Torn on Moving Forward

We’ve been together so long now, you’n I.
You hardly waivered through my college years,
and you have always held me when I’ve cried;
especially through all the burdened tears.
Now I’ve graduated, and you’re ready
for us to move on and out with our life.
You’ve grown tired of just “going steady”,
and all you want is to make me your wife.
I must be honest, I am terrified.
I am scared to be so tied down by you,
that I just want to run away and hide;
but I fear I would not know what to do.
You have always been the one I talk to,
and know I don’t want a life without you.

A Furry Friend Sonnet

A quiet friend, who listens all the time,
no matter if he obeys my commands,
for one to hear my stories and listen,
a furry friend, is for what I demand.
A four-legged friend would love me always.
He would take long walks with me and smile.
A plush little friend would always be there.
He wouldn’t e’er fret if we stayed a while.
A furry friend wouldn’t mind the silence.
He would take a grain of salt and ponder.
Our days would always be blissful and bright,
nor would evenings and mornings be squandered.
I would hold my furry friend tight at night.
My little friend would cherish me alright.

Autobiography of a Face

I’m an oddly-shaped square
With pale, porous skin clinging tightly
I carry all emotions

I am different from others
Yet, still the same as all of the rest
I carry all emotions

Lonely, Old Shoe

Lonely, old shoe
in the alley,
where did you come from?

Are you all alone in this world?
Where is your match?
Is the other of you lost, too?

Did your owner leave you behind?
For what reason?
Were you too small?
Too big?
Too broken?
Or just in the way?

Or are you meticulously placed here?

Was your owner in trouble?
Did she have to fling you off to escape an offender, or officer?

Were you left behind on a trail
for someone to find your owner,
like Cinderella tale?

Were you ripped off of your owner by a dog?

Were you flung off in a heat of passion,
never to be found again?

Or was your owner pretending you were hidden treasure,
that was lost track of in the midst of play?

Whenever you came from,
I bid to leave you where you lie.
Perhaps your owner will return,
and you will have a reunited cry.

Lonely, old shoe in the alley,
all my current best I am sending.
Lonely, old shoe in the alley,
I wish you a Happy Ending.

A Shoulder, Venting


Needy friends…
Do you know what burdens you place upon me?
You’re always crying,
“We need, we need.”

What are you good for…
You always have too many individual issues
to ever listen to what I have going on.

You never ask how my day is going…
Well, at least not with an open ear.
I have issues in life too.
“We need… we need.”

Maybe I should just walk away…
and let you face your problems on your own.
Think you would be able to handle that?
“We need! We need…”

Selfish? Maybe…
but I wish, just once,
that you would care to know what troubles I am facing.
“We need! We need!”

I’ll just suck it up… like always,
and continue to be your crying shoulder.
Maybe one day you’ll finally hear me cry,
“I need! I need!”


Your Shoulder

Remembering the Room

Her long, brown hair lies flat against her right-turned face;
hands, arms, feet, neck, swollen.
Her hospital gown, wrinkled and dirty,
it had been draped on her for days.

She’s propped up against the headboard,
the dull hospital-room lighting casts shadows
that make it hard to tell she isn’t breathing.
It’s ok, I don’t really want to see it anyways.

Staring at her hands, so soft, yet so cold;
the rigamortis hasn’t set in yet.
Her nails look like tiny pins in sausages,
the thought gives me a feeling of disgrace.

Through the darkness of the room,
I can barely make out the pale color of her skin.
I try, but I can only look at her hands,
I am glad for the poor lighting and the hair in her face.

I recall those hands petting horses’ mane,
picking chicken’s eggs for breakfast,
and teaching me to sew.
They were always my favorite pair of hands.

My heart is pounding,
I am terrified to me in this room.
I just want to brush-back her hair,
but I can barely glance at the strands.

“You’re gone,”
I hear a voice that I imagine is my own.
There is no response.
The silence plunges the heavy feeling into my chest.

I am now so much older,
but I remember my urge to flee the room.
Honestly, the emptiness is all I truly remember,
I try to forget the rest.

The Off-Sonnet of Norma Jean

I imagine my mother’s hateful life,
how she wishes she could be someone else,
and I, too, wish I could be someone else.
I imagine stardome like my idols,
how everyone loves to see them preform.
I do want to deviate from the Norm.
I yearn for the beauty of Jean Harlow,
how she glows from within to everyone.
I, too, want everyone to see my glow.
I have what it takes to be a true star.
I will show the whole world what I can be.
My name will echo from near, and to far.
I pray this now: to stand the toll of time.
May I never be forgotten on earth.
May I be remembered by all from birth.

When you look at me and smile

When you look at me and smile,
I do not melt.
I do not crumble.
I do not flutter.

When you look at me and smile,
I do not feel vulnerable.
I do not get weak in the knees.
My mind does not go to the gutter.

When you look me and smile, instead,
I stand a little taller.
I grow a thicker skin.
My confidence streams.

When you look at me and smile,
I am a better person,
and I smile back because
I know I can achieve my dreams.

Reminice of Fishing Trips

It has been so long
since I’ve been fishing.
I miss so many things;
the angst of the day,
the silent serenity,
the absence of anguish,
the deep, stillness of breaths,
the blink of brisk breezes,
the smiles of the sun
as it kisses my face good morning.

I tell you what i don’t miss, though;
the lingering smell of caught fish.
the fights over who lost the worms,
the scolding after knocking over the last soda,
the disappointment of never having caught anything,
and the anger of so many hours wasted.

It has been so long
since I’ve been fishing.