I'm an indecisive man at the best of times.
I relish the moments I have true direction.
But I just can't seem to consolidate my feelings.
To bind them up and rope my way out of this one.

Every thought I have accompanies an opposing feeling.
Every choice I decide on leaves me with an unsure taste in my mouth.
How do I have confidence that fills the room and bubbles over.
But no confidence in where I'm headed.

I only wish you could reserve judgment and not be so harsh.
When I imagine my future life I don't see you in it...
Because I don't see anything but a blur.
Everything - All I am is unsure.

he was looking at her
her mistakes and petty trouble
he says he loves her because of that
he looks at her more and less of me

he tells me his troubles
oh and I think I am the one concerned
for I toss and turn and bleed
for its me who hurts most and her the least

he tells me his secrets
and I tell him I'll be quiet as I can be
but the bottle has been crushed
I am not amused at the very least

he made me mad
while her... fall fast asleep
he tell me he loves her
and me his bottle of list

I cannot hold on
I needed to move on
for I fall and fall hard for him
but he never sees me and never will

I will fall and break
nothing will say 'poor ye girl'
for I was not warned
this was the consequence of falling in love to someone.

The dark shadow
That sits on these shoulders
Chokes my existence
Draining the life from me
Causing me to fall closer
To insanity
Where no one can redeem me.
I am here to bring you light
Through this darkness
A man once said
But all he did was keep me
As dead weight
To exempt him from his
Proceeding troubles
Then when got his
Satisfaction
And realized I wasn't enough
He left me stranded
And he entered the realms
Of death.
Now I am alone
To roam the dark streets
Through my un natured dreams
Waiting until
I execute myself
To finally be free

We knew of "The Troubles" for most of our lives
They were there before we were born
But, to speak of "The Troubles" to those who don't know
They can't see that our country is torn

Pop stars sing songs about England go home
They make money, while we fight the fight
They stand on the sidelines just flapping their gums
While we live, breathe, and sleep this all night

Soldiers unknowing, just why they're here
They choose sides because that's what they do
They don't know the issues, how deep "The Troubles"  go
They're just here, and that's all they know

The orange and green, divided as one
Catholics and Protestants alike
Both fight their battles and both live for peace
And the British...can get on their bike

A land half as lovely, torn asunder by war
would be laid waste, with nothing to show
But "The Troubles" aside, there's lots here to see
And lots of great places to go

It's a war of attrition, where neither side wins
Each army gets recruits from the womb
You stay on your side, and I'll stay on mine
And we'll disagree to agree to our tomb

Fighting for freedom, religion or rights
It's political, hatred and worse
Religions involved, and we've only one God
So which side does God cheer or God curse

The battle still wages, though not like before
It's a war that is fought underground
"The Troubles" remain, and will for all time
And I pray for the dead, not around

I now know why you drove
on those dark winding roads.

the fear kicks in, your troubles
disappear and the only focus
is staying in between two yellow lines;
perfectly parallel
like you and I.

I tip-toe down to the riverbank, taking one last look at all of the greenery
and deep breaths as I count to three. Wading through the water silently,
I dive beneath the surface and let the river carry me,
away  from all my troubles and reality.

Mr McParland;
our Primary 4 teacher lived in Newry,
Northern Ireland.
Not a City in those days,
but a dangerous border town.
He had wiry hair like a blonde Afro.

Pat Jennings;
world class goalkeeper for his country,
was also born in Newry.
Our man claimed to know him,
and went to school with the green giant.
We believed without reproach.

Yours truly;
age 6 & 7, in the years of the Hunger Strikes,
born in Belfast.
I was enthralled because Pat was of another
world to kids reared in our divided times.
A symbol of hope on an island of doubt.

we present ourselves as perfect manuscripts
nobody sees the crumpled rough drafts and messy handwriting
scattered around the bedroom carpet at home.

nobody has seen the way i've
scratched out parts of myself
that didn't fit into the high school mold
then the parts that didn't fit into my suitcase when i moved away from home

nobody has seen the revisions i've made
do i sound too formal, am i too quiet, do i need to be a little bit funnier in order to be considered acceptable art?

i've thrown entire scenes of my life into the trash
because i don't want anybody to see them and i am ashamed

i sit for hours staring at blank pages wondering how anyone could ever find me interesting enough to spend time with

do you ever feel that way, too?