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I hid myself in your sadness
So I would never have to admit to my own
Now I'm left to suffer alone
But I still feel like I should
Thank you for showing me
What it means to live
Watching something beautiful wilt and die
Because the beauty of every moment
Somehow tastes so much sweeter now

*The Suicide Diaries
I'm missing you
Even though we've never met
It's an emptiness
That I can't shake
Something like nostalgia
Yet for the future not the past
I want you more than anything
But I don't even know your name
Please hurry to me
I want to feel your nearness
To wake up beside you
Have me please
Because I crave you
I need you
Now Mammy dead
All these years,
The salt that mixes
With the tears
Drips on tender wounds.
This son, I'm not
The only one,
Deprived of so much more.
Time implored
By the adored,
Lead you to that room,
Left you
In that room.
Happy Birthday Mammy. Jan. 20, 1920 - Oct. 27, 1989.
Creamy thighs wrapped around my mind
Scent inhaled, maddening
Moist adoration
I need inspiration.
I need a new muse.
Not the kind that impresses
But rather undresses
And leaves you with the essence
Of a poet, raw.
Exposed but not defenseless.
I'll be open,
You're all welcome.
Come in,
Kick off your shoes,
Get comfortable.
For maybe if I let you see,
I will have some new vision
Of myself and who to be.
Maybe your eyes will tell me-
When I drop my guard down
-What I really look like
From the vision of
An unfamiliar gaze.
It's possible I'll see horror
Or maybe some pain
In the eyes of the many
That witness me plain.
I'm sorry to sound dramatic,
But this is what I must have.
To feel what you feel
When your eyes grasp my spirit.
I must know.
I simply need inspiration.
Our relationship with the Earth
Can be defined by two choices
Parasitic or Symbiotic
We choose to be fleas
*Why not choose to be Pilot fish?
We can all live together harmoniously
Yet our first thought seems to always be immediate gratification
What can I get now?
Instead of what can I give now?
Live the moment
and you shall have
lived an eternity
Blowing candles
Twenty and nine
The supposed last joyous year of youth
I still feel 12

Many sorrows
Many great blessings
Ribbon together in bright May pole colors
This beautiful weaving of my life
I wear it close, this art work
For even the tiniest of words
Have effected it's pattern

*Our age should mean no more than acquired wisdom
Like fine wine we sip on memories
I am no different
A toast to you Birthday Girl
Make a wish for me
Not ageless. Just forever young at heart:)
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