I’ve always felt forced
to look at my life
from above,
evaluating myself
in the light of
others’ judgment,
assessing my appearance
and interactions
as the breath
feels closer
and closer
to my back.


Step in closer to
the freedom
that your life
is yours
and yours alone.


Of course,
their judgment
will continue,
but yours need not.


Feel into
the freedom
to let yourself be
without assumption or shame,
for you are so full
of life and beauty
despite constant
criticism and cut downs.


You are built
so strongly from
the inside out,
but let yourself
sink into
the satin and silk
that softens you.


Open yourself to
the wellspring of love
that outpours and overflows
from your giving heart
and let it always
bless yourself before others;
let yourself drink
freely from all that
you have to offer;
let your lips
always be wetted
by your own freshness
and brought into a smile
even at the thought
of all that you are.


You are not sad.
You are not anything
that others have
made you out to be.
You are what you are;
you are who you are,
and what a glorious
creature to be.

As I saw
the sweetness
of the young man’s eyes,
I saw that
it had been
my own
to betray me
with my own
sweetness revealing
my openness to life,
to love and
to all that
masquerade
their ugliness, shame,
and hatred with
facades of
life and love,
when that’s all
that exists here
behind these
precious eyes.

254

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Poems have been trying to pour out
of me for years.
But life gets in the way,
time gets in the way,
anything gets in the way.
But life without poetry,
with outlet, without art,
without the outlook
they all bring
is not life.
Life is meant to be
full, colorful, playful and bright,
even when all that flows from the tip of the pen
is dark and gloomy, especially then,
because when the darkness comes to light
and surfaces on the blank page,
lightness, color and love draw nearer,
swaddle, soothe and refuse to ever let go.

If I wrote you a love poem
would you clam up in choking modesty,
embarrassed by the still raw love that's been cooking but is yet to be served.

If I wrote you a poem of friendship,
would you retreat back into solidarity,
annoyed at the bluntness of my open soul.

If I wrote you a poem of mourning,
would you fill with resentment
at my supposed plea for pity

If I wrote you a poem of joy
would you counteract the skip in my step with a lag in yours
because enthusiasm is corny in large amounts

And if I wrote you a poem of desire
Would you avert all eyes back to the screen
because Romeo and Juliet is a bit outdated
and imagination has fled from the heart and away from its sensory outlets

Or…

If I wrote you a love poem
Would you beam with a smile that radiates from your eyes and cheeks and shoulders and knees
Because you need all the passerby to know of our love, wordlessly..shamelessly..

If I wrote you a poem of friendship
would you deliver me my favorite coffee,
pick me up to go on a road trip to anywhere

If I wrote you a poem of mourning,
would you hold me and give me the smiles and hugs
that I am temporarily and humanly void of..

If I wrote you a poem of joy,
Would you let my spirit set fire to yours
So we can dance around like idiots aimlessly

And if I wrote you a poem of desire,
would your body tingle and feel like its never felt before,
unsatisfied until our legs and tongues and hearts are entwined

Or am I too Disney?