...................................................
   my heart            is filled
with           th    e               thrill
of                   fin                ding
my                                     place
that I                               don't
  even                            notice
     the ma                 sk they
          painted    on my
                      face  
.................................­..................

There is a possibility,
that my family,
could gain custody,
of the little Bug-A-Boo.
Finally there is a chance,
that we can save this child,
we can help him,
and hopefully,
his skin condition,
isn't cancerous.
If it is,
hopefully it is benign,
and he can be cured.
Hopefully we can gain
custody,
and then I can sing,
my little song to him,
everyday,
until he doesn't need it anymore.
And if this disease,
is malignant,
and he dies young,
then he would at least,
die where he is loved,
and not where he is tortured.
But I have hope,
that he will live,
and if God stands beside us,
then maybe,
just maybe,
he'll pull through,
and live the happy life,
he deserves.

A deep dark pit,
contains a low rumble,
that rattles the insides,
of a young child,
a small child,
with large, blank, eyes,
that fade with every rumble,
that the pit produces.
The pit is relentless,
biting at the insides,
shriveling into nothingness,
slowly dying
and falling to pieces.
The light that once lit
the child's large eyes,
fades away,
until the eyes,
are sightless,
glazed over,
looking towards,
the endlessly blue sky.

Hush little baby,
don't say a word
cause mama is crying
and there's no mocking bird

and we know the mockingbird won't return,
so mama's gonna say go back to sleep, her tone stern.

Wait, where is that shiny ring mama likes?
Mama says she told it to take a hike.

She stepped on the shiny, jagged objects at last,
but mama says it's just the broken looking glass.

Didn't papa say he'll buy you a billy goat?
But mama says ¨not another word out of your throat.¨

How about that bull and cart you were promised?
Mama said papa was never honest.

When will we buy a dog named Rover?
Mama looked at you and said it was all over.

You dreamed of the day you'd have a horse and cart,
so you could leave and mama won't see you depart.

Now your life is lived with a grain of salt,
and mama never said it wasn't your fault.

Hush little baby,
don't say a word
mama loves you very much
but papa won't return.

Who I was would attack who I am
And who I am would attack who I was
One day I hope to be someone
Who finds peace within themselves
And they can look back on their past selves
Smiling for what once was
Smiling at my growth
I just want myself to know
That regardless of my many mistakes
I'm proud of who I am
And of who I will become
I just wish for myself
To stop fighting myself
Constantly
I wish for my selves
To be at peace
To accept that they exist
Within me
I am who I am
I am who I was
I am me I always will be

And to reject that
Would be devestating

My brother asked me,
"Do you want to shoot a gun?
We can go over safety.
How to load and unload one.
You may never have to
use one in your life
but this is America
knowing this could save your life."
I told you before,
I don't trust my hands when they're still.
If I know the code
to the safe when I'm ill
and how to load
a gun when I'm scared,
will I remember
who I am and who cared?
So my brother,
I fear what I'll become
if I learn this will I
get control of my thoughts?
Will it bring me power?
Will it bring me peace?
Will I be in control
when I turn off the safety?
My brother, I want to know
but not enough to hold
this answer to the question
"When will the pain go?"
It's so finite.
So absolutely cold.
The barrel in my hands
so still with idle thoughts.

Look on with saddened eyes,
like little pools of water,
and the thoughts in his head
are swimming like fish,
beneath the surface,
of his blue eyes.

"Little boy,
you're crying,
please don't be sad,
everything will be okay,
you'll see."
But those words in my ears,
sound hollow,
and insincere.
I know he didn't believe me.
But he won't say anything,
he'll just nod his head and try to not cry.

This little boy,
had an aloof quality,
but yet still when he said something,
it was always important.
He used his words wisely,
he was far older in his view on the world and people,
compared to other children,
he was an extraordinary child,
and the time I spent talking to him
was short.

And then something awful happened,

He had watched his father die,
right before his eyes,
and I watched too,
for I was with him when it happened,
yet I felt strangely detached from his world,
it was like I was not there,
but yet I was.

