poison air.

this air
  is suffocating
me.

so desperate
     for any kind
of reassurance.
        that i'll
never believe.

i'm drowning.

and all i hear
   is your voice.
telling me i'm ok,

but i don't believe you.

i believe
   in your silence.
in your touch.

but i don't believe
   that i'm ok.

i'm still drowning.

I just want to say.....

   A writer's fantasy
their journey.

   Twisted, and complex
never understood
   not even by the author.

Words come
   by themselves.
Unwanted.

Like the halls
   of a dream
bright or dark
      lies the truth.

twisted, unwanted,
   unwarranted.

   embrace   the twisted         fantasy.
live.    midst      the rubble of all the lives.
 twisted.
     written.


only            play.
        child's

poetry: Propose to Me.

Propose to me on a Tuesday,
when everything is going wrong
and I tell you that
"I feel ugly today."

Propose to me on a Wednesday
when I'm almost asleep,
curled up in your arms
and the TV flickers silently.

Propose to me on Friday
when the lights are all off
and we're slow dancing
in your kitchen.

Propose to me Someday,
because I'm so in love.
You won't have to worry
what my answer will be.
   Because I know
   I could be the one
    by your side
     for the rest
     of our lives.

Fantasy Blurb

   She felt him looking at her.  She looked away from the ocean and locked her green eyes with his storm grey ones.  He smiled and looked at the waves crashing against the rocks below them.
   She smiled and followed his gaze.
   They stood silently, next to each other- comfortable in the other's silence.  They had known each other for so long, they no no longer needed words to communicate.
   He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, closing his eyes.
   She smiled and picked up her weather beaten medicine bag.  "Come, Nogal- there are things to be done," she said quietly.
   He turned and followed her back through the woods to the community.  She gave him a small smile and a nod, "Thank you for your Guardianship Lor Nogal, may the Diamond Ladies smile fondly on your time on earth."
   And may the King Moon shine favorably on yours, Trista," he replied softly.
   She nodded again and made her way to the Healing Father's tents.
   "The Lor Nogal looks upon you with passion in his eye, my child," the Healing Father told Trista as they sorted through the plants Trista had gathered on her search.
   She blushed, "Father, Lor Nogal is too great a man for a simple healing assistant.  His wife will be of higher birth than I."
   The old man humphed at her, "The young will learn one day that they cannot escape fate, and so will instead embrace what the old already know."
   Trista laughed, "Father, I intend to take my vows --"
   "As one of the Garden Daughters, yes I know," the Healing Father made his way inside one of the large healing tents, Trista trailing him with the basket of plants.  "My daughter," he continued.  "Your nature does not fit the Garden Daughters.  You were born to fight."
   "I have no family to sponsor me Father," Trista told him, just like she did every time they had this conversation.  "Besides no one sponsors a girl-- no matter how good she is."
   The Father rolled his eyes, "My child, have faith in your fate.  The Ladies know what they are doing."
   Trista smiled, "I wish they would tell us mere humans what part we are to play."
   "That would take all the mystery out of this journey!" the Healing Father exclaimed.
   Their laughter was interrupted by a Guardian coming into the tent.   "Lar Trista, his Lor Nogal summons you to his tent," the man said.
   Trista ignored the Healing Father's wink, grabbed her medicine bag, and followed the Guardian through the camp to the High Tent.  Many of the people their heads in a quick prayer as she passed, recognizing her as a Healer by her black tunic, red sash, and well worn leather medicine bag.  The Healers work was directly dependent on the Diamond Ladies favor, and it was considered goo manners to thank the Ladies when the Healers passed.
   Trista was used to the hushed whispers and heads that bobbed like a field of long grass in the breeze that followed a Healer's path.
   When they reached the High Tent the Guardian announced her, then disappeared leaving her alone with Nogal.
   "Hello Trista," Nogal said quietly.
   "Hello Nogal," she replied, matching the level of his voice.

The Rock

   She sat on the rock, their rock.  The rock they had sat on together.  The rock no one else knew about.  Everyone knew about the river, it ran straight through town, but no one knew about their rock- except them.  It was not a very big rock, and it wasn't anything attention grabbing, but it was enough... it had been enough for them.  Their first kiss had been on this rock, this is where they came when they resolved their arguements, this is where they had come to sit quietly next to each other.  Just the river singing its song, the birds singing theirs, the trees reaching for the sky, and their rock.
   But it had stopped being enough.  She could no longer make him happy.  She willed herself to cry, but she couldn't.  She could feel the tears waiting to come out, but they couldn't.  Every time she heard his voice, or heard his name, or dreamed of his arms around her she only wanted to laugh.  The thought of him still filled her with a joy she could not quench.
   She ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the rock, reliving every conversation they had had together.  She had never felt so comfortable.  And she didn't regret opening herself up to him.  She could never regret those hours of her life she had given freely to him.
   What hurt her the most, is that she doesn't know what he thinks of her now.  Does he regret her?  The unanswered questions she has are the things keeping her up at night.  The moments she wants to run to him about she has to keep quietly to herself.
   And when she's scared, there's no one to tell her everything is going to be ok.
   She let her fingers drop into the cool water of the river.  She closed her eyes and felt the sun on her back.  Then she stood and walked away.

   Leaving everything but his memory behind.

B!tche% and @ueen%

   The story of my life is not worth telling, but my counselor wants me to write out “all my life experiences”.

…What?!

   But my parents have bribed me with a car if I continue to go to my “counselor” and do everything she tells me to.  So, I’ll give this a shot, can’t hurt to write about my mundane life in hell.

   I was born August 3^rd in the small town of Calemsville, population 3,225.  My mother always complained I had a big city attitude, which was true.  My whole life this whole town has been too small for me.

   Most of the things I found amusing included: painting park benches without telling people, putting glue on toilet seats at school, taking all of the pencil sharpeners out of the walls, breaking the taillights on every car in the town, smashing mailboxes, and other such things.  Needless to say most of my adventures ended with me in handcuffs, sitting in the city jail, and my parents getting to be on a first name basis with every police officer in the small town- all 8 of them.

   Now, I’m not a bad kid- just bored.

   And idle hands are the devil’s handiwork, my mother always likes to tell me that when she picks me up from the police station.

   I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I got blamed for the Shaler barn catching fire 2 summers ago.

   That’s when the whole counseling thing started.

   It was July- hotter than hell.  We’d gotten no rain in weeks and everything was hurting from it.  Every surface was covered in dust, you breathed in more dust than air.  Everyone parked themselves in front of a fan with a huge glass of cold ice tea.

   Even I was lying low and staying out of the sun, except when I was taking my four wheeler through the desert sands.

   But I wasn’t even doing that the day of July 24^th.

edges and scraps.

everything i need to say
to you
is written on the edges
of scraps of paper.

everything i ever needed
is your eyes
and the way you look at me.

i could drink in
that look
forever, and ever.

that look,
is my happily ever after....

but that's on the edges of scraps of paper.
those words are the ones i can't find
when i'm near you.

those are those the words i try not to hear
as i lay alone in my bed,
wishing for your arms around me.

because you aren't my happily ever after.
you are only a dream,
written on
the edges of scraps of paper.