Every time the wind blows I can hear it calling to me.
Telling me of the wilderness that it holds and the adventures that it promises.
Every time  the Wind blows I can feel it tugging at my free soul urging me to be truthful.
Every time the wind blows I can smell the wild ocean that lays just beyond.
Every time the winds blows I can hear the song that it sings to me, and the laughter of it's never ending joy.
Every time the wind blows, a butterfly flutters past my face, whispering, it's time.

my self most intimate,
unspoiled,
keeping every scar alive,
albeit cloaked in metaphors
like bandages of silk
that hide the oozing;
my self most raw and
un-defiled,
unguarded,
revealed in phrases
composed to ponder
with your time;
is here in lines of poems
playing like a child in the trees,
like a game of hide and seek
a breeze may help you win.
but to find me
you must read between my lines.

I can't tell why
I'm crying
anymore

Where are my tears coming from?
Are they coaxed out by the fingers down my throat, coming up with the acids in my stomach?
Or are they because of the pain leading me to do this to myself?

Blurring things together,
Making my reflection as distorted
and fat
and bloated
as I am in my mind

I can feel the flesh settled on my bones.
The fat waiting there,
wishing I could skim it off with a knife
I know it must be as soft
as butter

why am I doing this
why am I crying
why am I killing myself from the inside

I can't tell why
I'm dying
anymore

always holding the world on my back
and day by day it continues to stack
til I collapse
and hold no more
I close the door
on what once was
coming in towards newer stuff
but help me yield I’ve had enough
I’m pushing off and losing ground
yet still the answer has not been found
so I surround
my heart with comfort
so I don’t hurt
and feel the pain
I keep rationalizing to keep me sane
lying to myself
I should be crying to myself
but I’m oblivious to all else
and I’m pretending that’s not so
but truth’s shining through and already I know
…I know.