moved to allpoetry.com

MOved to all poetry.com

We are all cloaked behind a screen,
never really letting others see what
is unseen, we are all tormented by
a past.

Never let it rule you as the day
has now past, we survived till the
next moment, the next minute,
now more time has past.

The past we can not change, but
the future is yours to grow to live,
never let that which can now be
never changed drag you to that
place, where bad memories lie.

They will only drag you to the
past, and you must live for tomorrow,
Never doubt your self as you
survived one day, two weeks,
your stronger than you know.

Keep looking forward, let the past
be what it is a memory in dust,
shine ever forward and live for
today as it will soon pass...

You stab me in the back with a knife,
and I apologize for bleeding on it.

it sits outside my window now
like and old woman going to market;
it sits and watches me,
it sweats nevously
through wire and fog and dog-bark
until suddenly
I slam the screen with a newspaper
like slapping at a fly
and you could hear the scream
over this plain city,
and then it left.

the way to end a poem
like this
is to become suddenly
quiet.

She reads
                                          And she sleeps
                                                      Way too much
                                                            ­           It's her coping defence
                                                                ­               When nothing else will suffice
                                                         ­               She needs to get away
                                                       Without actually leaving
                                             Because she's too scared
                                   And too tired
                                            To leave her bed
                                                      So she cracks open a book
                                                            ­     To escape somewhere far away
                                                            ­             And she'll sob for the characters
                                                      ­                       Whose brokenness resembles hers
                                                            ­                                   And then she'll sleep
                                                           ­                                   And have sweet dreams
                                                          ­              Of realities that are not her own
                                                       Because pretending is so much easier
                                                 Than facing reality
                             So she'll sleep and dream
          And secretly wish she won't wake up
So she can finally escape

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.