.

A friend of mine just questioned
what inspires me to write
They know I'm writing poems
every morning, noon and night

I answered with a chuckle
saying, “I don’t have a clue
In fact right at this moment
I’m not sure what I will do

I looked outside my window
it’s the same as yesterday
Traffic lights and restaurants
and people on their way

I listened to some music
but I’ve heard that song before
And I don’t really like it
it’s a tough one to endure

I took a walk through nature
past the flowers and the trees
But allergies are killing me
all I could do was sneeze

I typed some words in sequence
to see if they would rhyme
And ended up deleting them
a total waste of time”

Then I saw their smile
I thought, now there’s a thing
I like when people smile
and the happiness they bring

There’s joy in that expression
like spring will soon arrive
It lifts another’s spirits
and makes them feel alive

Thoughts of sunny mornings
begin to float around
Maple leaves and meadowlarks
and dew drops on the ground

That very special person
who lives inside your heart
And just how much you love them
even when you are apart

I started feeling better
as my face now wore a grin
And when I looked up at the screen
I saw one once again

For now I knew the answer
and I told them oh so true
*“It seems today my inspiration
came from seeing you”

My body's stained with the proof,
of all of my regrets.
All those things I thought had mattered;
I later learned, I would forget.

My mind is now a mess.
Just fragments of a story.
One I can no longer read.
For the sentences have gone blurry.

I try my best to hold onto,
The life that I once knew.
Of coffee cups, of cigarette butts,
of and old Chevy truck named Blue.

Loved ones names come and go.
Their faces all look the same.
I don't understand why my legs won't work.
Why my body is in so much pain.

Like a flower blooming in the spring.
And like the trees dying in the fall.
Every body and mind have a season.
And mine is slowly coming to a stall.

Now, here I lay, on a rough white sheet.
Where I'm stuffed with tubes and hand fed.
No longer am I anything,
but a man in a hospital bed.

Is it not funny
how the right hemisphere of the brain
controls the left half of the body;
where our hearts reside?
It's as if,
God made sure
that our love
would be connected
to both our creative and emotional
half of our mind,
while also,  
to our most precious
and protected *****.
It seems we
are being constantly reminded
that love is both:
Beautiful+Vulnerable.

Strings run from my mouth,
Held by my toes,
I have a hollow feeling in my stomach
Listen to the echo.

My body is carved from wood,
And my insides are hollowed out,
Pull my strings
And listen to me talk
Talk
Talk
About what matters to me,
It falls empty on ears
That don't want me.

You had a blank look
On your eye lids this time.
You've always kept your eyes closed,
But there used to be a painting
Above your eyelashes,
Of whatever you wanted to see,
So introquet
In colorful make up
To make up for what you muddled up
In your brain,
Older sister.

You've never been pleased with me.
I'm not tuned to the sound of your stories
About our family,
We're not broken
In the way that is most convenient for you.

I feel like you've latched on to my strings
That you're pulling on them
As hard as you can
Trying to tear me apart
Because you'd rather see me fall
Than have me be
Someone who isn't what you want.
And yes
My strings
You won't let go of
Are tugging at my brain,
They're attached somewhere
Where I hold fear,
But they won't break.

You can talk all you want
You can lie all you want
But all you'll get from me
Is an echo
From the empty feeling in my stomach,
Because as far as you are concerned
I'm nothing but an instrument
In an orchestra
Who won't obey the conductor
Our father.
So what is my music worth,
If you won't listen?