What does it mean when someone's favorite flower is violets?
Little clusters of dainty purple bloom sprinkled about,
forgotten or unseen by most among vast beds of clover.
Hunting fingers search for four-leafed omens while
deer feast on the rest, leaving room for dandelions their
long silvery necks stretch to take the spotlight, left alone
until impatient lips can blow their prayers into the midday breeze.
But, violets? They manage to survive, away from preying eyes.

So much hurt, so much pain
You'd never know it by just a glance
You'd never feel her timid fear of you
While you shake her hand.

You'd never know she was touched and abused
By the smile she gives you
And you'd never think twice about her innocence
Because of the way she moves you.

You'd never know of her fear of men
Because she seems so bold
But appearances can be misleading and
Her eyes do not tell the story of her soul.

Alone deep inside
She sits by the river and she wonders
Where her heart and soul have ran off to
And why they left without her.

I'm standing where a tree once stood,
It's branches, leaves, and roots weren't good.
Perhaps they used it for a rood,
Down in Alabama,
Where skies are lit with flames,
And chants are raised to holy names,
As though they understood.

In the park, an empty swing
Is twisted by a changing wind;
I cannot hear the children sing
Of lambs gone to market.

In the class an empty desk
Draws one's eyes to stare and rest
On a sharpened pencil
That scribbled with regret,
The names we'll soon forget,
For they have gone to market.

What was here,
Now is missing,
It's as if no one's listening;
And it began with our christening.
Like a ship I too am listing.

Here's what they'll say of me:
*He stood once like a tree.

Ian was an only son,
Tethered by his mother's eyes.
He had a head of curls,
The envy of my sisters.
His skin shone like pearl onions,
His shirt buttoned like a zipper;
His shorts were knee high
With creases sharp as glass,
That matched his upper half.
His oxfords polished blue-black.
He stood on our sidewalk,
Looked indifferently at our house,
Looked skittish as a mouse
At enticing cheese.
As he approched our walkway,
Her eyes snapped.

Listen.
Shhhh...
You are afraid.
So am I.

Listen.
The Drum in your chest beats,
Mine does not.
Shhhh.
Listen whilst they laugh.
At you.

You are alone.
Listen!
Silence...
I am alone.
Our words eaten by the Dark.

Listen!
you're in a cage.
All you see is the Dark,
It is your friend.
He is your only option.

You're in the middle of an ocean.
Listen!
Nobody is there,
With you.
And often you sink.
The Darkness teases you.
You are vulnerable.
You can't breath.
I,
I can't breath.

You are an illusion.
Society's ghost.
The voice in the back of their mind.

No one can see You.
The true You.
You are the one who walks hand-in-hand with the dark.

And when they do see you,
They tell you to see the light.
Just try, they say.
Ohhhh trust me,
You try,
I tried.
Eventually you realise.
There is no light!
Only Fire...
Fire!
Of course.
You have found your light.
Fire....
It was given to you.
He helped you.
He is your only friend.
Who?
The Darkness.

You go around,
Spreading your fire.
Every time it spreads,
The Dark grows stronger.

Where you was once a ghost,
You are now a candle.
They finally see you.
You burn bright.
You have their attention.
Until the candle goes out.
You go out.
You lose your light.

He calls out to you.
Tells you to take his hand.
He bribes you.
He gives you a knecklace.
It leaves a Dark mark.

He didn't tell you?
My knecklace was made of rope.
What was yours?

Listen!
Shhhh...
Your no longer screaming.
Your no longer alone.
Your no longer in pain.
The Dark is comforting you...

i have heard of many sane people
who become isolated somehow
trapped
captured
imprisoned
stranded
who spend too much time
in solitude and go completely
and irreversibly
mad
Ive spent too much thinking lately
and have realized that maybe
its not the alone that kills you
steals your mind
its all the words
we all have so much to say
too many words
trapped in our heads
and with no way to release them
to pass them along to others
they pile up in our minds
like water filling a balloon
but a balloon can only take so
much water
before it bursts into
a million
tiny
pieces
leaving behind
useless scraps
of rubber
unsalvageable
maybe thats why lonely people
sad people
mad people
who don’t talk enough
who have no one to listen
have slashes across their wrists
and bang their heads against the walls
to try to
relieve
the pressure

I'm in that point of my life where I look at pictures of childhood friends and my heart can't feel but feel like its shattering piece by piece knowing this person was your best friend the one person you went to when you needed a smile the one that knew you more then your own parents knowing all the fun times you had the times you seen each other cry and now there nothing but a beautiful memory in a photo album

On a small blue planet appeared a person,
It rocked back and forth screaming and crying.
It wanted a home and a safe place to go,
Where the unknown was not underlying.  

The person moved about this blue planet,
with wood it built a roof and four walls.
It called it a home, but didn't feel safe, as it
could still hear the whisper of danger's calls.  

With nothing to do but to continue with living,
It walked back and forth, laughing and crying.
Constantly searching for that feeling of warmth,
It's escape from the intense fear of dying.

Linear time dragged by on this planet,
This person was close to it's end.
It desperately fought to hold on to that place,
where it's thoughts would be constantly sent.

On a small planet then laid a person,
It closed it's eyes and looked into itself.
Discovered a universe where all was one,
and within the home of self, all was well.