I saw this little boy,
crawl numbly over to his father,
and I saw him cry,
and he said
the most childish,
heart breaking sentence,
I have ever heard in my life,
"Wake up."
He knew his father was gone,
but that didn't prevent him from trying to pretend
that his father wasn't.

Flash forward many years.

I met the boy again,
just not in the way I had expected,
He was in the hospital,
dying.
He had turned to drugs when I was gone,
and he lost his way,
and I cried.
If I had stayed I could have prevented it,
and he wouldn't be dying.

But that little boy,
who still looked little even though he was much bigger,
his blue eyes looked saddened,
and sparkling with his old wisdom,
he knew it was his time,
and he told me,
"It's my time, don't pretend i'm not gone,"
and then he died.

That's when I woke up.

It was all just a dream,
i'm here in my bed
confused,
who was that boy?
what does my dream mean?
why would I dream of someone I didn't even know?

Now what always haunts me is,
his blue eyes,
that were as deep as the ocean
and as everlasting as the sky.
It is hard to forget,
those sorrowful eyes,
in my dream
of a boy who died too young,
and I don't know what
that could mean.

I check my pale wrist where my watch hangs
held up by a loose knot, turned from my judgement.
I do not push it so I may see its true face
for the lifeless swing it will create.
I leave it to its gravitational movement.
And as a result, I do not know the time.
Yet ticks crawl their way into my head
and bite down on sun-bleached bones,
for I have no humor left to feed them.
So they trickle away with my thoughts
like a stream that may one day nurture a river
and carve a path that cannot be denied.
No, I do not know the time
or the place I'll reside in when the flood
sweeps those ticks away forever.
But my bones fear not the changing landscape
as my patience is pendulumless
and floods cannot be bridged by swaying watches.
When the knot finally comes undone
I'll watch time plop in waist-deep water
and I will not be beholden to that parasite.

I will not know time.
Time will not know me.

I don't believe in bad omens.

A black cat crossing my path isn't a bringer of poor luck,
otherwise I'd trip down my stairs far more often,
or get whacked by a stealthy sheathed paw
with more dreadful precision when I ascend them.
It's just a game this cat plays,
as if they guard the upstairs to keep intruders out.
I live here, this is my house.
A flock of crows doesn't bring me to fear the day
as old warnings say
they're just dark birds gathering together.
On Autumn days I pretend
they're investigating their ******,
casting wild accusations with their raucous cries,
and the final judgement, no matter the distance,
reaches my ears with clarity
like a church bell tolling when its time to pray.
"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!"
And what of breaking mirrors?
Mistakes happen, reflective material shatters.
If I let my mind run with that one time
I knocked a mirror over, well I'd
never let go of the damage I caused.
Pieces of an old reflection live within me
embedded in my skin like shrapnel from bombs
dropped on my head,
doesn't matter if I saw them coming.
I could only shelter; never dodge.

No... I don't believe in bad omens.

There are clouds in the sky,
they mass together,
just a thick swath of gray,
that blocks the sun.

I'm walking home,
all by myself,
I've been doing that a lot now,
but it's okay.

I feel the wind pick up,
the dead leaves are swirling
all around me,
like some strange tornado.

A tornado of leaves,
how interesting.
If only the wind would pick me up
and carry me off.

Throughout my windy thoughts,
one raindrop fell,
slowly from my eye
down to my chin.

I felt it fall off my chin.
The wind left a cold chill
on the wet path on my cheek;
it stung.

Then the clouds finally broke down on me.
The rain poured, but I didn't rush to leave.
I walked at the same pace
with my face lifted to the sky.

I don't mind
I don't mind
I don't mind

I'm suffocating.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle my throat closing,
no don't call 911,
there's no reason to.

I'm choking.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle the mucus that blocks my throat,
I can spit it up just fine,
so just keep on walking.

I'm coughing.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle myself doubled over in pain,
with my chest hurting as I try to sit up straight,
so just ignore me hacking up a lung.

I'm breathing.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle hyperventilation without my inhaler,
I don't have to breathe properly to live,
so thanks for just leaving me on the floor.

