Sweet baby,
split-pea soup.
croissant carbs,
sliced tomato,
onion crisp, and
spinach greens-
ooh avocado,
please!

look out the
kitchen window,
my dog's head in
the compost pit!
"LIBBBBBYY!"
homemade soup on the back-burner

******, scratch it,
there ain't even any
tomatos or onion to
throw on this french
bread!
ohh, but mama,
let's get real,
since when was
there ever any
money for all these
S.Pellegrinos!?

I'm not complaining,
and I know ain't
isn't a word,
but for Christ Sake!
Being home is always
wild.

To sit by the fire,
or to be a free-running
child?

I can't even make lunch
without getting excited,
and documenting my odd
life.

Could have made that Bumble-Bee-
solid white albacore,
or Skippy,
squeeze that Skippy-
it's the skippy you squeeze!
Figured I'd go a little
more home-made today.

How long will it be
'till Mama starts asking
for rent?

All those Doctor bills,
wild insurance-
you slay me!
Mental health,
Hunterdon and Rutland,
you really did me deep.
And to keep paying those
Doctor's with those degrees,
sheesh!

Rode my bike to the TDBank,
to take out the last of what I
had, for Mama.
Talk about hell on two wheels!

So now my choices can be narrowed-
Do I hit the restaurants and do
the night shifts, waitressing in
that filthy grease?
Do I get a portfolio and try to model,
without Mama's approval?
I sure do have one impressive
resume, but this state wants to
take my license away.

My student loans are
in over my head, here
at least there's a futon
and a warm bed.
Chicago means an air mattress and
Vegas screams something I can't really
be too sure about.

I guess it's true, home
is where the heart is.
Home is where my toes
are warm and where my lunch date,
Libby, never leaves my side.

This U-turn situation,
it's not so bad. Yeah, sure,
I was supposed to be in Utah,
canyoneering. And this New Year's,
I would have, should be, could have been
backpacking through Nepal-
a dream.
Sometime I just get a little sad.

So I'll read some books,
watch some films,
give Libby her beef-flavored
pain-killer pills,
and pray for a pretty little
white-christmas miracle.

And the battles rang
No silence in the heart
Hearing the anguish screams
The soul stood solid
It did not falter

And the battles rang
Around and around
Surrounded by the enemy
Not a light was in sight
The soul stood solid
It did not falter

****** little box
Let me out to breathe
****** little ****
Let me out to see
The world for as it is
Don't let my heart beat fast
I can't help but lose control
Please say that this won't last

Give me an out
I'm begging you, please
I can't take this pleasure
I can't take this pain
I can't take this pressure
I'm not completely sane
Enough to go through this ****
Not again
Not me

Take a moment
Just step back
Seize what's out there
Now relax
Keep in mind, now
What you're told
Don't forget, though
What you know

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

Woman! experience might have told me
That all must love thee, who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But, plac’d in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,
When join’d with hope, when still possessing;
But how much curst by every lover
When hope is fled, and passion’s over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse, when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope ’twill last for ay,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,’
“Woman, thy vows are trac’d in sand.”

I'm going to write a poem off the top of my head.
Not sure what I should write, or what should be said.
I sit at this computer, with thoughts flooding through my mind.
Hoping that if I write them out, my fear I'll leave behind.

You see...

I am afraid of everything, but I seem to hide it well.
For most who seem to know me, would not be able to tell.
I tuck my fear inside myself, and go about my day.
If you were to ask how I am, I'd smile and say "okay".

But maybe that's what I'm to do, is keep it all inside.
Take my secrets and bury them, and go away and hide.
For now my shell is all I have, the safest thing I own.
What is a person left to do, when it's their only home?

So if you ever look my way, and see sadness in my eyes;
Keep on going and don't look back, I'll be in my disguise.
For if I see that you noticed, then I will turn away;
And if you were to look again, I'd be smiling and okay.

Like water frozen to
ice, I watch a blossom
never bloom, it stays
as still as an autumn leaf
deprived of the wind
that should let it go free to
a place where it is
noticed for its aesthetics and
appreciated
in ways it never thought it
could. Tell me where this
transparent liquid will flow,
tell me how far you
will let it if I break free
from these chains I have
inherited, however,
we have fastened them
together, bound by what was
once considered love.