There's No Two Alike

Wonder why I drift my words
into letters on a page?

I do it to empty my head,
my body,
my blood.
To rid my soul of everything
stuck inside for so long.

To say "So Long!"
Let life go on,
and enjoy the grace
laid in front of my merciful eyes.

Whether those (of importance)
have looked at me with the eyes
of ignorance and denial-

Have any idea of who I forgot to be,
or who I've become. . .

I STILL AM!

And I find myself
making the point over and over.

Comparisons couldn't be exacts,
so I'll let honesty speak for itself.

The Need To Be Heard

 I have so many things to say. 

So much to tell the world. 

With no crowd to hear a thing

I gather everyone I know, 

pull them close, and start talking.

I wonder if I can say it all

before I forget or before I grow 

a bit old to talk it out.

Every word to hold close and dear

I hope they don't fall on deaf ears.

I’m only asking my world 

to acknowledge that I exist, 

and to listen while I’m alive.

I leave the world with a written word, 

if I grow too old to speak out loud.

Could You Imagine the Phobia?

On a fine warm day,
the last date you remember-
hints of December 8, 2019.

You take a second to soak
in the summery scenery.
The rich green grass
beneath a picnic table.

You find yourself seated
in a park with
unfamiliar company.
They sound familiar with you,
you unrest an oddity
of what should be-
December 9.

An immense sadness,
an immediate panic
enters your blood
and travels intense, through.

A sudden understanding of
what's happened once before.
You ask around the table
with a furrow in your brow.
You realize you don't know
where you're at,
or who you're sitting with.

You speak a sudden,
"What year is it?
What's today's date?"

They stop their chatter,
their laughter,
their banter,
look with concern,
 look with no answer.

Try to check your phone,
but there's no phone in sight.

Panic again.
Search for your spouse.
No answer must mean,

a thought occurs to you;
Even they aren't aware
of the time or the day,
or what's happened to me.

It's all such a mystery.

You arise, frantic, from the table
in search of someone,
anyone who knows.

Asking the year, time, date.
No one seems coherent enough to know.

A sudden epiphany,
and you know to search
for a white coat to question.

SAD

 The light casts a feathery white shadow on my blackened back.

Pulling me out of the dark,  a place I felt I’d be forever.

I’d dance myself out 

of the darkness and into the light.

Who knew happiness 

could be so easy to achieve.

As easy as the seasons 

change from winter to spring.

I’m automatic, 

I’ve got nature’s disease.

Hold On To That Thought!

I sit in my old blue room,
it's walls blackened with
the smoke of a failed furnace.

Reflecting on the first time I felt self-conscious.

Another's reaction to my enjoyment,
 at an unjust age of four.
Who taught me embarrassment,
or "out of" self-awareness?

An intense emotion for a toddler to address.

How impressive it's become;
To hear the thought of each time
I nit-picked at each stitch of myself.
To find myself sewing each seam back up,
new and improved.

Locked up, wondering how I turned into
 a messy pile of fabric in the first place.
Looking back at a once body-conscious self.
The images in front of my eyes,
happen to be much different from
what I once saw in myself.

A self-taught lesson in self-confidence;
If you've any of it in you to begin with,
abstain from asking for an outsider's opinion.
It can only result in torn fabric,
and loose threads laying over your life.

A testament to today,
kills the idiocy of yesterday.
Depression may pile on the pounds,
and it's weight isn't even literal.

It takes a full separation of self,
to make you see.

Certain people taught you how to self-loathe,
and it can be the hardest lesson to unlearn.
Certain people only know
how to project themselves on to you,
and they're out of their minds for doing so.

Ciao

Thanks again,
guilt,
for getting to me
the way you do.

Right in the wreck
of my revelation
and what I can recall.

There in my memory of Nova
is the home we built
on the strongest foundation.

Appealing affection
and not taking advantage
of every opportunity afforded.

There he is again,
guilt,
gearing his ugly head up
to tear me in two.

But there’s still whispers
hidden within my mind
that creep in upbeat.

Nothing wrong with starting new,
or saying goodbye to something great
that is soon to be gone.

I Woke Up For This?

They make lipstick from whales.

 A father's ashes turn to brick,
while a mother and daughter
try to chip away at them.

All she wants is to throw part of him
deep into the Australian ocean.

Whales. . .

Unconditional

The benevolent,
sharpened with a well-defined edge,
care wholehearted for needy souls.

They hold a particular place for people
who refuse to return the gesture,
holding higher the humanity who rest unable.

Soul's what they have
--we're not talking about spirit.
We're talking about integrity!

The intensity of human emotion at work-
modest when applied to anyone other than the self!

Can't everyone be relentless
with the impulse to give
what we're able to supply?

It's a certain kind of beauty.
Absolute compassion,
and it breaks the merciful
down into better people.

Someone Else's Shoes

Two people- alike,
may never connect because of their contrast.

Growing blind to equality
is one of the world’s greatest distortions.

They warp each other’s words
to incriminate any opposition
and victimize themselves
in a sad attempt at self righteousness.

You could blame either side of a double edge,
but both sides are fitting to destroy who they face.

Every controversial campaign
is a deadened heart
facing an empty argument.

Equality isn’t the intention today,
nor has it ever been.

The intention is to turn vindictive,
forget forgiveness,
then be on the look out for no one
but number one.

Self-indulgence is difficult to look past,
but it is possible to understand an antagonist.

To live with the understanding
that everyone has some sort of justification
for their behavior.

The problem is,
there are few willing
to take a step inside.

Only Few Would Understand

Hope has a memory of misfortune.
She questions the man
who has his hands on everything.

Does he dream of dropping
the abundance his arms can hold?

Hopeless created a void for fallen men.
Deep inside the recesses of the caves called,
dire minds.
A place where the cold go to get warm,
spark a fire, ignite, and savor the memory
of chasing down an identity.

Only to learn you're new undertaking
is the demand to be understood.

Will you realize how much it outweighs
the need to identify yourself?

 An entire world could recognize you.