I'm dying.
But I don't need your help,
it's not like I have no energy to get my inhaler,
you can totally just run out of the room panicking,
it's not like i'm scared too or anything.

I'm angry.
And for some reason,
you can't figure out why.
So leave me alone.
I'm fine now.
I can handle myself.
I don't need your help.

If you miss me,
              follow the bees.

If you miss me,
              listen to the leaves.

If you miss me,
              I'll be beneath
              the lilac tree.

I'll wait for you;
              come join me.

I'll wait for you;
              come join me.

I'm the ripples in the water that fight the current
created by the forces from above and below.
I wrinkle the surface and add dimension.
Would you see me, if I wasn't mentioned?

I'm the splashes caused by a heron diving for fish
and missing its prey by mere inches.
My waves of frustration can be felt by all.
Would you see me, if you heard the Heron's call?

I'm the droplets shaken from a doe's wet pelt
that splatter on the surface, broken by her hooves.
I'm water that fell as silver, but was picked up as blue.
Would you see me if you had to?

I'm the flowing motion of rivers and streams.
I'm the dark water of your dreadful dreams.
I'm the rain that showers land and sea.
I'm the tears that form when we are set free.

And if you see me in the water,
would you come and join me?

I looked in the mirror today,
and I saw the door behind me.
I stared at that door,
confused.
I had closed it,
but now it's open.
I don't want people to see
my past.
I got up
and shut the door,
cutting myself off
from suppressed memories
that threaten to spill
out of me.
I looked back to the mirror.
I looked at myself.
My face had lost the little kid look,
and my features were more prominent.
I looked at my eyes,
and they haven't changed.
They're still the same hazel
that always lean towards blue.
They remind me of the little girl,
I once was.
Well i'm not that little girl anymore,
I got older,
and my past shouldn't bother me,
it's a lesson,
not a regret.
So why do I think it is?
Why can't I learn from it?
I stared in the mirror,
until my mind swirled with memories,
and my eyes filled with tears.
But I refuse to cry,
no more tears,
the past is the past
and I should just let it be.
There's no point in crying over it
if it's already done.
I got older,
and I need move on
into a new stage of my life,
and say goodbye
to the little girl I used to be.

"I had dreams"
this phrase scares me,
because its always,
the pretense,
to nightmares.
Horrible nightmares,
of things that
are real,
never fake.
Sometimes I wish,
my dreams,
were of silly things,
like imaginary monsters,
or little,
irrational fears,
but they aren't.
My dreams are filled with horrors done
to people I know,
children I know,
and love,
being abused,
and in my dreams
i'm frozen,
and I can't move.
I'm forced to watch
the little boy and girl,
no more than three years old,
get beaten,
and screamed at,
by an unknown force,
in a dark corner,
in an empty room,
and i'm in the shadows,
watching.
Their screams,
echo in my ears,
terrible screams,
but my mouth is sown shut,
and my eyes,
forced open,
and waking up,
is no relief,
because I know,
that those dreams,
are not to far,
from reality.

Walking down the dead end street,
I try to find my destiny.
Pouring rain, on a street so long,
but I knew it would end so very wrong.

Wishing I could just move backwards,
to find the goal I was heading towards.
If I could remember one single reason,
it wouldn't be December every season.

Passing by another run down house
I pause, I feel as small as a mouse,
that is being held under the scrutiny of an eagle,
the things that have been done here, can’t be legal.

Slowing up i’m nearing the end,
this happens to be where I lost my friend.
I can’t move forwards the dead end is there,
I sometimes wonder why I still care.

My friend you’re gone, life over like this street,
the rain that was falling turned into sleet,
my mind has ruptured and blood leaks through,
and here with my friend, I have ended too.

