MY MORBID SENCE OF HUMOR: Here is my poetry for the day. I have tried so hard to stay away, But no matter what I say, I am still here, if only for today. I have no luck, And, yes, life still sucks, But have no fear, I’m still here! I need to express, My simple duress, Of all the intellect, I may posses, I’m still feeling serious neglect! Please, give me, your harsh caress! Bless me father, for I have sinned, I wish for another, Secretly pinned, Between me, And that tree! I desire, The warm fire, That grows between, Me, my, obscene! I am keeping this light, For I fear that you might, Run in horror, Why wouldn’t you rather be my explorer? I may wish for the deep, dark, passions. It’s in there somewhere beneath your fashions? So why can’t I have what I want? However, if you continue to flaunt, What it is that I crave, I will find a way to make You, My Slave!
THE FIGHT: I don’t know you. I can’t know you. You can’t be the one, That I am supposed to be with. I don’t want this. I can’t stand to be close to you, And not touch you. Your heat, your smell, your touch, All make me want you I am fighting with myself over you, I don’t want this. I don’t want you. All I want is to hold you, And tell you how much I love you, But I can’t, I won’t. You scare me. Those words scare me. What this all means scares me. Why do I keep finding myself wanting to love you? I have almost told you so many times, One of these days it is just going to slip out. I am going to think about how much I love you, And I am just going to say it, And then I am going to run and hide, Wanting to die. I hate myself for this. God I don’t want this. But why you? Why me? Why this time, this place, right now? I love you, And I am fighting with myself about it. I just want to be with you, And I hate myself for it. I love you, But all on my own. I just can’t tell you. I think I know better then to say such things out loud...................................................
WHAT AM I: I am a fish. Does the ocean’s depth ever end? I am a bird. Does the sky ever cease to begin? I am a cat. Does the curiosity ever stop? I am a human. Does any mold fit me? I am not just a aunt, I am also a woman. I am not just a woman, I am also a warrior. I am not just a warrior, I am also a writer. I am not just a writer, I am also a lover. I am a peaceful enigma. I am an aggressive learner. I am a philosopher. I am a human. There is no box that can contain me. There has never been a mold that can make another me. I am not just unique, I am not just one of a kind. I am boundless, I am of God. I was not created to serve just one purpose. Nor am I here to just serve you. I am on my path, that ever changing ever present light before me. I do not react well to restrictions. I do not like to be pushed down. I am a butterfly that just got her wings.
A GIRL'S BAD DAY: Here is the story of a day gone bad. It starts with a girl, oh so sad. First, she works so hard to be smart, But of course that goal falls apart. Then, she tries to work for money, And at first, everything was rosy and sunny, Until she is told that she is useless, So, there went that idea's success. Next, however, is the real heart-breaker, She realizes that she's surrounded by takers. So, she tries to clean up her mess, And you would never guess, What happens to her next. The world turned upside down, She fell, hard, and hit the ground, Before she knew it, she had already drowned. The eulogy of this unknown girl, Was a simple verse of rhyme and whirl: Here lay a fallen unknown soul, What you see before you is only part of the whole, I may be old, I may be young, No matter now for I left this world, unloved, unhonored, and unsung.
HOLD MY HAND: Waiting for someone to hold my hand, To see the world through their eyes. Waiting for someone to hold my hand, To have someone to say goodbye. Sitting at home, looking out the window, Waiting for someone to appear. Sitting on my bed at night, looking at the shadows, Waiting for someone to arrest my fear.
HOW DO YOU LIKE TO BE TOUCHED?: To touch the one you love, Or dislike the one you shove. To fondle her with passion, And caress him with compassion. Stroke his soft neck, Kiss is hard pecks, Lick her soft thighs, While looking deep into her eyes. How do you liked to be touched? Smacking him out of surprise, Hold her hand while she dies. Wiping the tears from their cheeks, And listening while they speak. Walking down the street arm-in-arm, Holding each other, and taking in his charm. Can you feel the energy of touch? To breath in their scent as they hug you, To kiss his cheek when you bid adieu. Getting a neck massage from your best friend, While talking about the time you spend. Bumping into someone while shopping, Knocking into the wall while mopping. How can I touch you? Exchanging glances while shaking hands, Jumping around with all your friends while watching the band. Using her nails to reach that perfect spot to itch, Your father showing you how to pitch. That first boy manipulating your arms to show how to throw the bowling ball, Your bother trying to catch you as you start to fall. The passion in her eyes as you kiss for the time, Walking into a pond, feeling bottom full of slime. How do you like to be touched?
THE SUBJECT IS DEATH: When someone is old, tired, and sick We think of them as passed on to a better place. We say to ourselves, at least they didn’t suffer, At least they died in peace. But it seems to me that these ideas don’t help those left behind, As much as they offer a little comfort. The older offered more love in their life, Touched more people, carried on more wisdom. We say they lived a full life, That it is ok that they leave us, But those of us left behind, Can’t see this as anything more then comfort, We don’t feel any less of a loss. Those that have been with us longer, Those that have lived fuller, Have touched more hearts then we could ever wonder, They have loved us more true and though. We will miss them more and for longer, Because we loved them more and for longer. The way a person touches our hearts, Can never be undone, But would we really want that, In the end aren’t we always glad that they were there. Because they really made a difference. Just because someone is older, or sicker, Don’t mean we have loved them less, Or will morn for any shorter. These are just the words we say to ourselves, To try and bring some comfort, But in the end when the truth is told, It is those older loved ones that touch us most, It is them we will morn for the longest, They are the ones that knew us best. They are the ones that loved us most. You will be missed!