Blonde in a red Corvette, free as a bird
Me, just a child, staring at her
Remember thinking, that's where I'm gonna be
In a red Corvette, at 33
No kids, no baggage, not even a dog
Stomp on the gas, and simply take off
No limits, no signs, just a juicy sunset
The wind in my hair, not an ounce of regret
She never saw me, but I'll never forget
The phoenix who flew past me, in a red Corvette

You were always my cardinal
I, a mourning dove
Wandering eternal
Not convinced of love
You clung to birch alone all winter
while I chased the Sun above
The wind brought us back together
Cling forever to me my love

Imagine being a poet with nothing to say.
Vacant eyes fixed on your screen all day.
If a lost soul reaches out, you slap them away.
You pretend to be a poet, but you've got nothing to say.

As a kid I believed the moon was made of cheese.
With age I learned it's just a frigid rock.
As a child I remember gazing at stars, whispering please.
As though the universe could really hear me talk.
Rainbows were pure magic.
Each one held a *** of gold.
Growing up is inherently tragic.
Splendor becomes same old same old.

I'm going to delve deep into the woods, and let falling leaves land on me.
So if anyone asks where I went, tell them I'm under a dying oak tree.
It's peaceful here.
My best friend's a deer.
Where on Earth would I rather be?

In prison, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are birthday cake,
and ramen noodles a succulent meal.
In prison, everyone's given shower shoes,
but pillows you have to steal.

In prison, the "beds" are worse than the floor,
the "blankets" giant SOS pads.
In prison, lice goes around like soup du jour,
and **** talk spreads like mad.

In prison, all you see is gray,
color only lives on your screen.
Now you're picturing us watching a 60-inch all day,
but it's only 13 by 13.

In prison, there's no such thing as steak, there's no such thing as meat.
Almost everything that resembles either is fake.
Real milk would be a real treat.

In prison, you still need money,
or you go to bed hungry each night.
It's seriously not funny.
Three small "meals"a day  
isn't right.

In prison, if you don't lock it down, another con will steal it.
There's more than enough desperation to go around,
and everyone can feel it.

In prison I was years ago.
I'm a different person today.
But the shame felt from being forced to bend over, spread my legs, and cough,
well that's never gone away.

My thoughts are stuck
I bang bang bang my head
trying to arouse them
Here they come like sap from a maple tree
Drip drip drip
I found one!
Oh no no no
It's only half done
Here comes a complete, yet uninspiring metaphor
If you're once not a good girl, you're always a *****
Tsk tsk tsk
Words like that cheapen art
Hey
I write write write
from my dime-store heart

Treating something like **** doesn't mean it is,
but we never knew any better as kids.
Thought we were above the sheep.
Soon found ourselves in craters miles deep.
Was it fun enough to be worth the dive?
Should I not just be grateful to be alive?
The first answer is no, though I did have some fun.
The scars that come with that life,
I wish on no one.
The jury's still out on the second,
I have no answer.
But I'd rather die high as ****
than of cancer.

She sat down to ink her masterpiece
The poem that would tug on all heartstrings with ease
The one that would make them understand her disease
And everyone would be pleased
Except her
Because nothing will ever be quite good enough
When competing with one's self things can get rough
That's why after a minute or two she gave up
Her masterpiece a stain from an old coffee cup

Where will we be when the last elephant falls
I'll still be in the room
You'll be down the hall
Let's keep pretending
life's never ending
when it's really the extinction of us all

I can't cure each word
Soak them in sorted light
Wait patiently for them to take flight
Some burst out too soon
Like runaway balloons
Those are the best words to write

A star up and dies
The universe sheds a tear
Particles fly everywhere
The Milky Way collapses
Half of infinity is gone
The Sun tilts on her axis
The Moon knows something's wrong
Oceans begin swelling
Water devours the land
Earth hasn't been this bedraggled
since life first began
Gravity forsakes her
Grounds fall to the sky
A celestial teardrop's ruthless goodbye

Sometimes writing is like a flower taking root.
It sprouts at my feet, and winds around my bones while straining for light to guide it to my brain, where it blossoms for others to pick at or ignore.

She had a spirit of flames
Eyes deep as the sea
A soul soothing as rain
A heart born to live free

And while she loved Earth
she always knew she could fly
A true goddess like her
belongs in the sky

Off I go on a road trip to nowhere
I won't send postcards to people who won't care
My best friend's gonna be a wise-*** brown bear
Yeah, I'm racing down a melting path to nowhere

The boys all taunted, wanted and kissed her
But when she leaped out the window, nobody missed her
She ran away fast as her scrawny legs could
Learned to do cartwheels when misunderstood
She spun herself straight into the sun
Nobody missed her and she missed no one

It seems most poets are inspired by nature
I'm mostly inspired by the nature of me
It is commonly sadness and anger
that fuel my poetry