There is a man I see from time to time
His eyes look like they have seen my sorrows
His smile looks as if it is mocking my happiness
His scar on his eyebrow brings back some foreign memory
His ungroomed ****** hair reminds me of when I lost even the will to shave
His arrogance is relatable in almost everyway
His confidence gives me jealousy
His smirk angers me
Angers me to the point where I am enraged
In this enraged stupor I react irrationally
My fist within seconds is going to connect to his skin
His skin which looks so familiar but so unknown
Realization
Blood trickles from my hand as I pull the broken pieces of glass from it
The mirror is cracked and shattered
The insanity is much clearer now
His sorrows, happiness, scars, ****** hair, arrogance, confidence, and smirk yes they are quite relatable
The hauntings of this man that I see from time to time I hope do change for the man I see
My heart goes out to him
For he is me

you're tangled in
strangling tugs of
heartache
break right through to
the last wall left
dangling the taste of
what was left to love
fall right ahead
to your first footsteps
take it slow
you're rushing into
your sense of nothing

Above the waves, fish-eagles circle,
eyes scan the moving water plane,
lashing sea waves, blanket of cover,
shoals of fish, swim below in mirth.
Within fraction of a second,
a sea change, secret window opens
two eagle eyes sense a change in dynamics,
swoops down,
a lightening strike,
one fish that made a wrong move,
rides between the claws to its grave.

This woman I fell in love with
is an enigma, none like her,
I admire her, this quite night.
Flames of desire lick me
when I even think of
her voluptuous softness
wearing shimmering black.

She prides in what she is,
doesn't pretend
as someone else.
Darkness is her
without any apology
though she owns a brilliant
cosmic jewelry shop;
only she can display diamonds
looking different in every minute,
each more dazzling than the other.

Without any arrogance or
posturing that suggests invincibility,
she surrenders all she has,
when sun demands it,
with the confidence that
when she'd  come back
after a hiatus, she will be no less.

Was it the ability to put words on lines?
Was it the ability to perceive the worlds **** clearly?
Was it the ability to rhyme?
What made us poets?
What made us the dying breed
Of well recognized literary professionals?
What the hell happened to the days of comedy
Perhaps a simple tragedy?
It seems love has grasped out hands
Forced us to write cliches
Not looking at the bigger picture

Nobody knows what made us poets

We weren't born this way
I'm nothing like Lady Gaga
What happened to us
That made us put pen or pencil to paper
And pour our emotions out
Trusting the world with our deepest secrets
Allowing them to peek behind closed doors
Allowing them a first hand look
At the scars that paper cuts gave us
What made us poets?
What made us all so insane
We are no longer classified as insane
But completely ******
For abilities almost unnatural

when I was younger
I just wanted to be Alice
so that when I fell down a hole
there would at least be a purpose,
an adventure
and a story to tell.

I would be famous,
befriend the weird and wonderful
& finally belong.

but I got older
acquainted with the real world
and found myself
in a very different hole;
there is no white rabbit
to tell me where to go
and the monster in my head
will not be slain so simply
and my tears don't allow me
to simply float away.

but the biggest disappointment
(I blame growing up and finding love
and losing hope)
is that there is no end
to this hole of mine.

and I'm falling
& falling
&& falling.

and I'm afraid it's too late
to rewrite my ending.

A fallen leaf in water,
                 is quite her;
pulled to all directions
simultaneously
by fickle currents,
and her steadfast
resistance,
this twisting and turning
vigorous and nervous
mystifies all,
and it is mistaken as
choreographed moves.

four hundred ninety four days.
forever became
an impossible promise.