i am trying so hard to talk to you.
i know you want to help,
i know you care,
i know i can trust you.
but i need you to know that it's hard,
and that there are so many things in my head
that are almost impossible to turn into words.
i know i asked you not to give up on me,
and i know i told you to walk away if you choose.
i know i'm putting you through a chaotic string
of ups and downs
and it seems like i can't make up my mind.
but i'm asking you to stay one more time
because i really do need you.

When I was down, You lifted me up.
When I errored , You forgave.
When I was sick, You received me in your arms.
When I was lonely, You reminded me, "I am always with you."
When my broken heart despaired, You healed me with your Love.
When I did all that I could and wanted to quit, You carried me.
Lifting me securely into your arms.
When I learned to see you
I found you in everyone's eyes.

Divine Love, I love you.
Within my heart of hearts,  
As one Love,  never ever will we part.
Oh my beautiful Divine Love
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

the school counselor
what a cliche
but your nonchalant attitude
is irresistible
you're young too
it's quite uncommon
how'd you get this job, if i may ask?
ignorance is bliss
as they say.
nonetheless, i haven't seen you much
except in the halls sometimes
but you called me downstairs the other day
and i noticed how you're not so perfect
as i imagined
you've got a beard to hide your acne scars
slightly overgrown eyebrows
but, very broad shoulders
dressed to the nines in a suit every day
blue or gray, to be precise
when you spoke to me
asking if i was skipping class
you were awfully close
not that i minded
i'm also not sure where you were looking
i hope at my lips
rather than my eyes
eyes are the window to the soul
and we both don't want to know
what my true intentions are

Stale air takes the stage in this office,
With the dust of many conversations held.
Many come in  broken down and disheveled.
These exchanges primarily hold premise about getting away from
the void that they have carried for far too long.
It has left pieces of them scattered, for others to collect.
In time these souls learn to put themselves back together in hopes
That they might not break again and in the process heal inside.
An lifelong battle but a worthy one.

When I was
seven years old
I crept down our stairs
in the dark
it was just about midnight
on Christmas Eve
and I
wanted to catch Santa Claus
as he put presents
under our tree

When I was
fifteen years old
I laid on his bed
in the dark
it was in the evening
during the summer
and I
nervously waited for him
to shove his *****
inside of me

I hid
near the fireplace
anxiously awaiting an arrival
hands clenched into tight fists
giddy with anticipation
waiting in the dark

I spread
open my legs
feeling pressured and defeated
the TV blared so that
his mom wouldn't hear
my hands clenched into tight fists
I didn't want to touch him
but I
waited in the dark

I didn't see Santa Claus
instead
it was my parents
shoveling presents under
our tree
my verbal exclamation of shock
and betrayal
led to them disciplining me
for sneaking around
in the dark

I didn't look at him
instead
my eyes wandered around
his room
gazing at the guitars and
posters and
the closet and
even the TV
he ******* and
left me there, cold
in the dark

At school,
I told all of my friends
that Santa Claus wasn't real
I wanted everyone to know
the counselor pulled me aside
and said that it wasn't fair
for me to take this
from the other kids
it wasn't right
it wasn't my place
"Let them stay innocent
a little while longer."

I didn't want anyone to know
when I lost
my virginity
tears bubbling at my waterline,
I looked at myself
in disgust
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't right.
It wasn't his place.
Except there was no counselor
for me to speak to
only the sound
of water droplets
falling
as I cried in the shower

I thought that
I lost my innocence
when I found out
that Santa Claus wasn't
real.

But
this IS real
and hurts
so
much
more.

Why be a Counselor?

“Why be a counselor?” People often ask of me.
“The pay isn’t high, and the paperwork is beyond belief.
The stress you must have, dealing with people’s problems all day”.
So, I look at them, and I try, my best to explain.
“The pay won’t make me rich, you are right about that.
The paperwork's insane, and we always need more staff.
Yes, people come to me with a lot to explain.
From broken homes, trauma, and unimaginable pain.
But you asked, “Why be a Counselor?” so let me share with you.
Why I continue, to do what I do.
It’s the light in people’s eyes, when they first find that hope.
When they empower themselves, and finally learn to cope.
It’s watching them find a new life, one they actually want to live.
It’s the joy of the families, as they reunite and forgive.
It’s that one day you wonder, “am I really making a difference in what I do?”
Then your email reads; “I am happy and well, and I want to thank you.”
“That’s when you know…” I say with a tear…
“There could not be, a more rewarding career”.

-Monique Renee Smith

"And how does that make you feel" she asks, pen poised over clipboard.
I want to scream at her, tell her that mere words could never hold the weight of what I feel
But instead I stare fiercely into her eyes and say...
"how does it make you feel, to know you can't save me?"

It's not really a window
but a picture of a boy--
that somewhere in my counselor's past
allows the kid to peer into his future,
into a time that is no longer here.

Maybe it reminds my counselor of better times
or the opportunity he is lucky to have now--
the boy must represent something
but I would not know for sure, as I am not him.

Although I did ask my counselor one day
about this window that watches him work--
this young boy, nothing but a child
normal as most youth always looks
the photo only granting an image
not the whole picture.

"He was a spitfire"
must have been only four foot five,
if that probably shorter
he was rough and tough
not even the Seniors were willing to bother him
those same seniors became
the boy's friends took care of him
they had lots of fun when they could.

The boy.  The Window.
Was not the usual ghostly clouds
or the average bleached pale Caucasian
as their defects were in their circulation
the wind cannot move through mountains
and neither can blood pump through chambers
without the right gust.

Sometimes children
lay down to never wake up again--
maybe it's in the hospital
for another heart surgery
that just happened
not to catch the wind quite right.

The boy was a student--
his counselor was there for him
at a different school in a different time
that even as it flows
the counselor has a window
for this boy
to watch the world from.