who in their right mind
would choose to hide skeletons
in their closets, of all places

my neighbor's backyard looks lovely
i helped him design it
you should know, i am no fool

not quite six feet under
the casket is more white than wood
but grey really brings out her eyes

                               well, won't you look at that?
                               my love's been immortalized
                               in a sepulcher of stone

"Stop writing" says one-half of my mind
"Just quit it's a useless skill, just biding your time."
While the other half tells me to get back on my grind
Not using what you have is like the sighted walking blind
I'm the head case that got thrown into chaotic box
With a fox in socks, but I've got a lot of time on my hands
With all these rusty old clocks, just ask Mr. Knox.
He'd say I'm still off my rocker,
Been a poet since skeletons started stalking,
Been writing since the doors got so jammed, they stopped locking.

So judge me, we aren't seeing through the same eyes
On streets where eventually it all dies
I've been my own therapist, philosopher, psychologist.
All I've got is the skin on my back, I gave away my clothes
No one knows where this rabbit hole goes
I bring shame to even hatters being this mad
You'll need a lizard with a ladder to climb to the mindset I've had
Welcoming all into my Wonderland.

I'd grab the devil by the horns
Just to say I rode that bull
Never born legends, but molded to heroes
Life chisels  children to men in seconds
Beckoning demons, only time will tell your battle
With beetles in bottles or a half-million headed hydra
The sword is yours, own that fight, own the right
To go out into that good night

Once pink now tawny wallpaper peels inside a closet, ballerina
dreams shucking off like husk. Little cartooned princesses cling.
Last holders-on from a 1950's design scheme with all good
intention, twirling memories glueyness is backed seemingly
to astound or perhaps dishearten. In "the boy's room," you
find in the closet an equally petrified, yet opposite motif papered.
It's animated baseball. I remember how quotes such as, "Never
let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game,"
did don those walls back in the day. I think it was Babe Ruth
attributed to that one. He and I were supposed to have shared
the same birthday, but I must confess, it stopped right there.

Eventually, that was all figured out, and I have no lamented
grievances for what parent's wishes were for their children's
would-be assigned roles. It was and is still popular to choose
decided decors as such. Who is to know how Bobby may envy
tiny dancers chosen for his sister's room or how Sue might prefer
basketball or even hockey? Even more politically correct
consciousness is a confusing choice. Who gets the dinosaurs
and who gets the daisies? In any case, no one papers the
closets anymore. So, when the time comes for cleaning out
old spaces and memories, future grudges might be less frequent.

This is for the people out there
Who are saddened by the thought of tomorrow
Who are comforted by the cold touch of that blade
You are beautiful
Even when you're not
Because you're you
And that will always be enough

This is for the people out there, still locked in your closets
I see you,
And I know how cold it gets, locked away from the sun
Behind the closed closet door
Come out into the light, its warmer out here

This is for the people who are shaken by nerves every day
Without fail
Stay strong, don't let those nerves get you down
They are a part of you,
accept them, and move on
But don't forget how far you've come

And this is for the heartbroken people out there
Always be yourself
And someday, your perfect partner will come along
Determined to make you blush
Until then, you will have to be enough for yourself

As for everyone else out there,
You are the light in someones life

You just might not know it yet.

We are an echo of our past
Like an empty hanger in the closet
All bare and cold
Memory serves as the foundation to something beautiful
As long as those shoulders
Bare something new.
And our closet doesn’t stay empty but rather collects a rainbow of hues.

You curl up in bed,
Just like your mother said.
No monsters in the closets,
No more nightmare deposits.
Its that time of the week,
Where you can get a good nights sleep.
No more sharp claws,
No more strong toothy jaws.
Its about time you over come,
And send the monsters back to where their from!