that girl.

I'm that girl
they write about
in country songs,
that can bring
a man to his knees.

I'm that girl
standing in the doorway
with tears
in her eyes.

I'm that girl
serenading her steering wheel
wishing that one
special boy
was sitting next to her.

I'm that kind of girl
that cries herself to sleep,
and can't look herself
in the eye.

I'm that girl
that will face
up to her fears,
and stare down
her doubters.


I'm that girl
they write
songs about.

empty.

there are no words.
nothing i could say
that could make this
right again.

there are no actions
nothing i could do
that could change
your mind.

there is no love
nothing
to hold us
together.


there is a hole,
a piece missing
when i'm not
with you.

a piece of me
that's always with you
and i can only see it
when you're looking
at me.

but you don't
look at me.

not anymore.

don't walk away
with the part of
my heart
i have given to you,
without giving a part
of yours
to me.

drawing

I wish I could draw
your eyes when they're
looking at me.

I wish I could draw
your smile and illustrate
the way you laugh.

I wish I could capture
your passion and put it
into words.

But I still need more time,
more nights studying
the way you look at me.

Because maybe one day,
I'll learn to draw.

And I'll draw your eyes
when they're looking at me.

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.