The call comes in at six am,
I don't get into the office until eight,
My answering machine blinks red with warning;
I'll get this message too late.
"I haven't serviced my generator
in three years
and it stopped working
after twenty-four hours.
I have no power."
I check their name,
they've done no business with us before.
I cannot send techs to them
when my phone keeps ringing.
I answer it.
"Hello, how can I help?"
"We're current contract customers
and our generator didn't turn on.
I've got an infant and this storm
is too dangerous.
I have no power."
And all I can ask is for their name
and number,
send it off to my boss
who cannot send techs out
in the storm.
I inform them so,
"I understand," they say.
"Send them when you can."
I hang up my phone
only for it to ring again.
"Let me guess," I say
"you have no power?"
"Got it in one," then comes
the nervous laughter.
Our conversation repeats
just like the others.
When I go home tonight
I'll maneuver around branches,
dodging cones and power lines,
yielding for approaching sirens.
I'll go up my driveway
crunching twigs and leaves.
I'll enter my dark and quiet home
and flick a switch
but no lights will turn on.
I'll have no power.

Pain hits home hard this year,
and it's hard to spread that holiday cheer.
Especially when death takes hold,
of lives we swore would never grow old.

It's hard to imagine someone full of life
a couple days ago,
could be gone and leave us in strife
and how it happened, we do not know.

His grandsons are too young to remember,
and it will always seem like December.
The December without the same cheer,
is what I fear.

He was only 57
he was quick with a joke and a story,
How can someone full of life be sent to heaven
and become a part of our family history.

I heard the news today,
of how he died and it's not okay.
My last words to him were 'Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year'
and I gave him a hug and he smiled from ear to ear.

His last words to me were
"Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year. Safe home, i'll see you next year."
The thing is I won't see him.
He was my nephews grandpa, and I knew him for several years.

It's just hard to accept that someone is gone.

I'm a good student and that's about it. I get good grades; I am a good kid. I'm smart and people say I'm going places. But I'm going nowhere, I'm trapped by expectations. I've made decisions based on safety, and not on who I want to be. Because I'm a student, I listen to authority. I trick myself into thinking I'm free and I get to decide my future. But I'm living on regimented time, saved and controlled by bells and teachers. I'm a good student, but I'm not good at life and my ambition has been dead for a long time. I'm just a student who knows how to pass. I'm a good student but I'm not made to last.

No answer,
all day long,
my phone sits on my bed,
silent.
I've stared at it,
for far too long,
expecting an answer,
but nothing comes.
We talk every day,
so maybe i'm overreacting,
but the next day,
you barely talked,
I feel like I did something wrong.
And today again,
you barely talked,
but you seemed a bit more,
like yourself.
I'm confused,
what just happened?
you just seemed to stop,
like I wasn't worth your time.
and I feel like I was stabbed,
with a cruel sharp knife,
and I think I will die inside.
Cause you just don't seem
to care anymore,
when you did before,
and now you have me,
all confused.

My throat aches from goodbyes I've held
behind my teeth; I'll never tell.
The friends I miss say, "See you in Hell."
Without a word uttered from their lips.
Contain it in my stomach; a terrible acid.

So I'm drinking, honey.

I sit on my bed, pictures in my hands,
and a bottle looming on my nightstand.
I read once honey can soothe
rough words into sweet and smooth,
tooth-rotting platitudes.

So I'm drinking honey.

There's no way to fix the tears I made
pieces of film fall from my hands.
Onto my floor, I know what to do,
I lift my rug and I grab a broom.
What good are these to me and you?

Stop drinking honey!
Stop drinking, honey!

Days of happiness dance around
my ever-present mental frown
while a smile takes over my face
to disguise my lack of emotional grace
My mind is captured by stormy sounds
threatening to leak out of my face
and fall apart once they hit the ground
they're splashes of what it's like to be drowned

What a great day,
I thought to myself,
while the sky was blue-grey,
and the weather was not too cold,
and I was walking on a path,
that would lead me to home.
I was quite happy,
if I remember correctly,
nothing could stand in my way,
nothing could bring me down.
I was going to be happy today,
and no one could stop me,
or at least that's what I
thought.
Then it happened,
it was quite a long call,
and most of the time
the silence was long,
cause I feel I could not speak,
and you were begging me.
"Please say something,"
"Please don't let me feel like i'm being mean"
and yet I still couldn't speak,
and another long silenced,
appeared before us,
and I remember hearing you gasp,
"Are you crying?"
"Please don't tell me you're crying."
and somehow I found my words again.
I remember whispering,
so slowly,
"I feel if I talk, then I will."
there was a horrified silence,
and he kept repeating,
"Please don't cry"
and my only response,
between my gasping breaths was,
"I'm trying."

