i write poetry
from the collective,
that resides within my mind

they gather often,
at the water cooler
or for coffee, tea
and a bit of a natter..

all my idio's and syncranicities
my ego,
and my shy shuffling humble-bumbler
the flambouyant quirke,
the little girl memories

all get the memo and out they come.

earth mother, surfer chick,  
daughter of despair,
moderator, instigator,
wanna-be litigator
acerberic premenstrual ditzbitch,
all represented there.


so in the end,
what you get to see;
are the minutes from the meetings,
or the gossip from the gatherings
the intimate murmurings...
from the musings.
of the legion, that ...
collectively
call themsevles
me.

happiness is only temporary.

Kinda like stars you know.

you can see it. you can try to reach it.
you can make wishes upon it.
but never actually touch it.

it looks pretty at night, but will disappear as soon as dawn hits.

alot of times fools get burn from looking too hard deluding themsevles that stars exsist during the day without realizing what they're actually looking at is the sun.