"Useless"
Why don't you use less

Our Father,
Papa in Heaven

He told us to love
Not to discourage or anger neighbors

He told us to encourage
For we are encouraged,

Deadly, the word:
Useless

So two words:
Use, less

We are what we are
I am what I am

Nothing but a replica
Of imagined will
For all this effort
Scrapes don't fade
On porcelain skin

Dear Fate,
When did you decide that it was fair
to bring two people together
just to tear them apart?
                    From,
                         A hopeless romantic.

Dear hopeless romantic,
When did I say it was fair?
Those words never left my mouth.
                   From,
                         Fate.

B.K.

If I could,
I'd blow away on my magic wishing ****,
But there are no dandelions near me.
There's no shooting stars
No guardian angels
and equally enigmatic and mystical,
No one who loves me.
I wish I could go back to tell the little girl I used to be that everything gets better.
That her wishes came true and her hope in those magic sunshine flowers well placed
But I hate a liar.
I couldn't do that to myself.

Hell.
Fire and brimstone.
Smoke, ravaging sweet oxygen, clouding eyes, suffocating lungs.
And there you stand in the middle of it all.
Eyes ablaze, a grin that could drop a king to his knees.
There’s something else in you:
A liveliness I’ve never seen before.

All at once there is dark.
Then, light.
And you, a shimmering ethereal figure:
A pinpoint, billowing out to encompass all.
Blinding.
Magnificent.
Rebirth is the only word I have for it.
I stare, because what else is there to do?

Who are you? A Queen?

….

No, my dear, I am a God.

i am watching you play the piano from across the room
your eyes are shut, your lips mouth silent words
i see the melodies flowing through your body
your heads nods to the beat of the song
i hoped you wouldn’t notice
fiery brown meets icy blue
you smile kindly, i don’t
you are a taboo
you belong to someone else,
she is nice and kind like you are,
maybe she will be the love of your life,
i on the other side will be a silent admirer
you will never read this, i will never tell you
i am the quiet writer, you are the loud musician
i am thinking about you while you are thinking about her

Sunday is for birds to sing
and to swing among vines of bedsheets,
for moving hair out of your eyes, to cry
in sadness and joy and feel the warmth of your body.
Sunday is for birds to sing
while we string ourselves into knots
and leave the windows open for spring
to carry the sounds of singing along

Some people are afraid of flying
out of fear of falling from the sky
but I've been falling for so long
with no end in sight
so you see,
when I'm soaring above the clouds
I dream of the plane falling down
because at least I know
I'll finally hit solid ground

my body begs for forgiveness.
a break, a chance to run away
from this constant pain.
i'm exhausted.
maybe it's better off this way.
who knows who's looking for me.
who knows what they'll find,
i've been lost inside myself for years,
so they need to watch their strides.