Words fail me
I don't know what I feel
I want to fade to nothing
And let the silence consume me
So many perspectives
I don't know which is true
Maybe all of them are
But then what?
They tell me I'm good
While my guilt swallows me whole
Rule one is do no harm
And I've shattered that
They say it's being a human
And I guess that's true
But if I can do anything to help
Then I'd like to
Where is that fine line
Between values and pain?
I don't owe it to them
But I feel like I do
If getting burned makes it better
At what point do I quit?
Do I hand over the matches?
Soak my soul in gasoline?
Pain for pain seems so fair
I made mistakes and I have to own them
But does letting myself burn
Really help anyone?

The weight of the world
as it waits for the red, red earth to move
a collective breath held
as a personal fear is shared

For a news cycle, we care
and choke a little at the tiny coffin
before clowns and sabre-rattlers
blind us from the graves behind

Michele Di Carlo became a freak show
the day he climbed up a tree
To his dismay, that rainy day, he fell
and broke his bone in three

Some say, it could have been worse
a deformity for the hard ******
but humbled now, with a wrist to hide
now that his fingers were all twisted

Yet, no shame is in the mangled
Michele dangled no pity in his pain
He learned to show it off in pride
though be crippled or he be lame

When shaking hands with most men
he smiles, offering a disfigured hand
His strength was in his frailty
a bashfully better and stronger man

For on the day of his funeral
photos reveal before he died
an array display of his freakish limb
his best pose by his side

Even then, Mr Carlo in his coffin
requested only one thing when laid to rest
that when they placed him in the ground
they’d lay his hand upon his chest

a soft breeze, waves lapping against the shore

circling around and around, every time learning something new

an exploration of self; a journey of pleasure

sweet caress

wet, wet, wet

it's like the tide is whispering to me

release

a moan like a sigh of relief

there is no shame here

only love <3

To my young eyes
To my innocent heart
I remember the world was a blueprint on canvas
It was a dream undreamt
It was a song unsung
As if in a crib, I looked about me at the stars of the cities
Constellations of people hung about
Their wounds and aches, joys and laughter, were the myths
Like the Zodiacs, groups of these people
Could define a person
Yet believing myself undefined, I strode out from shelter
Fearless
Untamed, I ventured to find my purpose
A purpose that would shake the mountain
Rain down the ash of winter
Smother the pits below my dreams
Cull the nightmares that stoke my fears
I waited
I waited, I waited
I tell you the waiting became my purpose
Finally, there, in the clutch of time, I found my calling
I will tell you all of the waiting
I will tell you, don't wait...

Don't wait for the door to ring
or the latch to unlock

Do not wait for the song to play
or the band to sit

Open the door
Be the composer
Be the pilot of your dreams, be the chieftain, be the god

While waiting for what I could be
I saw everyone else become

With the zeal of their hearts
I saw them build, I saw them grow
This one built a nest
That one stitched a doll
Now the doll's a mannequin and my waiting missed the change

I waited for the waiting to end
I waited for the wanting to decide
I waited for foe or friend
I waited until
there was nothing left inside

Where is the zeal of my heart
The timbre of my soul
I lost the sight, the sound, the love
because waiting took its toll...

"From the days of John the Baptist until now,
the kingdom of heaven has been advancing forcefully..
and the violent, seize it by force."
--Jebs


ahem..

By 'his scrawny little neck' she grabs him
and  pulls  Him,  from  his  Throne--
"******' know it all..  he don't know ****.."
    blurts out  she--

    the all-seeing,  ever defining one.

The paint on her war-brush
is the blackest of blacks..
     as she  brands  me

     for  the  o r b it i ng,  of her
     that  I  so clearly  lack

And an ability that is all hers,
       not mine--
      The one, self-given..
      the  power  to define.

And, she wonders where mine came from;
me-- who was once a mother's son..
As I  ******  the grown-up  a l l  of me
in to every unhealed part  of her
      that  f e e l s   just like 
      dear-old Mom.

I was young once, my beautiful..
helplessly.. (almost hopelessly)  
subject,  to it all
        --but no more,   my sweet
          ever-painting,  honeybee

That black, babe-- it don't stick..
                        no,   not no more.


Ah, Baby..
   ...   can you hear me..?

Little did he know
How small I wanted to look
Shrinking into the corner and atomizing my existence
Failing to climb the mountain of expectations
Falling with my eyes closed
Shutting my hands over my face
I can’t look him in the eyes because his hands
closed over mine like I had just died
And as I laid in the funeral casket hands flat against my sternum
The lid closed before he saw
I’ll never see him
I don’t want to
How tragic
I’m running a never ending race
Just to break my legs before the finish line
I’m the crumbs beneath his fingers
Only his
I want him to see me but not see me
I still want him
To talk to me
Just not now
Or later
Or ever
I’m too busy licking envelopes with letters
I’ll never send
And that i’ll never want him to read
Or know of
I’m so sorry