The great mass of sweat
And the stepping on toes
The twirling of skirts
The too tight men’s shirts
As the alcohol steadily flows.

There’s the slurring of words
And a bad pick-up line
Talking too loud
To stand out in the crowd
The bottomless glass of wine.

The lipstick that’s faded
And stained all the glasses
Has an owner dressed to impress
But now she’s distressed
As the guy made too many passes.

The throbbing of music
And the heels much too high
With tops really tight
And make-up just right
On a girl who starts to cry.

The overtired made up eyes
Admit to their defeat
The sweating mesh
Of tight clothes flesh
Now make out on the street.

The next morning in bed
Headache and smudged eyeliner
Memories of the night before
Of dancing on that gritty floor
The sore feet a reminder.

Then awake the next day a little past noon
Eyes tender from the light
With a pounding head
It is back to bed
They won’t go out tonight.

When your pain’s too painful to be shared,
Put down your pen
Let us be spared.

Come back when the problems have resolved,
You’ll write again
That’s what your told.

Don’t burden us with an ugly thought,
Now hide your pain
That’s what we’re taught .

Does everyone deserve a second chance?

What if you ask for one, use your best manners and say please?

What if you really intend to prove yourself?

…Do you then deserve one…?

What if the pain you caused was irreparable, but your apology was grand?

What if you are truly a good person but you have damaged another’s soul?

What are the rights of the wronged?

Who grants second chances? I wish to see them, I have some questions.

The reflection and I are acquainted
But she stands a little taller
And her frown is now smaller
Her soul just a little less tainted.

The girl staring back at me, she’s older
But less wrinkles around the eyes
There are no shadows from the lies
Through hard lessons she has become bolder.

The mirrored image brings a weary smile
That girl is now a bit stronger
And she is in pain no longer
The battle she has fought has been worthwhile.

Bandaids on a broken heart,
Ugly but a work of art.
Blood pumps under plastic strip,
Not pretty but contains the drip.

Holds together barely, though
Barely still contains the flow.
Bandaids on a broken heart,
Still broken but it’s a start…

Is it your loss that
I can feel in the air or…
Is it your whisper?

I dare say that you’d
Suggest I believe that, which
Would bring me a smile.

Do not be a silent song
Use your voice to speak your truth
Sing it in the shower
Shout it across the rooftops
Let it vibrate across the walls of every soul.

Do not be a silent song
Not when your voice is so beautiful
It may quiver at first
It may rattle and shake
But there is a power in having it heard.

Do not be a silent song
If you cannot sing, be an orchestra
Play it on the cello
Beat it on the drum
Allow the crowd to hear your heart and applaud.