My protector,
(although I don't think I need protecting)
My rock,
My soul,
is you.

P.S. I love your kiss ;)

My brow is hardened
from the evil in this world
but nothing can wipe
the smile off of my face
from the good.

Dear Russians,
would you mind not taking Crimea?
This is not the Cold War
nor the time of Imperialism,
so I suggest that you go back
and think empathetically about
the Ukrainians pushing to be
part of the European Union.
You must try to walk a mile in their shoes, understand?
There is no more Soviet Union
or the Iron Curtain,
so you really shouldn't be meddling
in Ukraine's affairs.
Let the revolutions play out and
what will be, will be.

Sincerely,
Wistful Wanderer

"Did you see that girl over there?
She, like, totally had that boy on a leash."

Now tell me, brainy poets of Hello Poetry,
if this quote appears to be spoken by an intelligent person.
With the addition of the word "like,"
we transform our normal sentences
into a garbage heap of plastic Barbie doll
splatter.
Even the emphasis changes from "totally" to "like!"

Also, that little brainfart before the adjective needs to stop happening!
We are already a culture developing that
grand pause that is present in great pieces of music.
The problem is, that grand pause is in
EVERY SENTENCE!

So next time you say "like" in a sentence,
*make sure it's a simile.

How can I sleep when
sounds are digging my grave
and pounding, pounding, pounding
me beneath the Earth's surface?

Distractions, annoyances,
humming, drumming,
rat-a-tat-tat and this and that
are driving me to insanity.

You sounds are like New York City.
**YOU NEVER SLEEP!

You push through the crowd
and stand right in front of me
your palms up and your eyes
glistening with tears. Even after
all these years, our love
has grown until it has reached
it's breaking point.

Our love broke the Richter scale and
shattered my life to pieces.

My life, without *you.

Are we all barely afloat?
If so, is someone in that boat?

Maybe it's the way we danced the tango,
our arms gripped tight around each others'
torsos twirling and strutting down the
street.
Maybe it's the way the fragrant rose in your mouth intoxicated and clouded my vision and thoughts.
Maybe it's the way you grinned when my legs dabbled beneath yours or maybe
it's the way you smooched me after that first performance.
"Querida mía," he crooned.
I still remember when he stroked my hair and implored,
*"Please be my partner forever."

If we have crossed paths before
I hope you be inclined
to meet somewhere again someday
with our history outlined.

Why yes,
I do have the audacity
to say controversial things.

I find it funny how
Tolstoy rhymes with toy
and Delstoyevsky rhymes with **tea.

She thought she knew
everything they didn't.

I don't care if you're too old.
I don't care if we have opposing political views.
I don't care if you're religious and I'm not.
I don't care if you are dyslexic.
I don't care if you can't spell.
I don't care if you don't go to college.
I only care that you have a
beautiful heart.

I love you for that and many other positive things.

Help!**
I've fallen for you and
I can't get up!

I am driven to madness
by your charm.
Your face when you respond
to my text messages is priceless.
I miss those hugs where your
glorious smell permeated my body.
I don't feel anything wrong with this except

you don't feel the same.

Those words cut me deeper than
a rusty nail plunging into someone's foot.

I only hope that the grass is greener
on the other side of the pond.

Have you ever thought about
tight-rope-walking in a storm?
The wind whistling through your hair
making you constantly check your balance
until you become so paranoid that you fall?
It's the same with life.
When you fall,
you sure as hell better be getting back up again.

Please,*
don't pour salt
on my wounds.

In our darkest times of need,
the last thing want in our lives is greed.

I desperately want to sit across from that
lonely man in the restaurant.
Perhaps he, too, would
enjoy my company.

When will you finally agree that
people are more important than profit?
If there are no people to feed,
then how can you expect to keep your
multi-national billion dollar corporation
running?

**You Can't!

No duct tape, rope or burlap sack
will ever silence you.
Go out there and say what you feel
because people will appreciate you.
Those that gag you gag themselves
with your lost breaths.
We have the amendment of free speech
so why not use it?
Our society is so worried about swear words that they are not getting the
big picture.
What we need is change and the only way that will happen is if we
*speak up.

Stop thinking that you are too much
this or that
too ugly or too fat
because you are worth
much more
than a number.

No jean size, person or society
can dictate how you live your life.
No failure or mistake can ever
define you.

You are only defined by your character.

We love a good introspection.
A lot of thinking-outside-the-box
a dash of sponaneity with a pinch
of romance.
A lot of pondering, wandering
wondering and pandering.
We crave intimacy and to woo we say,

"Look at my poetry."

Our minds are wired differently.
We tend to see things not as they are
but what they can be.
We are silently affectionate but rarely
spout off our poems in public.
We love deeply, fall hard and
live out our lives according to our
composition books.

I get most of my clothes from
hand-me-downs or thrift stores.

So what?

What if I like being unique?

My body heaves and convulses
while tears stream down my face
blurring my vision
like a camera lens in fog.

My mind was sick.
I had just watched the movie
The Pianist about the Holocaust.
The Holocaust was sick.
A man in a wheelchair fell
from a tenth story window,
dumped out by the SS.
Sickness.

My body was sick.
I could not speak.
I could barely cry for that matter.
All I could do was sob.

My spirit was sick.
I hadn't prayed in a whole month
and God and I were floating
farther   and         farther            apart.

My soul was moved.
I heard the real star in The Pianist
Wladyslaw Szpilman play
Chopin's Nocturne in C# Minor.
(that is NOT a hashtag)

That was when I broke down.

Sticks penetrate my skin
pushing past my taut muscles
and searing into my bones,
twisting and wharping my veins
along the way.

My friends have the audacity
to throw stones at me,
bruising the ****** holes
where the sticks reached into my soul.

What is left of me?
I'm asking you because I am
blinded.

What do you see?

A heap.

A pile of bones that look like
a bundle of sticks tied together
with muscles strained and stretched
from the torturous stones.

No guy and girl would EVER
want to watch a movie that had
no soundtrack
or go to a concert just to see
the people play their instruments.
Yes, you may claim to have music
as your hobby but many others are
extremely passionate about it too.
Without music, what would have
happened to Bach, Beethoven, Haydn,
Scarlatti, Clementi, Vivaldi, and others?
Saying "it's just music" is like saying
"it's just life."
Life is beautiful, passionate, tragic, comedic, playful, intense and even stressful sometimes.
Think about it.
Life and music go hand in hand.
Instead of saying "it's just music"
I urge you to say
**"let there be music!"

The heart composes music
that nobody can hear
except yourself.

Whenever our hands
accidentally touch...
I feel electric charges
crawling up my arms
like vines.
Your soft, supple hands
brush mine and
awkward silence commences
as I scan more items to check out.
Your warmth penetrates
my frigid skin and I
no longer feel
devoid of **love.