The current heartthrob,
In a long line of men,
And the goodbye speech
Hearing it all over again.
Said it wasn’t working
And I knew it as well.
Pretending he loved me
For him must have been hell.

By this time in my story
I had learned the ropes.
Neither of us felt we had to
Act like a couple of dopes.
We could divide up the music
The dishes and the clothes.
It didn’t work out this time.
That’s how it always goes.

We picked each other
Because we looked good
And felt things would click
And turn out like they should.
Before long we discovered we
Didn’t have similar dreams.
Two on different tracks together
Is not as easy as it seems.

It happened so many times
I became an expert at it
Because I had no ability
To effectively combat it.
It was love me and leave me
For too long of a time.
As if getting to know each other
Was some kind of a crime.

It would be years before I noticed
How I approached this love task.
They had to guess what I wanted.
It was no good if I had to ask.
That had to figure what I needed
And then they must give it to me.
That was the story every time.
That was my romantic M.O., see?

Today I know it was a stupid game
Like wishing for a dream to come true.
And it didn’t matter one little bit
How many others did the same thing too.
I discovered it wasn’t about good looks
Or some kind of storybook ending.
It’s more like an intense version of us
Becoming friends, our lives blending.

Ripples
each a reminder
of the passing of relentless time
moving towards the next order
of moments--the heart is a river
where our fleeting dreams and hidden fears drift
our story stops at the last flow
into the indifferent sea--
the outcome of which we can never know

the beginning
is the journey towards the end
our being hangs
on to the in-between of time-then
the ripples become weaker and fewer
quietly they fade away and disappear

Glass wasn't made to shatter;
Paper wasn't made to tear.
Fragmentation is a side effect of carelessness, not of life–
Not of love.
A rose is not meant to be crushed, pulled apart petal by petal, simply because it is soft.
The doe, graceful and wide-eyed, was not created to die at the hands of a man indistinguishable from a snake in the grass.
The monarch does not flutter with lithe wings to be caught, classified, and pinned to a page,
Nor do the leaves change hue, turn crisp, and fall to be crushed beneath an entitled foot.
I do not paint my eyes so that you can watch me bleed black and gold down my cheeks,
Nor do I wear my heart on my sleeve so that you can rip it apart valve by valve.
I am not your window pane, nor your blank page; your willow tree, nor your frozen stream.
I am the rabbit sleeping deep in her borough; I am the bluebird flitting between trees.
I may be fragile, but that doesn't give you permission to break me.

FRAGILITY

How fragile is the rose
how brittle the wings of the butterfly
it's sad but true
how soon beauty does fade and die

How tender is our love
every moment that does come by
we strengthen and edify
true love knows no fragility--it's eternal like the sky

so many "you're right's"
so many "I never meant to hurt you's"
so many "I'm sorry's"
so many ******* "I'm sorry's."

Maybe you don't realize
That your killing me
All you've done
All your actions
Pollute the air
Poison the water

Maybe you simply can't understand
That your killing me
All your lies
That I believed
Pollute the air
Poison the water

And maybe you think its for the best
That your killing me
You want nothing more
And all you try for
Pollute the air
Poison the water

And I know the ultimate end
Is you killing me
Maybe your selfish
Maybe your greedy
Pollute the air
Poison the water

The present is what keeps me here
The past doesn't have me anymore
And the future doesn't have me yet
Stop moping, moping over past regret
Just don't make those mistakes again
History is history for two reasons
To learn from it
And keep undisturbed seasons

A body that sends chills through my own,
At a distance you are no taller than I.
Deep blue and crystal white make your tone
Luring the attention of those passing by.

Little is known about your crumbling anger,
That your tears pour in sheets of ice,
There are few who would slave and hunger,
For to claim you asks too tall a price.

Your lows tower above our highest highs,
Your peaks leave heads in the clouds.
People meet their ends or lose their minds,
By simply trying to figure you out.

Mother always said,

"Love, when found, is like a mountain.
Timid and striking from far it will draw you in.

Climbing endlessly it would seem,
You will enjoy many jousts with Love.
It will thin the line between reality and dream,
And show you perspective from above.

Each story with Love
Is a scroll to be unfurled,
Brave the journey son,
And you'll be left atop of the world."

And so in turn you've come to resign,
This the line that's all turned benign.
Your callous and careless,
Your thoughts all frayed.
Does a ghost like you get a voice?,
As you've turned away.
Your colored hair deceased,
Always off and on its stray.
This missed the least,
Memories haunt somebody else today.

What is it we seek?
As we go round,
Pondering at the thoughts of tomorrow.
Growing to bring me down,
The thought of escape isn't far behind.
We try to swim afloat,
Everyday.
All the time,
It gets tiring to think of moments yet to pass.
As though the futures tomorrow won't last,
I sigh and gasp.
At a rest that won't come tomorrow.