Don kno how to escape
Kant seem to find any man for a Gud date
But am I late, I taste ma own sweat and tears
Will jakie *** back.
Don know dat
Will I picke feet bak up
Will I
Will I
I don even kno me anymore
I don kno Jake
I thinke I'll shop,
Best way for dis girlie to think.

She floats just above the ground
whenever visitors decide to come around
from room to room she roams
when she's feeling all alone
and, she longs for the laughter that once was --
that echoed up and down her halls
her children are all gone with time and, distance
its made her spirit ache it's been so long
there's the sound of a ticking clock
(tick, tick, tock)
reminding her of a half knitted infants sock
where she remembers leaving it before she left
Oh, and she'd cry if she had any tears
but all she has is her ghost house year after year...
where she roams from room to room
(waiting, always waiting)
waiting for her children to come home soon.

Why do men turn babye?
And babye turn boyes?
It better for a women
To use toyes.

you're 12
and you hand out flyers welcoming people to your body like you were 21
letting people feel the curves that should only mold to one person
at your age, your aloud to be immature
immature and I'm mature are not the same word even though they may seem like it from a quick glance
but maybe you're taking a chance
a chance to feel special, but thats the problem
you were special once those baby eyes blinked
now your trying to find a home in someone that can only make you sink
you tell me "i've only had one dog in my life so i haven't really had a chance to love on my own"
but now your all alone, looking for those feeling that are associated with love
but you just end up ******* and ******* up

but everything is okay.....

just because you slipped on the ice of life
doesn't mean you will never skate again
you have two feet that work
two arms that hug
and the ambition to make it better
so i plead to you, things will be better
just look in the right spots

THE BOUNTY OF MY HARVEST

The harvest is over this year
I wait for next year's summer
Nature never fails in its promise
One season faithfully follows another.

Yet the bounty of my harvest
Is richer than any that nature can provide
In your loving heart shines the eternal green pasture
I need nothing more---all else I set aside.

Our love is the ripening
Of all that grows in this fertile land
Far away from the fever and fret of life
Upon luxuriant and faithful soil we stand.

Every seed of love we plant together
Will flower and grow to be ours alone
This is our pasture of endless beauty and joy
This is the most splendid bounty of what we have sown.

FEELINGS
Feelings
are                 drifting clouds
ever               moving           at the whims
of winds        effervescent    ethereal
like                 ships             without anchors
will- o’ the wisp       where      are their homes
of what         substance        are they made of

like             the rose-bud         just nascent
like             ****** love           just unfolding
like             life                       mystifying
like             a lover’s  dream  somewhere hidden
like             shadows              haunting

I                was wrongly        taught
feelings   were                    rocks impenetrable

experience    now                     teaches me
feelings     are                    life’s   shifting landscapes
strange    quietly                evaporating
in            the mind’s         labyrinth
I               am glad             liberated
in             the realisation  
I am         not                   made of rock