Why do some feel the need to steal?
Does it make them happy
knowing that their work,
isn't their own?
How can you sleep at night,
when you've been taking
the hard work of others
and stating it as your own?

Who do you think you are?
Do you even know yourself?
I think not.

Why you may ask,
because you can't even post your own work.
So how could you know who you even are
if you have to steal others work
and claim it as your own.

I think that's sad.
So very sad.
You can always ask for help,
but you should never steal.

No one would look down on you
if you ask for help.
But if you steal,
then i'm sorry for the horrible backlash
that you will receive.

Actually,
i'm not sorry for that backlash.
For what you have done is wrong,
so very wrong.

You could have posted the poem,
and then state that it was someone else's.
Give credit where credit is due.

But you didn't.

And now i'm angry.
I'm so very angry.

I'm writing with a vengeance now
so you better watch out,
whoever you are
stealing poems.
You do not deserve the lovely comments on those poems,
because they are not yours.

So either take down those poems,
or say who originally wrote them.
Because they are not yours,
and they never will be.

It is so selfish to do such a thing.
So selfish to steal.
All you care about is what you want.
Not what the other person feels.

But **** am I furious,
so angry that it is so difficult
to write this.
So very difficult.

For you stole a poem
that one of my friends has written,
and that is unforgivable.

You mess with my friends,
then you're messing with me,
and I am not someone
that you want for an enemy.
So I suggest you stop now
before this entire community
stops you.
...
No one respects a thief.

Buried in piles of debris,
is a destroyed city,
that has never been seen,
by the public eye.

A man stands alone,
with his shovel in hand,
prepared to unearth,
the secrets beneath,
that claimed this city's end.

Look at this,
a dead city beneath his small feet,
it stretches out for miles,
it never seems to end,
but somehow it did.

Its no longer living,
the city is dead,
and his thirst for knowledge,
is not that far behind,
following the city's path,
to its inevitable end.

It's 1:32 am
and I show no signs of sleeping
There's just this heavy weight on my chest
and I feel choked up.
There's pressure behind my eyes
and the tears are starting to come
and I don't know why.
But the more I sit here,
the more sad I become,
but when I pace I become angry
and then even more sad.
I don't understand why.
Everything is okay right now,
but i'm sad,
and it's stupid because I have no reason to be upset,
I just am.
The thing is
this has been happening for about a week
and I have been trying to be happy,
I have been forcing myself to smile
be optimistic
to laugh
to enjoy myself.
But for some reason,
it's just been so **** hard
as this inexplicable sadness is smothering me.

Nothing like demons
to keep me up at night.
I'm so stressed,
where is the light?
My brain wishes to shut down
but my eyes put up a fight.

They're not allowed to close.
I'm forced to watch it all.

Nothing like work
that gives me anxiety.
With my mouth wide open
I scream so silently.
I rise from my bed
and I try to pace quietly.

They're not allowed to close.
I'm forced to watch it all.

Nothing like thoughts
that make me talk to myself.
Always out loud
as I pace by my shelf.
Questioning existence and loneliness,
too much trouble for oneself.

They're not allowed to close.
I'm forced to watch it all.

I know when I look in a mirror
when the world wakes in the morning.
I'll see deep, purple and black bags,
I know that's a warning.
And everyone will question,
but they'll never see me mourning.

They're not allowed to close.
I'm forced to watch it all.

As the first light
of the upcoming day,
graces me with it's presence.
I find my way
over to the now golden window.
With one deep sigh, i'll be okay.

They're not allowed to close.
I want to see it all.

If I look hard enough
I will find
a void in your pupils
one that does not fill
with the glitter of amusement
or glistens with tears
just a sort of intense nothingness
as you don't even blink
a black hole where your soul
should be