That love you've told me about?
I want to feel it.
That song you've told be about?
I want to hear it.
That rose you've told me about?
I want to catch its scent.
That joy you told me about?
I want to see it.

I want to have them
The way you promised them.
I long for them, as you have told me about them.
Let them then be real, let your words come alive,
For I have been waiting
Ever since the day you spoke of that promise,
The one you left me with.

What I feel
will fade

at least I
hope.

I want back what I have lost.
To be whole once more,
To find the piece that fits.
I can't feel much;
But what I can,
Is just enough
To get up again.
The hope that tomorrow,
I'll find someone new,
To help me place the pieces;
To show me love again

freedom can be bare feet
or naked
or laughter
freedom can be poetry

In Florida sometimes it rains so hard
that you believe that it can't possibly stop,
that it will just rain and rain forever.

Sometimes I'd wake to a storm late at night,
and I'd sit out on the porch.

You could smell the lightning, and the coolness of the storm would
make your hair stand;
I'd feel so alive.

Some nights I'd go out, and my father
would be sitting on the porch already.
Lost in the storm
or maybe
called to it.
We wouldn't talk,
but we'd be lost together
in the rain and thunder.

Sometimes I wonder what of him
is left in me.
I am not sure
if I am more afraid of there being
very little
or of there being a great deal,
but when it rains
I think about him on that porch;