Please poet don't you mind me,
if I always say the wrong thing,
it seems I've no control,
don't need for you to remind me
of the song that I must sing,
my heart has one desire,
in joyness that it will bring,
bring it... to you,

I have no real intentions,
but I got lotsa lotsa apprehensions,
no good ones and no, no, no bad,
ones...
when I do it  hey say they all "wrong",
well it makes me feel soooo so so so,
sad,
on a primrose path as I go on along
I wish we all
could just feel...
g L a D,
an sing the same same song,

Hey an I look very normal,
whatever that means - they say,
replaying my life,
into painful new scenes each an every,
day,

I might wear a bright side smile,
& seem just so happy to you,
I guess I look very young,
"they" say & hey maybe that is true,
so... WhAt???

It's not that hey I'm stupid,
cuz my IQ is pretty high,
an I ain't in love with cupid,
but it maybe part the realist reason,
in my question of how & why,
I hold out my waiting hands,
an lay my head down to cry,
an...
CRy,...
an cRy,
just...
I..,

Hey helpless is how I,
feel,
please forgive me,
please cuz I,
I feel like this is real,
it takes me away,
my mind there to steal,
I'm trying to pull away,
in the layers that I peel,

I always, I have wondered,
why I didn't quite fit in,
I felt that it a curse,
by some nasty hateful jinn,
it feels just like a top,
caught up endless in a spin,
but at least now hey I know,
it's not I'm  living here in sin,
seems I'm in this  battle,
with the odds that I won't win,
please I don't mean to beg,
but please won't you be a,
friend?
Can I,
yeah me?
Begin ..
Again?

I wonder yeah I wonder if I ever find my way,
home,
or if I'm cursed to walk on,
to walk on,
walk on here all alone,
no matter where I go,
no matter where I ever,
roam ..

.....it haunts me....
      it haunts me.....
It taunts me ....
this thing,

An whatever the case may be,
be it fate or maybe even that ol' desTiNy,
understanding my pain
will help me to be free, as they say,
please..just open your eyes,
please can't you just see?

Hey hey... an hey hey,
hey hey,
hey,
hey there,
any way,
which way?

I,
I try and I try,
I wish you,
to just help me...
to... understand,
but somehow soooo elusive,
it just s l i pppp ssss...right..
through... my ..empty....waiting ....
.....hand.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Playgrounds became lifestyles when I was with her
Outgrown boots shod, dainty feet sat down together
Sat down for a kiss, I didn't think could be sincere,

Because I have problems,
I have woes the epics tell
But she told me different stories, different
Beliefs in me, hopes for my sunlight
Times spent rushing to find a place to smokey intermingle
To gasp each other's air.

I tried to find her as circumstance ripped her away,
But I'm forgetting her as I write this
Unceremoniously awkward, I hate that word, but that was how we left it.
Was it real? Who knows?
My eyes don't like to invent.
When I let the hoods slide over them,
Down, dark, a shelter from the mist
I see a sunny vale again
Where she might be waiting.

i'm tripping over shoelaces
and falling over beating hearts
while you are watching
with amused, worried eyes.
my fingers turn to ice
and i manage to mumble
"i like your hair" before
the world ends and
my shoelaces are strangling me.

I have little burns on my body,
like from a cigarette,
but they hurt much more,
although they haven't bled.

But those little burns, really,
aren't from a cigarette,
they are from people's looks,
looks so firm that they make me sweat.

Those looks tend to differ, though,
some feel like a cigarette,
and some feel like bullets,
that might even shoot me dead.

I'm sorry to mumble
But no one seems to care
I am sorry to ramble
But usually no one's there

I hope you don't misunderstand
I'm usually all alone
So I don't know how to talk
When others are home

I know I talk fast
But there's so much to say
A lifetime has passed
And the end's on it's way

So let me get in the last word
God know's it's also the first
A lifetime of silence
And now I'm in a hearse

Why do the words find my pen so appealing and my mouth the opposite?

Why can my Writings express my feelings and my speech barely even scratch the surface?

Where can I find a happy medium between my pen and my mouth
Because it's really killing me to have all these thoughts swirling around in my brain, and not being sure about how they'll come out

Sometimes one moves faster than the other
And it's annoying, not funny like undercover brother

So if anyone knows how, please tell me what am I to do?
Because my head is wired more chaotically than the San Diego zoo

You are beautiful,
You are breathtaking
You are quirky,
You are funny,
You are unique,
You are awkward.
You are weird
You are loveable.
You are you,
And you is pretty
Damm spectacular.

you forgot about things we used to care about together
before everything we had got a little bit harder to have

I guess you could call me a
smooth criminal, if your definition
consists of a slipshod ball of nerves
who just so happens to find nirvana
sliding their fingertips into your pocket.

I've not managed to steal a thing, and
y'know exactly how hard it is to pull off
the greatest heist when my knuckles shake
hard enough to throw California straight
into the ocean.

Shut up.

So what if your hand happens to be right
next to mine?! Don't mean a thing, of course not,
and stop makin' so many assumptions,
you're always puttin' words in my mouth,
'specially when I'm next to ya.

S'fine, I've already finished anyway! Objective
accomplished, reward obtained. Hope ya don't
mind that my hands are little sweaty...