Monday, June 18, 2018

Keep to Myself

Keep to Myself

I often hide behind my doors
And lock them, so no one comes in,
I’m just so shy that I want to cry.
Talking with people seems foreign.
So, I hide in my room with a book in hand
Or when I’m alone I like to sing,
But often I feel out of place
And the feeling starts to sting.
But I hate getting left behind
I hate feeling left out,
Though in conversation, I get pushed aside
And it makes me want to shout!
TO SCREAM at the injustice
And the things I just can’t say.
But instead I stay behind my door
Hoping that it will go away.
Though often it’s a lonely life
Where people pass me bye,
I live happily in my solitude
Without a question or thought of why.

I keep to myself and come out when I want
I do what I wish with nary a thought.

Saturday, June 16, 2018

To My Dad

To My Dad

My dad has done so many things, to help me get through life
When I was a child and growing up he helped me through all strife.
There was a time when I was young, and I hurt from getting a shot
My dad was there, he held my hand, and then he picked me up.
And when we were young, without delay, he would come and play with us
He’d pretend to be a papa wolf and would join without a fuss.
He ran around, down on all fours, on the living room floor
And howled to the moon with my sister and I, but he also did much more.
When I was hurt and couldn’t walk, he helped me get around
He helped me to class, and waited for me, and didn’t make a sound
Of complaint or aggravation, he just helped me on my way
And through my life, it’s been like that, he helped me learn each day.
He helped us with our homework whenever he had the time
And he taught us important lessons even though we thought that a crime
Cause we didn’t want to listen and we thought it was such a bore
But later in life, I realized he’s right, and I wished I’d listened more.
My dad has always been there for me, he taught me wrong and right
He helped me through things big and small, and things turned out alright.

Monday, October 16, 2017



People tell me ghosts aren’t real,
They only exist in my head.
The things I see, the things I feel
Aren’t the voices of the dead.
It must be my imagination
Because after we all die,
We go to heaven, hell, or other
But we don’t leave anything behind.
Well, I don’t know if that’s true or not
But let me tell you what I think,
Maybe ghosts are people left behind,
Or an image, a glitch, when we blink.
Or maybe they are something else
Because I promise ghosts are real,
They exist in our minds, things left behind
They are something we don’t want to feel.
Ghosts are what we make them,
They are visions we create,
Of lives left behind or of things that remind
Us of lives that we might predate.
But I digress, let me state my point,
We all create our ghosts,
They are the things from our own past
The things that bother us most.
Who knows what ghosts really are
But they follow us around,
They are memories we leave behind,
The ones we try to put to ground.
Thoughts, that much like ghosts,
Come back from beyond the grave,
History from long ago,
Things better left behind, or erased. 

Happy Halloween

Creativity Faucet

Creativity Faucet

Why is creativity
So hard to come across?
Why does it just come and go?
For me it’s a major loss.

Come back my creativity!
Don't abandon me this way!
Come back! Come back! Where is it at?
I don’t know what to say!
What words do I put on paper?
Without it, I don’t know.
When it’s gone, lost for far too long,
The words, they just don’t flow.

But wait! I’ve suddenly found it!
The words are coming to me,
They are finding their way onto the page
I think I just might see,
For creativity is like a faucet
And when you turn it on,
It flows and goes and no one knows
Just when it will come to a stop.

But as soon as you close the faucet
That handle starts to rust.
It gets harder and harder just to turn
So, in truth you really must
Constantly let the water flow
So the handle will always turn,
Because creativity is hard to find
And it’s something you must earn. 

Missing Page

Missing Page

For every single missing page
There’s a story to be told.
What happened there, where did it go?
I’m afraid you may never know.
Missing words don’t leave any evidence,
Only the page leaves part of itself.
A tatter, a rip, some missing paper;
The only one who knows is myself,
And what was there is a mystery
That I’ll leave for you to guess at.
Good luck, I’m afraid you’ll never know
For these pages are my own format. 

Quiet Snow

Quiet Snow

So slow, so silent
          Snow falls.
Rain creates a loud
          Tink, tink,
As it collides with the ground.
Snow falls
          It lands,
Leaving behind
Only a soft, white carpet
As evidence.
For how silently it makes an entrance
          Snow stays
Lasting days,
While rain makes a grand entrance
Only to dry up,
Too soon after its arrival.
Pure Snow,
Silent Snow,
Beautiful Snow,
Leaves behind a part of itself,
          So silently,
          Quiet Snow.

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Where I'm Meant to Be

Where I’m Meant to Be

Have you ever had that Feeling
That this is—Where I’m meant to be?
Before was all Wrong—
It’s been so Long
Since I’ve truly been just me?

Then something goes right and you realize
That though the Road was Long—
This is—Where you belong
And nothing else could truly be—
But to have got there—you must have been Strong.

However many wrong turns— you felt you took,
How hard it was to get—Through—
You kept pushing forward—
You kept moving toward—
A path you thought you’d misconstrued.

But then you tripped and stumbled,
You fell onto the right—Path.
You’re filled with Light—that chases away the Night—
And for the first time in a while,
With joy—you can finally Laugh