i am the
crockpot
on the
counter hot
above my rubber
bottomed feet that
scrape when
you move me

something's bubbling
around my edges
is it soup
or discontent

how should i know
i'm just the crockpot

something's burning
on my sides
is it chili
or my confines

i can't tell you
i'm just the crockpot

leave me out on weekdays
say you need me
say i'm useful
to keep things warm
all afternoon
but before you know it
touch me and
you'll get burned

liquefied ivory trickles down the drain
picking out lavender to the sound of rain
/
back alley blues from the white picket fence
trade your broken heart for dollars and sense
/
the early morning glow is where uncertainties grow
as we dream our young dreams, static courses below
/
a muted flash of LED lights and i
view them like a dot painting across the night sky
/
please try not to crash your car
pull yourself out of the tar

the sky, a cauldron
steaming soup is getting cooked,
moon, butter floats on.

It wasn't that bad, that trip to the ER,
And my sickness didn't leave a physical scar,
But I must admit I got carried away
While making that soup one fine winter day.
See, my friend went and dared me to make the stuff,
And to this day it could've been a bluff,
But when I am dared, it's a serious matter,
So I started to whip up a little bit of batter.
Right into the fridge, my hands were busy,
Making that soup really got me dizzy.
A fish head, salsa, old dried beans,
Mustard, spinach, and coffee creams.
That glop must have boiled for hours and hours,
And that kitchen, I swear, it needed a shower.
At any rate, I don't yet feel regret,
But I'll tell you right now, the key word is yet,
Because I still have a big medical issue,
And on top of that, no social life, too,
But the occasional heart attack won't make me droop,
Because I loved making and eating that soup.

As the ******* of healing herb
that made the tomato melt in his embrace
forms a perfect circle inside my cup
I sit here reminiscing the warm winter nights
When we would talk of how
I would make you some soup
Every time your body lost a battle with the weather
I reckon how you would draw a reel of our happy future
I sit here in the present, replaying, analyzing the past
And I cannot find one speck of wrongdoing
That pulled you away from me
Why, then, am I seated here, alone
giving in to the changing weather?
The temperature is rising around
But I feel cold and almost empty
Filling myself with hope
And soup

Isn’t it interesting how some people are caught up in their dream world?
Broadcasting “Life Is Good” …unaware of those living in the real world.
Self indulging humans only thinking of themselves,
When there so much they could contribute to those that lack wealth.

For God sake, get off Facebook and make a difference in someone’s life.
Share your heart with them and help them wipe the tears from their eyes.
Put some greenbacks in their pocket; be there often to be a mentor and a best friend.
And maybe someday you’ll help them ascend to the life is good trend.

BPAD
And
MDD
And
GAD
And
ADD
And
PTSD

And you wonder why I call my brain
Alphabet soup?

So many things
Going on in my head
And while I am astonished
That you love my insanity,
I am even more bewildered,
That you've somehow
Come across the parts of me
That are sane.

And I struggle from time to time
Finding bits and pieces
Of sanity
And putting it back together,
But you help
With casting light on those parts
More than you could ever know.

And I feel like
My chest is too tight
And like
My throat is closing
And like
I need to rip my heart out,
It's beating too fast.

But even on my worst days,
You still find ways to show
That you love me,
And I could never be more grateful
To you--

For holding me through anxiety attacks,
For wiping away tears,
For making me smile
When I forget that I can.

I know you hate when I thank you
For things you think you're supposed to do,
But no one before you
Wanted to.

And no,
Love can't heal my disorders.
But it sure does help me
Along the way.

I am a fork in a world of soup
a scout without a troop
a landline phone in a world of mobiles
a voicemail speed dial
a punchline which is a slow poke
a old bloke surrounded by stylish gits
a thong in a world of bras and ****
Facebook without the pictures
selfies at the right angle
a pen in a tangle
a stranger in a crowd
nuff said not loud
a cuppa tea in world of coffee
a defenceless toffee
in a world of chocolate biscuits
don't risk it or me
cause i am too different
a black sheep in a world of white
a short skirt in a world of jeans
a nghtmare in a world of dreams.
you may look
you may stare
but i am the unknown
you have to find me a home.

He is
No longer
A person
To me

As I sit here
And watch him
*****
Onto the floor

And it looks like
Alphabet soup...
But
Maybe it's just soup, or
Just Alphabet...
As he begins speaking
1, 2, 3s.  

And I have cried before,
For him. but
Now that I sit,
Eyes on his back,
Unspeaking
And still
.
.
.

I frankly hope he
Chokes.

the fog rises up
i succumb to the blindness
becoming quite lost