Critics collude together in cliques to keep themselves safe from reality.
Truth is subjective, they say, diluting its potency and dilating its delusions.
But grounded, truth becomes a platform on which to
kick critics to the curb,
Taste the dirt of their terse tunes.

~
Or migrated pod
       Or fleeing refugee
            Or corban
                  Or carbon dioxide
                       Or yubitsume
                            Or van Gogh's ear
                                 Or black Friday
                                      Or lazy evening at the carnival

                    (Tomorrow has already started)

Or free range
     Or gated community
          Or breast exam
               Or storage crisis
                    Or fallen leaves
                         Or germ warfare
                              Or temporary file
                                   Or permanent wave
                                        Or thigh gap
                                             Or physiognomy
                                                  Or soap made of heroes
                                                       Or multiplanetary living
                                                    
(There's a floating graveyard between this world and the next)

Or logical fallacy
     Or irrational number
          Or elementary analysis
               Or college guess
                    Or cardiopulmonary resuscitation
                         Or extrasensory perception
                              Or ten fingers and toes
                                   Or a dozen eggs

                  (They say there's strength in numbers)

Or fifth floor, corner room
     Or high as a kite
          Or bellwether
               Or mingled with bells
                    Or police sirens
                         Or loitering around in silent films
                              Or rule of thirds
                                   Or tombs of second-hand kings
                                        Or face in the rain
                                             Or pareidolia

(Otherwise, at first light you might be smiling...)
~

I awaken in darkness
still terrified and running
from the mountain lion.

But what if I’m the prey
of my own judging
captive of my comparisons?
At times I feel those verdicts in my gut
like when I can’t concentrate on a task
I SHOULD be doing.

When I notice my tight gut
and my mind wanting to flee
I can stop trying
and lying to myself
set my imagination free
roam a wilderness I choose
like right here on the flat and fertile plains
of this poem’s lines.

I would rather have integrity than popularity
I would rather be alone but be kind
I would rather be poor than have money made from crime  
I would rather know a bitter truth than live a life of lies
I would rather have one true friend than a group that can't be genuine
I would rather die at twenty one if that short life was filled with love
I would rather be shot than use a gun against another
I would rather be female just to prove we have it harder
I would rather have integrity than popularity
I would rather live in my fantasy than in your reality

I'm ok
With one colour
Why rainbows try to flatter
I'm ok
In dark
Why sparks need to remark
It's not ok.

Loving you is like eating pistachios,
I can't stop once I have started!

and you question, "how does she do it!" -
these golden girls are mighty pretty.
but darling don't exclude yourself, haven't you known that the elements are elementary?
now go upstairs and mine in your room.

Get to the Market

Some people take the back road
Others use the highway
Some arrive early
Some arrive late

Get the market

We all follow our own way
No persuasion
No need to jump a red light
A river will flow where it flows
Carve its own way

Get to the market

Some exhilarate
Others doddle along the way
Walk or run
You will arrive when you get there

Get to the market

Melancholy waves crash upon my shore
At the thought of not seeing your crooked smile
Hearing your laugh
Watching your soulful eyes:
And I'm drowning
Head bobbing just above the water
Heart racing
Reaching blindly
Treading water,
Eventually sinking into you

Its funny how drowning and falling In love are so similar; ask my waterlogged heart, and it'd say they're the same.