Red, blue, and orange somehow peak,
sun blasted clouds in front
a picturesque scene no words can depict,
or the shot when it's seen.

If such beauty lies in the inanimate,
then am I to believe I too exist?
When the ringing in my chest
and esophagus
echoes with the most hollow pitch?

Blinding light bears a hole,
killing the product
with the source of it all.
I am filled with the sorrow
of watching a loved one fall.

Love *****
   and hurts.
       And for those of us
         that give it freely,
            it hurts the most
               for us.
               But in the end
            we'll keep loving,
         so we can feel
      like we did everything
   we could
to be loved in return.

written in her voice...

When did sixteen
lose its sheen,
become so complicated?

when did the monsoon season
of transposition from girl to woman
begin, and when does it end?

when can I make my electrons
do their magic at my bidding,
like making my mum,
see me as I see myself?

don't know the answers,
don't know what made this girl think,
these equations had solutions

and when did sixteen,
become so complicated?

do I ask too much to make this straight,
I am one of just a billion teen girls
            with the same name,
knowing this doesn't help me
solve my mysteries unique, makes it somewhat worse,
how, was being sixteen,
young, but not never old enough
always a balloon misdirection, free floating, so confusing?

when I close my eyes
hear my private poetry ghost
insisting, listening to what I can't confess, even
to my diary, so I tell an
electronic stranger

(which is crazy, dangerous)

leaves me somehow relieved,
it seems impossible but he reads me,
even sees me, in my words
sees, and just, listens with every-word-attention

now he sees me as I want to be seen,
and I wonder, is he for real,
touchable, human skin and bone?

living in my skyscraper city,
I am surrounded,
pegged in a place where
sadly, where there is no dusk,
the lights too bright and 24 on,
and pressures of all kinds..make me
desire simple low lights,
that have quiet country lanes...with clears signs, known destinations

no more life exams please
especially, those that for me, were chose,
please, no goals parentally prescreened,
all, the nice and the mean,
let them meet me with pleasured randomness

so I can decide what seventeen will bring

my poem ghost sees me
far away, in other cities,
where my spirit
may have  lived once before,
in other bodies, other times,
where I heard the walls exclaim,
where once I prayed for sun
instead, brought thunderstorms,
monsoons of a different kind...
even with their knowledge past and forethought,
still I don't understand

when did sixteen,
lose its sheen, rain,
become so complicated?

algebra insufficient,
calculus trajectories,
don't intersect and
the future fortune tellers
seem to have better answers,
ones I like, they,
even tell me questions
didn't know to ask

what am I good at?

when will I be certain of
the difference tween love and  
sixteen emotional contusions that
bruise but don't scar?

when will my body speak,
informing me this trial of
the growing pain is over, done?

all these complications,
none that I chose,
do not patronize,
they are hard,
all I seek is the simplicity,
not the sympathy,
of knowing
when will
come the resolutions?

*when I turn seventeen?

Lord:

no bequest requested.
no grant, no teach,
no need or greed asked
just a hey listen up,
if your attention is elsewhere

this is an
all-on-my-own
prayer that
my eyes only utter,
my tongue,
self-silenced,
can only watch
and must approve

in fact,
this is more
of a post
than a prayer,
updating you
on the state
of what we Earth temporaries
call the heart, mind, soul
and even our,
your-designed
crafted carrier,
my body

Mine enemies call me
cursed, embittered,
they are right - but fools,
they are
so much more than wrong,
for in this they err grievous,
for they cannot see their own
bile provisioning their end

ask for no interference
from the sidelines
neither from the
sapphire mother sky
that raised me up gloriously
this morning

nor the emerald earth
that this day
both gives and gets
common bounty
gives me sustenance,
as much spiritual
as grained cereal delights

lest you think this
just one more
me-centric rants,
let us recall this prayer,
is his very own,
prayer of gratitude

woman's head
rests on my chest,
her blonde highlights,
highlight our bed
and our
life

take and tuck her tresses
from eyes and forehead,
gentle them into place,
behind her ear,
and my hand journeys on
to the skin,
flesh of her backbone,
where my fingers
spread wide,
five messengers unique,
advising all of the 120 provinces of her
heart, mind, soul and body,
she is my beloved,
and I pray,
I am hers

learning still to
live with my means,
such as they are,
sometime mean,
sometimes extraordinaire

even this skill,
to express

is a gratitude
that though
comes and goes
like summer breezes
that as now we pray,
cools my AM coffee
while studying the
patterned mystery
of the bay's
Ave Maria waves
from that
dock-by-his-name

where my heart, mind, soul
drink wet inspiration
from the still-oak-tree'd-strong-surfaced waters,
the blue glue of
our common delighted,
uncommon existence

this skill,
at this moment mine,
to share and
not to keep,
for have I not,
been blessed,
by comrades-in-arms
that kneel beside me,
asking, imploring
to be stronger yet,
for their sakes,
for them!
I pray for
best they-can-muster
sustenance of peace
of heart, mind, soul
and body

here now,
my shills,
my failing skills
cannot help express
in new ways,
a gratitude
that has a shapeless shape,
no measurement app enabled
for their comfort,
our comfort,
best grasped as
an unbounded divinity,
how so I wish I could pray for them better

focus this prayer
on the good ones,
who so greatly honor us
with a greater-than-a-creator,
gift glorious of
friendship

this walnut crack'd shell,
this container ship of
heart, mind, soul,
here there,
a few leaks sprung,
no nicotine patches
to cover

this dented car,
this dented body,
new dent every day
from only-you-know-where
still gets me there,

but
other than taking care better,
it plods along and houses
the rearrangement of this prayer's words,
and that is what is called
plenty good enough,
self-sufficient

prayers that are too long
go to the back of line,
so here we be,
but here we do not wait!

for prayers of gratitude
are instantaneous fulfilled,
and thus granted even before
they are completed

you've got the face
of a beautiful flower
that brings joy to all
those around,
especially me.

when you smile it's like
I am reborn.
the sun shines
brighter.
the grass is
greener.
the water is
fresher.
life is better
when your presence graces my
vision.

but behind the charming smile
and eyes that seem to light up,
is a sad, sad boy.

i know you are scared inside,
hiding behind the power and
glory.
you mask your screams with
a plastic smile
that you greet everyone with.
but i can see it in your face,
the face
with a frown eternally embedded into it.

you deserve to see daises
and beautiful butterflies,
you wonderful man.
you deserve all the love in the world,
and all the happiness
because i see the light in you
being eaten away by the darkness
you harbour.

don't let yourself drown in the
icy waters
and let the darkness
freeze you over
in this winter
wonderland of yours.

you deserve to be happy,
boy.