Take a rip and pass it around
Because you know what's up
when this **** goes down.

They call me an *******.
But what's wrong with wanting to be the king of the castle?
So when I step into my zone
you better not get caught.
Because you know nothing
of the battles I've fought.
Blood and tears spilled over the years.
Scars.
Stitches.
Burning bridges.
All the result
of wrong decisions.

So take a rip and pass it around.
because it picks me up,
when I'm feeling down.

Do not plan or plot
happiness.
Plant your roots deep
dig in to fertile soil,
send out words and deeds
of truth.
Then
enjoy
what comes back to you

Tonight the lights are on and the night is surprisingly warm
and despite the joy, the smiles
and the merriment
The thought of tomorrow still makes me cringe
Like how the Grinch hates Christmas
I hate how the season always reminds me of what's left, what's missing and what has changed
And how lonely it is to be a skeptic
when everyone else believes
how awful it is to know that all of us
are pretending
so no one will know how the dark clouds are consuming us
and no amount of presents or kisses or hugs
is ever going to fill that void
and despite the Christmas sweaters
we still feel cold
despite the smiles
we still feel like frauds
with our hearts
growing molds

Her feline inspired lines are amongst the best,
but she's still a cat lady, nonetheless.

A hermit's heart may weigh lighter than the feather,
but he's spent all his days longing for something better.

The lonely are often alone by choice -
that's the way it seems to me, at least.
I'll take to writing and forgo my voice;
plan it out while I walk down lonesome streets.

It's like dancing with
Timber,* she laughs.
I'm done trying.

Lower my branches, move
Away from the floor,
One root at the time.

Body built for lifting and
Fighting, not moving with
Any sorts of grace.

I'll shelter her nests, protect
Her from angry weather.
Stand solid as a green mountain,

Watching her dance;
Leaving acts of beauty to beings of
Beauty. Like flowers. Snow falling.

My woman.

Throw me a line

I don't care if it rhymes

As long as it tickles
my posterior cingulated cortex

Spin me a vortex of spells

Yarn me a tale

Take me to heaven
or your own personal hell


Mesmerise me
with your poemetry.