O beloved, Your love is not a drug,
a substance that keeps me bound and trapped.

In my experience,
Love is not a compulsive impulse,
but a feeling of coming home.

In being loved and loving,
I become a little more free to
once again be the little boy that loves freely

Your love is not addictive, because
no drug can free me from the ******* of self

Beloved, my love for You grows from mutuality and commitment
A love that frees

i lay still
and let the ants of yesterday and tomorrow crawl up my legs
and the pants of today's message
breathe freely down my neck
the best moment of my life
i was floating
and so grounded
at the same time

Sally says so
often,
Sally feels like a rag doll-
often-
a hope for all the desperate men,
Raggedy Ann,
Lallaloopsy
      burst seamed by reality.
Carelessness- a boneless
girl full of timeworn scrap,
Sally's featureless face
looks only at the past.

Sally says,
it's all in the past,
she used to be the toy of the season,
now,
like Spot Splatter
Splash
she tends to her wrists
and the red ****.

Have you seen the missing persons sign?
The one with the pretty girl with wide smile
and sparkling eyes.
The one with a girl who was a honors student
and wouldn't dare disobey her parents.

I think I've seen that girl before
Where?
I last saw her at the bottom of one of the many brandy bottles lined up near the door.
And in the mirror before she took her first fix
But, why?
Because, she couldn't handle the stress anymore, the thoughts of not being good enough and facing the never ending disappointment.

I used to be that girl in the missing persons sign.*
I'm not anymore.*

(a.d)

The poem I would never write would tell of the sun
And the moon and
The stars,
And how the color gray
Describes everything by far.

The poem I would never write
Would be about roses
And the wind in branches and trees.

The poem I would never write
Could never be read.
You see,
The poem I would never write
Would be about the unchartable,
An unwritten world waiting to be created.
The poem I would never write
Would explain my every wish,
The desires buried deeper then the sorrow I hold.
Words would not suffice in
The poem I would never write.