It was my first lie.  Maybe it was my first lie I told.  But Lord knows it's the lie I hold.  My father gave me a chance.  I was aware and knew I did wrong.  He told me that it would all be okay, if only i told him that day.  "father you are right,  i'm only hurt because loss of my sight."  which he already had for sought.  Here I am and I was given that choice.  I said the lie but you knew my voice.  Dad you knew I lied and let me be.  I wish I could be spanked the same way I had been before.  But my **** was as soft as if it didn't happen.  Because you gave me trust when I was 7, even knowing that that trust wasn't true.  I can't see your move but it left me bruised.

Do five syllables
Do five syllables again
This is a haiku

I've heard that you are pretty.  That you have no need to dress.  I've heard you come easy to those that are in distress.  But still you humor those who try and make the press.  Is your work limitless?  I have seen happiness make you fly.  So for a man who cries and just can't shine,  I feel your loneliness.   Everyone can use you.  They say you are on their side.  Does this even bruise you?  Or are you just some little ride.  Well i wrote this out only to understand.  But you, Poetry can not save me, so try another man.

When I was five I was more alive then now.  I was told I was a child then.  Adults new best;  was what I heard, and trained to see that clear. By ten I questioned the things I was taught.  How could I be wrong because my age wasn't ripened? I knew that analogy better then adults could see.  I had heard of those that didn't like children, the ones that couldn't connect.  I never could understand that true, because I was young and knew they had been young too.  When I was ten I decided I would never hate children.  I knew I was a child too.  But time flies and now I cry because I'm not the same.  I was taught that your elders always knew best.  But now I'm bested by the children and it leaves my heart with stress.  If it weren't for who I knew I'd be I would hate to see a child.  12 years of teachers and I think I was smarter before I was taught. If we hate the children, we're teaching them to hate elders too.  When they become the elder, you'll be living by their care. How could they love you the way you need, when they had needed your love too.

Do I want to die?  Do I want to cry?  Men don't cry, why do I?  I'm scared of death.  Do I try to die?  I stay on heavy drink.  I try hard not to think.  As I try, I slide down a ride of overthinking; stuttering and more heavy drinking.  I'm told i'm in a twister.  Am I old enough to be called mister?  Should I have never kissed her?  Is my life just a blister?  The kind that come unwanted.  They grow and choose their way.  Till one day they pop and then I never missed her.

I'll do my best, as the title suggests.  Right away I'll write away about how my day should not be written off.  Because when I do I'll lose my day because I put it off.  Could I write it rightly?  Or will I write it wrongly?  I'm pretty sure i right wrongly.

Y is the second to last letter in the alphabet.  Does it ask a question to Z?  Why then Z?  Do you mean more then me?  Y said.  But while getting the reply the world ended.  ZZZ

I've heard about hitting "rock bottom."  Seems like a good place to be.  Its like all worries in life could only have room to move up.  Room to move somewhere better and no place to get worse.  I don't believe in rock bottom.  Nobody alive will be given that blessing.  That you only have a path that heads back up a new path and not down an old ***** trail.  Rock bottom to me is a sad death.  Not a time in our past that we put to rest.  If it were so we would have had choice to do as we please with no guilty past and nothing unpleased.

Hey, I'm waiting for you.  Are you coming for me?  It is time I feel, time that you set me free.  "Not yet," I say.  "And trust me,  never is not too late."  But I don't want to hit rock bottom.  I want you here before I'm there.  But, "Sorry; is all I can say" I said.  I guess I'll continue to pray.

Our subconscious is so strong.
Never let your subconscious wish you so long.

I think this spider can fly.  I've heard of a web; but, his was destine to hide.  This spider would never abide.  A wanderer, with only wind to fear.  It's why he felt so free.  Nestled in the air, near a young oak tree.

Plain seems too pain and simple.  Plainly put, pain seems plain. How could we know each other, through pain and gain?  Or is it gain and simple?  Just plainly gained?  Twisted words make a twister.  At least I know one true.  My words create

I got sick
i got sick of my nose.
sometimes i glance in the shower
i glance at my toes.
and nobody knows.

the day i learned
the day i learned i could see my nose
was the begining of where this poem stems.
i knew my nose was within.

Nobody knows my nose the way i do
my subcontious stole it so my eyes could pretend.
and since i learned the curse
i glance.

it wastes my time and keeps me out of focus
cause like lightning strikes my nose needs a looking
a quick glance
and a chance for perspective
"Sorry sir give me a second"
ads some time to smell my surroundings as im reminded i can smell.