i.
i wake up
and i miss you.

ii.
the space just
below
my throat aches as my heart
tries to inch
up and out my mouth  to get to
where you are.

iii.
i think about you too much - more so
than would be expected of me
and my position - but there is no one
i can imagine
who would

iv.
blame me.

v.
your smell lingers on my rags
and your tears stained my cheek and

vi.
i really can’t
tell
if you know.

the idea of you
follows behind me
a pace and a half; far
enough that i can step
forward without trouble
and close enough
that i can’t shake
the goosebumps from
my skin.

vii.
my natural response is
no response

viii.
and my lungs burn
with the effort of
screaming for you.

ix.
i’m falling up and over
and my sense of
direction
has never been
reliable.

x.
my fingernails are bloodied
from scratching at walls
and dented
with bite marks.

i never meant
to think of your
teeth
or your lips, yet

xi.
my nerve endings hum
when your fingers brush
mine. my chest
creaks as
velvety wings try
to force their way out.

xii.
i searched
and you
were there - clawed
your way under
my scales and
armor
without shifting
even one
of your
dusty cells.

xiii.
your eyes danced
with a light
reflected in the
fire.

xiv.
i looked and
i saw you.

xv.
i blinked
and i loved you.

Your world is coming apart
By design,
structure
Remember you agreed?

Did you really think you could preserve
The comfort of your outgrown shell?

How many degrees
of confusion
can you bear in your mirror world?

Love is a principle
Not an emotion,
Feelings are too flighty
On which to base your devotion.
Love flutters
She’s a butterfly to catch your attention
With net in hand,
She defies comprehension.
Labels are helpful
But they never stick
Try reading her palm,
But it’s only a trick.
So I live in limbo
Confused and never knowing
I see her there,
Is she coming or going?
If I stop thinking
It all feels right
I’ll let myself go
And melt in her light.

I eat so much fruit
These days. I've become
Addicted.

I sometimes go outside just
To taste the fresh breeze. Summer
Is almost over;  

Soon there'll be a threat of
Snow on the air at night.
So swiftly they go, the winter-

Less months. I will wake up
In the dark. Ice crystals on my
Bedroom

Window. I can make a print
Of my palm in them every
Morning, then.

Taste pure winter. Taste
Her on my fingers. My coldest
Lover.

What stories could journals tell?
What we forget
is that they are not just repositories of words
but also of thoughts,
feelings,
emotions

They are places in and of themselves
Saving these emotions,
stashing them away
so they can be discovered
at a later time.

But the true beauty of these journals
lies within discovery itself

A droplet of water will fall
further
down a curved surface
taking a pale tan color
like its surroundings
It will fall off the surface
Onto the fibers of the page below
Leaving a darkened splotch

More droplets will follow
More tears will follow
As twenty years from now
A thirty-five year old woman rediscovers
the girl she once was.

Morning comes calling
Little birds singing their tunes
Ushering a new beginning
Being gifted with a new sun
Invoking our spirits to rise
Nature says, “Come hither”
Realizing, we are her child
A new dawn in our life
Morning comes calling

.



He sat in back and passed the time

For every day in school

He didn't say he couldn't see

For glasses just weren't cool

Instead he chose a method

That didn't show his flaw

He made himself the new class clown

He would make the class guffaw

His marks were never stellar

His mind was always spinning fast

He used some misdirection

To make the teacher ask him last

He couldn't see the letters

And some were all askew

He just buried himself deeper

What was a boy to do?

Some letters came out backwards

At least those he could see

But he never ever wondered

"Is there help out there for me?"

Dyslexic and bad vision

Didn't make his marks stand out

No one really ever tried to

Find out what he's about

He sat in back in high school

Reputation well in hand

He was not destined for college

That was not what he had planned

Until one day a certain teacher

With long, blonde, golden hair

Made him move up to the front

"You can't see from back there"

She let him use his humour

To divert her from her work

But, this was one tough teacher

And to teach him, she'd not shirk

She knew he had a problem

And that he had alot of pride

She was bound and so determined

To find what he had deep inside

Away from other students

Talking quiet just to him

She told him, she had the same problem

She'd put herself out on a limb

She was proof that help was out there

That he'd not spend life in the back

And that they would work together

They'd develop an attack

Late lessons teaching reading skills

Getting contacts on the sly

He had found a sense of meaning

He could kiss the clown goodbye

He would never be the leader

But, he would be more than he'd shown

And at his graduation

He would show how he had grown

He wasn't keynote speaker

But he stood up all the same

He told the story of his changing

To all of those who came

He showed them how a teacher

Could change a single man

By doing what they're trained for

And doing what they can

There were tears out in the crowd there

Many people sat and cried

As they listened to his story

And came upon his ride

He talked for fifteen minutes

He had captured all these folks

By telling a true story

And not by telling jokes

He finished up his lecture

And he gave the room a thrill

When he said "I'll be a teacher"

And you know...*******...he will.