Poetry

At school

we're doing a poetry unit.

"Oh cool, we write poetry all the time!"

My friend says.

What we didn't realize, though,

was that the teacher turned on the tap

to our inner selves

What if you were 

just 

a thought, 

an idea, 

a possibility, 

a thing floating 

with nowhere to 

The deep, unconscious current guards

my hopeless human figure from

the continuous plume of silence 

echoing below my floating forearms. 
 

my pure body is tossed in a 

Unexpected

Dress for sun, for warmth, for joy

Suddenly

Rain, clouds, cold, hurt

Descend

Turn around and go away

If I hand you my heart

My heart made of glass

Don't shatter it

Don't have the shards

Splay across the ground

Don't hand it to someone else

To crush it

Beneath their fingers

But if it does

The brush

Covered in the black ink

Swiped at my eyelashes

Made its mark

On my face

At least

That's what it used to do

Now it sits quietly

In its spot

Far away from reach

Your God is not my God.  Stay with me now, I know this makes your hackles rise, your hands raised in the spiteful fear that you could be challenged. The fear of fraud.

They soar the skies, as free can be,

A gentle flap, a wind-carried wing.

Feathers drift through open air,

While oceans shimmer far beneath.

One could only dream to be

So unbound—so endlessly free.

I give up everything for you 

At the drop of a hat

I tear myself apart for your happiness 

Even though you're still sad

I do everything to fix the problem 

While knowing damn well I am the problem.

You're always the victim 

All "poor woh is me"

Until you get caught 

Until you hurt me

What would happen

If the roles were reversed 

If you were stuck chasing 

We must change or She shall die,

Our selfishness causes Her to cry.

Whispering wind in my ear,

Her desperate cry for me to hear. 

she takes the stairs, 

her heels click clacking down the hardwood steps. 

she turns the tarnished silver doorknob, 

and the door creaks open. 

before her sits a man.