the same blue chairs
the same smudged whiteboards
the same ****** teachers
for 13 years
its not preparation for life
its torture
pure torture
your brain in molded
to think the way society wants you to think
the lack of freedom to think in  this world
is what holds us back the most
we must be normal
well what if i dont want to be normal
theres more to life than a nine to five
a wife and two kids
a church wedding and a mortgage
live with no regrets
fufil your every want and need
live to experience
and die with content

I want to tell you,
Everything,
But I'll never,
Get the chance,
Because,
When I see you,
(Almost never),
The words catch,
In my throat,
My hands,
Won't stop shaking,
And when I look at you,
Your eyes burn me,
Alive.

The next time we meet.
I plan to meet you in unnoticed fashion.
To come face to face even if you laugh or chase to how far your mind wanders.
I plan to meet you today and the day after.
Coming face to face with unconscious desire.
Had I do anything else I am sure you'd notice.
Finding myself in finding you.
Extending to a desire to meet you in infinite space.
Accompanying you in certain philosophy.
To fill your lungs with the utmost of need.
The only interruption being,
That you'll never know how much I'll appreciate this one moment.
And how you'll never know,
That this will be all I'll ever know.

surrounded by
shell-glossed earthtones
teals on magenta
images of americana,
from native moccasins to
an embroidered 50 states
(of slices of mind)
engraved tobacco canister,
grandpa’s favorite pipe
crafted crochet blankets
spun out from grandma’s hands
like magic
one antique menorah
lit in holiday memories
books and photos in movie star
glamour mixed with
wild-haired natural
smooth polished woods and
painted cityscape, all
slick rugged cozy
colorful trinkets against
subtle plush
of beige, elegance of
textures in tandem
love’s timeless flame
wrapped around me,
like a flannel blanket
acceptance and welcome
ringing
in my pores like freedom
and I float upon this bed
in my mother’s home,
once mine
(still mine)
as in a river
flowing out tendrils
our bond unbroken
past and present bathing me
in deep-seated roots of caring
what more could a daughter,
now also a mother,
ask for