All I hear’s the breezeYou Can Survive
August alone again, prove me wrong
Dreams turned to nightmares
Out of the woods now, but strictly ill-willed attackers want me
Or — what I can give them
Still, every day, I show up
Smiling
Asking for more
Only arms-length adorers greet me
A bridge they must cross
All I am is a testimony
You can survive
Chaos
Abandonment
Doormatism
Abuse
Abandonment
Abandonment
Abandonment
She Really Is
She is not He
Nor an It or an If
She is Where It’s At, Has Always Been, and Forever More Will Be
Where If Goes To Become
She is Where He Needs To Be Attending To
She Really Is
She Is Peaches and Mittens
August Fire, Mountain Avalanche
She Is Baseball and Criminal
There’s no more Not Knowing Such Love
She Is Leading Me
Symphonic
I want
With the stroke of my pen, to strike you down
With the blink of my eyes, to unsee you
More importantly
I need
With the tools I surely possess, to repair my own heart
With the uncommon grace that is my sinew, to forgive you
Golden Age
What do you call that Far East Asian ancient sailboat?
The one that’s always amber-orange and silhouetted, multiple masts
Sailing slowly but deliberately to anywhere but here
Help me because I can’t think
What, with all the noise in my head, contemplating your silence
Your confident cowardice
What do you call it
I want to hitch a ride to anywhere but here
Treasure?
No — what do you call it?
Sissy: A Haiku
Do not blame the Sun
Do not blame the scorpion
Blame the tender skin
Insults and Injuries
I bemoan and decry
How
No one — absolutely no one
Whether in writing, or whether verbally
Neither by smoke-signal, ancient code, pony-express, street sign, Social, nor any other means of communication or Media
Except Shakespeare, himself
Provided instruction on the following:
Seeing the writing on the wall;
Surviving the sudden, unspoken goodbye;
Understanding in any way, shape, or form, heartbreak;
Avoiding the subsequent self-loathing;
Navigating the wrong kinds of depths, whilst working to resurface;
The exact location where one may file a writ of replevin to retrieve back their spirit — unshattered, whole, good as new — and perhaps their house key, as well; and,
Walking with confidence therewith.
Inspirational Credit:
“Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.”
-William Shakespeare
Behind Me
You won’t see me
Martini
Numbed, ever
Spirits
Drowning my demons, never
I walked from you
Champagne-free
Toasting, forever
Mock(ed) Margarita
Proud, untethered
Post-Victim Era
H2O-flasked
Glowed, better
Sweet Jesus-juiced
My senses, together
Such is the challenge
Nothing here is new