosty light:
  The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
  Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
  The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
  For those that here we see no more;
  Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
  And ancient forms of party strife;
  Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
  The faithless coldness of the times;
  Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
  The civic slander and the spite;
  Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
  Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
  Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
  The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
  Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.