Two went to pray? O rather say
One went to brag, th’ other to pray:

One stands up close and treads on high,
Where th’ other dares not send his eye.

One nearer to God’s altar trod,
The other to the altar’s God.

forward lover
backwards father
upwards acrid
downwards matter

I have forgotten to point my eyes
Toward a sky that is unforgiving
I have been fooling myself
The apple spiced lies which fell from my tongue
Are now rotten and maggot infested lumps
Of brown bumpy ignorance
Time is here but not here
Time is the weight which we all cannot see
As I step through the madness of this world
See the horror in men's and women's eyes
Unable to speak of it
I walk on atop the cracked dirtied sidewalk
To companies that do not need me
To people that do not know me
To a love
Which is false and forced
How do you escape from the toiling twister that is this reality?
What is the breaking point when one turns to
Religion
The bottle
Or the gun?
I am curious of these things
I am hot on the trot toward these inevitable winnings
The greats which we admire
The one's we salute and called sire
Were all caught up in this spinning cyclone of catastrophe
They were not released, they were not freed, they were
Remembered for their madness
So perhaps
I'm on my way

Some are almost shattered.

They’re pieces,       scratching         tearing  grinding 

     wearing 
down.
You can tell something       isn't
       right.


Like a ceramic         vase         dragged      across                 gravel. 


Their moods are brief flashes 
of—           mommy's hugs

and strangers—kicking the **** 
      out  of     their bowels. 


They aren't even w  h  o  l   e,

merely p i e c e s         of ceramic and clay.

Some are smooth, held in a gentle hand.


But others are jagged reminders of being hurled into a wall.


I often wonder if it's my responsibility to mend these pieces,
or just let them be
as I've grown to admire the individuality
of these shattered personalities.

Why does the world see me this way?
My insides on the outside and nothing hidden at all,
when I am only flesh and bone and a map of veins?

Blood flows through me;
chilled at the core but sizzling in my fingertips.
What I touch will char, yet I cannot thaw myself.

Clearly, this is self-reliance.
I wake only to dream of sleeping again,
and breathe only to shut off my wandering thoughts.

My mother taught me to loathe the bitterness
that she herself pushed upon me throughout the years.
I will never forgive her for that.

But Lord (who?)  knows I've come this far.
I refuse to be silenced; it is my turn to speak.
Smother me with your glistening teeth: I will march on.

In all of the directions of what you want to tell me
Comes anything that looks better in motion
Although I am torn by the reasons
I try hard to project
Fact is, there are moments I yield to emotion

I can relax out of earshot of any kind of danger
That does not scatter or burn anyone else
Yet I am not meaning to remember
Why all the hours acknowledge
What I don’t know, ‘cause I won’t tell myself

Acceptance, my sweetheart is a difficult thought
Believe me; I know what has to be done
While held under the watchful eye
Of the hand tightly holding
Love’s gun

wear do we learn the rules?
                    the                rules
of riting

who says we have to
stay
                   in
                      the
        lines

why Should it                   matter
          where
i write
How I spelll
weather; I use the right punctu
     a-tion

where is the Creativity

if  y   ou    always
                  the
     follow
                        ?rules

beautiful women are not women
with flat stomachs
beautiful women are not women
with perfectly perfect white teeth
beautiful women are not women
with airbrush skin
beautiful women are not women
who's hair is not even their own

beautiful women are beautiful
because of their pudgy tummies
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their crooked teeth
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their moles, scars, and freckles
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their hair that explodes in rain
and cannot be tamed with a hair brush



beautiful women.


there are so many in the world.

What makes life worth living
aside from loving and forgiving
was it the people close to you
or the ones you wished you knew?

What makes things worth owning
except the price you paid from buying
if what you owned defines you
will you be worth your value?

What makes one worth loving
if it gives your heart some aching
will you risk it through
to find a love that's true?