Winds That I Live Byyou can see me through the trees
the way they bend and shake.
my power reaches over the sea
to create white-capped waves.
I can touch the world,
run a wild, caressing touch over her,
but I touch you most of all.
Blowing in your face,
making the warmest nights seem cool,
causing even the tall skyscrapers to shake.
and then disappearing.
Gone with the winds that I live by.
Life of Memy heart
spelled out in a Word document
the fingers telling the brain what it wants
the hands flying across the keyboard
hiding from mothers
to show the friends
No one can stop the flow
I must have my story out in black and white
little snippets of my life
for friends to read over
and show where the flaws are.
So I can fix it
until the writing is a perfect mirror
filled with similes and metaphors
that can tell a beautiful story filled with lifes flaws
so that life will not be left for the flies,
but will be touched so often
she will never feel alone again.
In Your Companyin your warm, luxurious lap.
I could fall asleep there
but not here,
where the sky is falling in
and dreams are created
by the force
of a thousand warriors
all controlled by one bestial person
who is uncontrollable.
That is why I dont want to be here
why I would rather be there
at your dads house
to the sounds of you pen scratching
out the lyrics of your life.
Beautiful SightThe beauty of this sight
and the world surrounding
are nothing compared to your face
The face of a thousand words.
The one that I came to associate
With understanding and love.
You knew from the start who I was
and who I was trying to be.
You understood my belief
in no afterlife
just continuing to learn.
A different ending
even to the question of you and me
that I contemplated for so long.
You loved all of us.
The weird and the dazed.
You welcomed us into your arms
letting us be who we are
and knowing that we
are no different from them,
except that we loved you in return.
Hand Fettishprecisely carving out her creation
for a clean palate to work on.
small spidery movements,
her writing as small as grains of rice
with tiny is dotted slightly to the right
warm and brown
softly caressing the pen
to write out her words of wisdom
small pudgy fingers
bitten off nails splattered with paint
she delicately forms her art.
An even tan over the welcoming palm
with long curving fingers
drumming on his desk of boredom.