Breathtaking views
of undisturbed nature.
This is where my heart lies.

The lapping of the water
The cool gentle breeze
As the dock creaks and sways.
I am content.

Barefoot in the grass
The cool earth beneath my feet
The smell of the air is rustic and sweet
Frogs hop away
Your step they hope to beat
This is where my heart lies.

Breakfast on the deck
Sun shines in your face
Skin warm and bright
Your senses filled with grace.

Pitter pattering in the kitchen
Laughter abounds
Friends and family come together
Peace is found
This is where my heart lies.

As I stare at the bay
Stress and concerns float away
A dip in the water
Or a paddle too
Ventures you into the never ending blue.

As the sun sets
and crickets chirp
The stars appear
Lighting the sky
This is where my heart lies.

Crackles from the fire
Music resonates in the air
Stories that inspire
Friends and family that care.

This place is special
Wondrous and enchanted
Magic all around,
Absorbing nature's sounds.

This is where my heart lies.

Babe called me Film Noir
Said my head was darker than onyx, ashes and ebony,
And I was soaking in a solace that was felt with my presence,
Like hot candle wax dripped down the spine.

Film Noir with more than fifty shades of grey,
And messages I liked to leave in his pants pocket
"God is Dead" to deepen his uncertainty of faith.
Merlot on my tongue like a mouthful of blood while I watch him unravel.

Babe called me Film Noir
Said I always felt like home,
Like home was hell and made you anxious and suicidal,
Like a door with nothing behind it.

Film Noir that was art and lovely and terrifying.
And appreciated for it's talent of deepening wounds that were thought to be already healed.
Then kissed them apologetically, stitching them closed,
But so insincere.

Maybe now he's my Film Noir,
So tragically ending our love.
Like broken china on the floor of the parlor,
So precious to look at, but unusable and a waste.
Till the day he took his life
Babe called me Film Noir.

caramel skin
like the sweet scent
of toffee & warm sugar
during a summer festival.

you called me exotic,
with black eyelashes
******* my even darker
raven eyes.

no other woman
could ever compare
with my soft voice,
strong principles,
and thoughtful nature.

you called me exotic.
but I wonder if you know,
I am a stranger within my skin,
within my community.

I am exotic
in an unsettling way--
halves and quarters,
of thoughts and ideas,
and never whole enough
for anyone.

my parents
are whole people
with a fragmented daughter;
to them,
I am a stranger--
I am exotic.

I am both
sickened and liberated
by my difference.

but mostly,
terrified.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

We make ourselves a place apart
  Behind light words that tease and flout,
But oh, the agitated heart
  Till someone find us really out.

’Tis pity if the case require
  (Or so we say) that in the end
We speak the literal to inspire
  The understanding of a friend.

But so with all, from babes that play
  At hide-and-seek to God afar,
So all who hide too well away
  Must speak and tell us where they are.

you said you loved me,
a single lilac among others.
prettier, you said.
sweeter, softer.
you loved my delicacy,
sense of solitude,
my endearing growth.
however,
sprouts whither,
and I find
myself asking
why must you
always turn back
to smell
the roses.