If God exists
He or She knows All
Is Everywhere
And Everywhen
And lives beyond
Space and Time.
For so it is to be a God.

She is far too great
To concern herself
With this grain of sand
Lost in the vastness of our Multiverse.

Our words can’t hurt Her,
Maybe make Her smile at most,
Even as we take Her name in vain.
Our petty squabbles
Are but fights
Amongst the ants.

She Loves all Life,
Though some be sacrificed at times
For the Greater Good.

I ask you all
To open your mind
And see us through Her eyes.
She cannot want us
To martyr ourselves
Or **** those who are different
In race or creed.

She will not give us Heaven
If we sacrifice our lives
To **** Her creatures
That she made
With such magnificent grace.

Above all else She is a Loving God,
Cherishing ALL that Lives.
Forget the ancient histories
Of warring and strife.
NOW is where we are,
And now is the Time
For Love.

Paul Butters

She lives with
The ghosts of yesterday,
Reliving painful memories
Like a sadistic
Groundhog day.
The awful irony
Of taking care
Of her body all these years,
When her mind was
Planning a revolt.
Is she still in there,
The woman I used to know,
Struggling to get out?
Screaming at the injustice
Of her situation?
Banging on the bars
Of her rotting mind?
The very thought
That could be true
Is the saddest thing
Of all.

Have you ever seen a night sky so clear;
So clear that there’s not even a sign of the moon’s existence?

Well, I’m under one right now
The street is empty and the darkness is silent
No rustling of leaves or bushes,
No hums of crickets singing in chorus

Window drapes are down
And they’re all black instead of yellow
Streetlights are the only source of light
And that telephone booth standing steadily alone on the corner

Hands inside my hoodie’s pocket, I go in it
I pick the phone up and started dialing a number
When suddenly all the lights go out
In a blink of an eye, and the world is in total darkness

Everything is quieter than ever
Then the wind comes whooshing
The thunder begins applauding
The lighting started like camera flashes

Raindrops as big as golf ***** fall from the sky
And the way they hit the roof of the booth,
I almost believe they’re as heavy
Inside the booth I still get wet from all the sweat

Then, as if on cue, the storm dies
Quietness floods again
The booth light flickers but that’s all
Streetlights never come back

Hesitating for a moment, I slowly go out
I look up and the sky isn’t just a black canvas anymore;
It’s now filled with blots of white ink
Glittered to life

I kick the waters not yet ****** up by the drains
I look at how calm they are
Mirroring the beautiful night sky painted
I can definitely say I’m top and under the cosmos

I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

maybe my time comes when yours is over

what is the point of living when everything is perfect
when the sky is always filled with beautiful stars
the boys and girls they all liked her, everyone did

this girl had flowers in her hair but demons in her head
she had long purple hair what made her look like fairy
she always was a little bit more magical than the others

it was the past that was following me
a one way ticket straight down to hell

it was that moment when I looked Lucifer right into his eyes
I knew there was no turning back, my soul was forever his

this girl was too young to be this sad, too wonderful to be this mad

she was only seventeen
and her world was made of lies
living on the streets, trying to survive

her smile was always gold
her tears were always silver

but her heart was darker than the deepest sea

Grey
Just Grey
Black and white world
Black and white life
Black and white heart
Nothing special

Until...

You

Like color to a canvas you lit up
My world
My life
And my heart

Now because of you I have color
And with that color
Came hope

A hope that things could change
That things could be better
That this wasn't the end

That my fairy tale dream of life
Would no longer be fantasy

And it can't
It just can't be a fantasy any longer
Because of you

And I thank you for this spark
To light up my life
And to keep my dreams of love alive

I miss you and this hurts.
It hurts so ******* much.
No matter how many talks I have with my friends,
Nor the reassurances that you still love me,
I am so unsure...
Like you're slipping away
And the deja vu occurs again and again
Where all my hurt is so present
And nothing I do works.
...
Behind that smile,
Are you really happy?

I'm seventeen.
I have scars lining my ribs, my thighs, my arms and my mind.
I either count my calories or blur them altogether; 500 a day or 4000 a day.
I am not an athlete.
I have no illnesses.
I've never been diagnosed.
I've simply been attempting to be the woman I've been demanded I be.
I'm failing, miserably.
Right now:
My mom is unconscious, failing to drown herself in alcohol.
My sister has locked herself in her room, isolating.
My dad is telling my neighbors their views are wrong,
And I am lying in bed, binge eating.
I'm seventeen.
This poem really does not have a beat.
This poem is a flow,
steadier than my self esteem.
Mirrors lie and pictures steal.
TV taunts and horror is real,
I'm seventeen and
I've tried to die,
I've learned to lie
To family.
I'm no stranger to the sisters death and night.
Death;
gives and takes, reaping the soil with the bodies of the ill
bodied,
minded,
hearted.
Night;
darkens the world, honing in on those I was promised I could turn to,
reminding them I am no refuge, I am ill
bodied,
minded,
hearted.
I'm seventeen and
My hands shake at the thought of losing my balance,
Ironic seeing as I won't even be standing
But the thought of disappointing you
Throws me down without hesitation.
I'm seventeen.

****.
I'm seventeen.