Change is a strange thing
The stop lights, the people, the wrinkles on your skin
How do you stop it
The hair on your scalp, the fade of your eyes, your heart
How do you make it stop
The love who you thought was your life, how you love, the way you think
How do you not change

You can control love,
as you type.
You can change the style,
which evokes feeling.
Script — curvy lines,
fitting for passion.
Sans Serif — Strong,
but friendly.
Grunge — Anger or,
vengeful.
Serif — Elegant,
and structured.
This four letter word —
is a shapeshifter.
Shifting styles, weights and
kerning on a whim.
You can control love,
highlight and change it.
Again.

But, love is fluid,
as fonts are to typographers,
as words are to poets.

Melting flesh falling into place.
Calling out different words.

Two minds, two different eyes.
I see you differently.
How you changed your heart towards my soul.
How you changed your attitude towards this seemingly always happy home.

You were worried and you kept your mouth shut.
You pat my back gently and asked me if I was okay.
When I was okay, you shot bullets at me.

Are you scared of caring?
Scared of showing the soft kind heart within?
I know it because when you morphed, your heart shone through the tissues of your body....I saw it.
It was beautiful...

there are days where i am the girl who
wears all black clothing
with red lipstick
and listens to alternative rock music

there are days where i am the girl who
picks flowers and
wears flowy dresses
while she makes her own skin care

there are days where i am the girl who
puts on a pair of mom jeans
to hang out with friends
and sip on iced coffee

but there are the days where i am the girl who
stays in her pajamas all day
eating ice cream and
binge watching tv shows
because she is sad

there are the days where i am the girl who
sleeps until three in the afternoon
and is still tired,
taking another nap
because real life *****

i am an ever changing enigma,
for one day i will be someone
and the next day, someone else.
but those who know and care for me
will stick by my side
no matter how i am feeling
or who i feel like being that day
because they know that the real me
is always there.

Songs are threads that reach beyond
mortal matter of the planet’s bond
springing often unexpected  
like diamonds angel-selected.

Sounds from spirit spun in sky
half's and quarters low and high
enter our waiting souls
and linger there to make us whole.

Music soars beyond the flesh
reforms the old into fresh
hearing tones the artist composes
is breathing in a rally of roses.

Listening to music involves,
prepares, changes and evolves
it makes our humanity better
it is a sweet ethereal eternal treasure.

Written 7-23-18

I see them come
I see them go
Hope fails,
and it fails again, so?

What else to do
but to feel content
with every arrival
there's goodness to attend
to an end

An end
that surely leaves you
utterly lonely, maybe sad
and a bit changed too

Probably scary
that's usually how it goes
these things were never simple
you carry a bunch of "if so's"

Just go
just be you
they'll see
everyone did see you
one day they might know who

She washes her hands in egg whites,
picking out stray shell pieces.
Sitting as still as the morning- quiet,
while the kettle sets itself a-steaming.
She hears that same Chinese flute
drifting down the hallway,
slipping universal truths
under each hotel room doorway.
She looks to the rain in the hills
like sorrowful sailor's wife;
a day could be time for a dream fulfiled
or the time that the rivers run dry.