Wine cellars, under a blanket reading the best sellers.
A room big enough for you and your wealth.
A car as expensive as a house.
Classy lifestyle, expensive taste.
Her breath mints, taste like money.
Rich girl.
Million dollar smile with one more million every year.
I mean, Rich Girl, smile and show me your million dollar smile.

Average kid, chasing a dream.
Never known money, so he chases it blindly.
A heart full of dreams, a mind full "get rich" schemes.
Average kid, don't know wealth so he... He looks up to the wealthy hoping he'll get the chance to have a million dollar smile, with a background of only a dollar.
Average kid, born into a struggle.
Passed down from parents to heirs, every meal a blessing as the rich girl throws a stare at her salad.
Rich girl meals are fancy foods, with fancy prices.
Average kid who checks the prices for the next slice of bread.
Average kid ain't known nothing but the struggle.
Relying on the grind with a million dollar work ethic, and a $10 minimum wage.
Reached the age of independence, scraping the bottom of the barrel, for a few extra cents.
Average kid asks the rich girl for a dollar, and she say she don't have.
Meanwhile, she doesn't know what it means, not to have a dollar.

I find it ironic how
We get warnings for how to deal with hurricanes weeks in advance
But you...
No one tells me how to deal with you
You crashed into me
Brought out things in me
That I didnt remember I had
And showed me things I didnt even know about myself
But instead of leaving me like a shell
Like hurricanes do
To homes, towns, entire cities
You left me with wind in my heart
Thunderstorms in my soul

The rain you left behind in your wake wont stop
The wind hitting the walls of my heart whenever i think of you
But youve moved into a different country
Even so You'll be my storm rescue soon enough

she closes her eyes
The hot tear streams down her face
          quickly at first, then slowing its pace.

She wishes
For a life
Full of prosperity and faith.

To be loved in return
Such a simple request

To others not so,
Because she hasn't received it yet.

italic Sundays run with a poisonous doubt

a wronged wash in the what might have been

where we fidget like fleas on a rabbits hide

and verses drafted in the cross stitched sky

cannot disguise the well-practiced curses

with the pre-packed presumption of lilies

and static

abstract amongst the sheets

your limbs offer a confusion of choice

where context is lost

besides the arch and coil

of a tenderised neck

and that secret I shall whisper

into your ear?

two pronouns and a verb

you shall not remember

until the crystalline dew draws you clear

that it might be revealed in the heat of noon

or within the cold puddles of a rubicund swoon

as my fingers fund delight

from your long-drawn frown

This flim maker,
this idol, this obsession,
to be like him,
better then him.

He is why I write to you, to practice.
Quentin Tarantino, if I could meet with him and speak, that would be a dream come true. But to direct a flim with him, to share a piece of his magic with me and I learn... that would be the wish of my life. I want to be better then his genius mind in flim... but thats a pipe dream. To me there is no one greater not even myself. Its not about money to me, its about people seeing my vision and sharing it with as many people as possible on a huge scale. Then one day the money will be there, till then he will just be the god in my eyes

Lovers left waiting  .  .  .
For newness to spark once more,                                                                          
  .  .  .  Someday never comes.

I mouthed beer breathed approbation
at the invited wonder of your sister's sweatered *******
the tableau set then,
for such delicious beginnings and shaky revisions,
once I  left the "look but do not touch" misgivings
amongst the litter of a thousand such instructions

I borrowed that hazel eyed angel for a night
rescued from drowning in a clear bottled wasp trap
the fattened marital photo was covered,
alternating friends corrected and reassigned
their alibis and frightened lies
while heaven was briefly in our sights

and we shook and screamed the clearing of our names
from every future Christmas list

and yet

clearance comes only once inventory becomes stale
and folds around your wintered house,
offers no plan to buy or stamp a route to someplace else

slow submissions rattle my pen
this is no season for love and there is no reason to begin
other than there, in the shadows, where portraits breed desire

and while mirrors shall dream of falling
I am not through looking yet
for while fun and feuds begin with *******
an ending always screams attention

My tears  drip on the earth,
the earth that covers your body.
The wind rips the words from my mouth.
I want to hold time in my hands.
Stop,still.
Then turn the clock face.
To another hour,
a different place.
Look into your eyes a little longer,
hold you a little tighter.
Take the pain,
banish the shame.
Read the silences in the lines around your eyes.
Feel the heat,
fear the cold.
Savour the moments of pure joy,
immerse myself in the laughter.
Open my arms,
erase the anger.
I'm better for knowing you.
My only wish...
That you could have stayed a little longer.

She wanted a child  .  .  .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
  .  .  .  Clock set to maybe.