everybody leaves

everybody leaves
closeness
care
trust
support
gone without warning.

everybody leaves
except you
never want to go from me.
so i am afraid
to hold on
to finally reach
to grasp your hand
only to find
the fading wisps of a dream.
so
i will be first-gone,
far-gone.

and i won't lose
one more person.

don't try to tell me it will all be okay.
(liar).

When I am 52

When I am 52
I shall live on a farm in England
where there are cozy fireplaces on dreary days
and lovely gardens on sunny afternoons.
I shall wear slacks and flowy skirts with woolen sweaters
and drink lemon tea from a clay mug.
I shall rise with the sun to feed the ducks and sheep
and also to give the horse a left over apple.
I shall go to bed early, before it gets too cold
and I shall be warm under old quilts and knitted blankets.
When I am 52
I shall have a garden which shall yeild
cucumbers and lettuce and carrots and beets and tomatoes
and other such things
and I shall walk in the morning mist and pluck slugs from their leaves.
When I am 52
I shall own a llama.

The Way You Romance Me

How can I describe
the way you make me feel?
It is an excitement and adoration
so different than anything else.
It is amazement at everything and every place you touch in my life.
How can I describe
the beauty I find in you?
The way your sunrises take my breath away
The way I am speechless about how everything falls together.
The way birds sound and wind feels and grass smells
and clouds look and fruit tastes.
How can I thank you
for so many angels
so many people you have used to help me grow.
For health and safety and opportunity
for emotions and choices
for the ultimate sacrifice that you made to show your love for me.
How can I explain it?
[the way you romance me]

My poetry makes me smile. It makes me feel on top of the world because when I put myself on paper I can leave it there and only visit it when I want to. The happy things are kept for ever in words. I can take them out when ever I want to. The painful things are put down and put away. But I can take them out when ever I want to, also.
My poetry is a collection of my life at it's best and worst points. It forces me to explore myself, my world and the worlds of other people.

The Mare

(she's a wild one)

Hair twisting in curls
tangled by the wind.
Independent.
Strength from learning
to do
more.
than.
just.
survive.
Dark eyes see
and know.
Aware.
Everything about her screams
(don’t even try to hold me.)

But
you can trust her.
(see, she won’t tell your secrets.)
But
you can’t know her.
(see, she won’t even tell you her own secrets.)
Always ready to run.
She's trying to let down her guard
but trust is a hard thing for one to have
when all around there is so much
obscurity.
lies.
traps.

If you want to know her
meet her on her own grounds
and.
be.
patient.
(but don’t expect it to pay off.)

She’s a runner.