I try not to cry
As the snow falls from the sky.
Not because it's beautiful.
But because it means it's cold.
I hate the cold.

These rocks--
round,  not suitable for skipping
centuries of rolling along
the stream's flow--  all
the edges ground smooth
in the most ancient of ways.

These ones making walking difficult--
when one rock doesn't fit well with others
it rolls
and shifts;  not
wanting to find its   place
with the other rocks, making
footing unsure--       unstable.

I see this one;  there--
unconcerned with the fit.
It
has an edge or two--
   still..
as of yet  not ground smooth.
It stands out--  not
for the safety of step it can provide,
but for it's utter uniqueness--

               a stone like no other;
     with it's almost chosen-rough edges.

I want that one-- right there.

                         That one.

But the boy told the girl,
“I will always protect you.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“You are special.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“Your soul is made of pure gold.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“I love you.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

sometimes
i wish you were the poet
because sometimes
i just want to be the poem

The whiny heart
That's usually on my sleeve
Has gone into hiding.
I keep it in a safe,
Underground,
In the very bottom of my stomach.
It will soon go into witness protection,
After providing insight
In the trial prosecuting my feelings for you.
I keep it safe from you,
From your ignorance, from your insensitivity,
But most of all, from the possibility that
You might just agree with me.
And I will grieve.
And It will hurt.

There are no limitations

on how far people can go
and no boundaries
---------------------------------
that couldn't be crossed

Late night texts
Sleepy eyes
Small smiles
Butterflies

Stolen moments
Held inside
Beating heart
Stupefied

~

Left alone
Tear filled eyes
Chapped lips
Scarred thighs

Empty promises
Cast aside
Broken heart
Terrified

~j.l.

if I suffer at this
typewriter
think how I'd feel
among the lettuce-
pickers of Salinas?
I think of the men
I've known in
factories
with no way to
get out-
choking while living
choking while laughing
at Bob Hope or Lucille
Ball while
2 or 3 children beat
tennis ***** against
the wall.
some suicides are never
recorded.