Prim and Proper

 An independent voice of reason,

            my speech is not treason.

There is a time and place for the season

                         of the beast.

                   A time to cease

fire in dire straits.

Linen thin skin

          of Prim and Proper.

A Baby Blue World

  A living dynamic being.

Life uprooted

looking  for soil.

The joy of being

a dusty rose

in a baby blue world.

A Sinner's Reprise

I beg for my demise-

  A Sinners Reprise

      of self harm,

      but I’m unarmed.

   Turn on the charm

like there’s no alarm.

        A mask of disguise

to see through your eyes.

       A tale of an unsound mind

and the mentality of the unkind.

So out unwinds

      the fraying

            fabric of our lives.

Sitcom Syndrome

 This town is a child’s toy, 

and I’m stuck with the sounds

of Sitcom Syndrome.

The hum of laughter

caught in my ear, 

but no punch line

held any good humor.

The building blocks of life

for toddlers to topple down.

While adults frown

at toys left on the floor.

Couldn’t take anymore

A foot step't, a child crept

On a sharp edge.

Couldn’t take anymore,

Legos left, parents wept

at baby booboo’s

and first lessons learned.

Unleashed

 Redemption spoke to me

                    through the wing

                    of a gray bird.

A sound that was unheard,

           disembodied,

           intuition

                             divine.

The message I need,

           right on time.

I savor the splendor

            -the glimpse

           of holy highs.

And I, so sly,

           sit and observe,

          sneak my way inside.

I find my pride,

                Unleashed,

        as a magician dove.

I'm Spent

 Why do you want me to fall? 

Romanticizing illnesses.

Freakishly, pushing me off the edge

of my final call.

The suicidal ball

of yarn unravels

ethereal escapes

to run down in case of fire.

As the one I admire

eyes another option

of solitude-

despite gratitude.

Altruistic cries

in the depths of lies,

believed by fields

of frivolous buys.

Another day, another dollar spent.

I’m Spent.

Misfits' Box

 Oblivious angels raise their feathered wings

to free the forgotten from their prison of a mind. 

Actions, past, I’ve been unkind,

just like the blind,

leading the blind.

I am unspoken,

spoken for,

spent like loose change, 

fallen, forgotten on the ground.

My ear,

it heard the sound

of the Misfits Box 

of lost and found. 

A single strand of blonde

among a head of black. 

Being coy is the bane of our existence.

Nothing More

 

My dreams are quite prophetic. 

Unapologetic lies are no surprise

from a face in disguise.

Red mask reprise,

but I can see your eyes,

blinking, Morse code. 

Crying to be heard

in a language I can’t understand.

So I’ll give you a hand.

Togetherness always said,

“We are a team.

             We are in this as one.

What’s mine is yours and Nothing More.”

Insignificant Altercations.

 Internal screams,

reoccurring dreams.

Blank slates,

behavior skates

across thin ice, 

breaks cold water

into drowning lungs.

Overbearing hugs ring in the throat.

Put on a coat,

head for the door,

can’t take anymore.

Broken eggshell hell

breaks the skin of sensitive feet.

Between the toes,

my mind goes

into the damp space

looking for some grace. 

Internal cries for bright blue skies

and yolks so light

make me understand my own plight.

Frustration sees mossy green trees,

and envy is angers’ trap… 

Questioning. 

Why you are so obsessive,

incomprehensive, unbelievably apprehensive

about Insignificant Altercations?

Simple Mind

 Courage is a hill to climb.

Grant me strength in time

to find comfort in a Simple Mind.

I’ve Been Walking

 In my mind I find the power

to pursue my potential.

Despite any dispositional

argument against 

the path I’ve Been Walking down.

Beauty

 Sage has a sentiment of purification and peace.

Words of encouragement, enlightenment.

Instead of deadened endearment

depleted by my everlasting innocence.

A childhood I’d rather not remember.

The harsh reality of humble helpings.

Cigarettes and smoke by the TV screen

signal static in my substance.

Must’ve been a little bit of magic

because there’s so much promise

in an empty house.

With ears that hear distress

awaken in the night.

I’d love for things to be beautiful

but sometimes a state of disarray is OK

and there’s Beauty in that too!