and here I sit
with letters writ
by people who get me.

a beautiful and unexpected
time for being seen.

for groups, I've steered away and hid -
the sense of self ran dry,
but brave, authentic, courageous fun;
characterizations that make me cry.

who knows why I did dig my head
so deeply in the sand,
when points between what is and could lies within my own two hands.

that silly little metaphor I've researched way too much,
just to come to realize it's been here, strange yet such.

full speed ahead, some slow and quick;
the balance is okay,
and knowing fullness comes through taking each thing
day by day.

A constant battle
of fight or flight
as a breath turns around
calming our panic
for just a brief moment
before it happens again

You were my Gray
Your eyes held blue,
Or brown - I don’t recall.
Much love and laughter dawns and dusks but sunshine’s deep of all

What’s behind your eyes has always brushed your lips
"People are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves.“
For you it’s mindful ‘tips.’
On what we agree I can say it is about that Juliet,
but I fear what’s to discover about your overall epithet

Little Lindsay lied a lot,
to anyone with ears.
Twisting, turning every thought -
she’d used others for years.
One day she thought she’d pull the wool
over a well trained eye;
forgetting all that would be felt,
through face or words can’t hide.

Up in the air, in blinding clouds, she’d wrinkle at the nose.
For her best mate, her trusted friend
had dried up at the hose.

Riddling lips, grasped one last time,
she tried hard to save face.
But little Lindsay played so poor,
embarrassing disgrace.

For could one trust another who could hate from the shadows?
You’d never know if love and care was being kept in tow.

Letters writ, with seeming guilt, though through those lines remained
the little lies of which every relation would be strained

Stepped into the page store today,
The rain is making my brain throb.
A stroller pass as I drop my keys,
A wet stain in my sweatpants.
Grabbed two books that many have read,
Will I ever? Perhaps not, yet I buy.
I ask for help to find what’s staring at me
From an upbeat older guy.
The second unread, but committing to the third;
Maybe this is where motivation will arise.
But as for now, I humbly pray, for the throbbing to exit my eyes.