Why does it always come back to me,
Not having those around when I need them most?
Is it just me, lost in silence,
Not communicating, feeling like a ghost?

For all that I do, all that I give,
I wish for understanding in return;
I’m tired of being the strong one,
The one who knows yet feels the burn.

For once, I need someone to see,
To understand without my having to spell;
I know I sound like a broken record,
Caught in this cycle, trapped in this shell.

I try my best to be there, to care,
Postponing my plans, leaving troubles behind;
Pretending I’m whole, while I’m barely aware,
Hoping for warmth, a connection to find.

Is it wrong to expect, to want a reply,
To hope for a check-in from those I adore?
Is this what friendship means, a soft, quiet sigh,
A dance of giving, but always wanting more?

Did I miss the memo, all these years long,
Foolishly dreaming of bonds that could thrive?;
Is this what it feels like, to search for a song,
Only to find it’s just me trying to survive?

Who do I ask when I’m weary and worn,
Tired of being the one with the words?
I loved those who listened, but now I’m forlorn,
Only to find they speak only for their own.

Yet still, I hoped for someone who knows,
Who loves words as deeply as I;
But they speak for themselves, as the silence grows,
And I’m left wishing for just a reply.

Is it too much to ask for a few simple words,
A flicker of kindness, a moment to share?
In this vast sea of voices, where silence is unheard,
I yearn for a friend who will truly care.

Now that we are on in years,
celebrations change and dwindle
to little remnants of tradition.
We are two stragglers
from life’s journey,
Left behind by the young,
No longer nurturing him,
yet tied to his well-being
even as we wait for his call.
I celebrate Yule not in our home,
but by imaging his joy beside a tree,
his exchange of gifts with her.
And I recall the first Christmas
with my husband, falling asleep together
under a mammoth tree filled with light.
We made ornaments for fun
and poverty didn’t matter.
I wrote a poem for him,
decorated with scenes of our life.
And now, we are too weary
to celebrate like that.
It is as if we pore through a box,
a ragged thing, dragged through time,
looking for souvenirs of joy
and memories of the life we had
when he was here.

Sometimes I love my reflection.  
Other times, he's just a bad friend—fixing his lips like he's about to interrupt me before I get my thought out good.  
When I stop speaking, so does he.  
What do you expect? He's me. ****.  
In truth, the bills are paid, and all current business is handled. But something is missing. It’s obvious. He just looks and shakes his head—my reflection.  
I'd be lying if I said I didn't care.  
I've gotten used to the silence that follows me. It's peaceful.  
When I make it home after a long day, if I touch something, I know where it is.  
If I cook something, I know there's more, even if I don't eat it all.  
He sits back and watches all of this.  
My reflection. Half the time, I pay him no mind. Sometimes, it's better that way.  

But sometimes, I wouldn't mind a bit of noise

I wish for a dream,
of where you kiss
and don't hold back.
Our muddy feet stuck,
just keep your lips upon,
headlights of the fawn
we are momentarily paused.....

I love your charm,
sunlight hurts my eyes,
I don't wish to wake
and dream until its late...

I wish for eternity
of repeating dream.

Keep this bee's sting away,
Blackening are my days,
I run so fast as runaway sheep,
Now its time the reaper collects

What was the bee's worth,
anyway
Nothing but wool
worth of the old sheep,

I'm scared of getting cold,
my skin's turning yellow,
and I try to bluff be so bold.
but I'm now a fragile feather.......
unwise as the story's told

I wish for a certain insect,
a dragonfly or I insist
wings of the butterfly,
take me away to die.

I wish
I wasn't
me
disappear,
in fantasy.
Angelic
and
a flock,
I wasn't
been...

Take
apart,
this
freezing
and
cold-ness
of
this inner
side of demon.

Eating  me,
like caterpillars,
on a tree,
grazing
nearby
as a grass eating
field of reindeers.

I wish I was your eyes,
watching faces, pass.
Will your gentle gaze
catch my stares
and be made aware....
that I'm lonely,
lots of love to share,
My glass is empty.

I'm not with the herd,
so many different songs,
and those poetical words,
in my life do not belong.
I'm sick of a tummy,
denies all but he fears,
the eggs will be runny,
like the angels that he hears...
He lives in solitary.
man-kind and its axe,
humanity and its fears,
He simply can't relax.....

I'm nobody,
and can change my name,
to somebody,
so pour into the blame
and water my tree.

You can't destroy me.
I have the protection
of those who came to love me
through words of my poetry.

I‘ve looked at you for a long time;
Your wish to be extraordinary
Is that yours or mine?

Is it narcissistic tugging at my soul;
the world
Or do you make it whole?

I‘ve looked at you for a long time
Searched for your flaws
But I found mine

Love;
Why have you left some souls behind?
And is that your fault
Or is that mine?

i feed the birds when i can.
they dive down, chattering,
chiding, finally respecting gravity.
taking their fill, and if they can,
their neighbor's too.

a friend once told me that
we just needed to trust the birds
they come, they go, they'll come again
i think of how they do not hesitate
to **** on his car, but he loves them anyway.

i watch them from behind glass, behind bars,
sealed safely, sheltered, but alone
with arms that didn't know how to be wings instead.
i think today i'll buy them more peanuts
but i know my legs won't carry me there.

i tell myself that the birds need me,
that without my offerings to the sky they'd starve
but as we watch each other- close, but not too close
i remember that they're free to eat anywhere in eden
but chose to show me kindness.