There’s Hope

There are dark clouds.

And where there are dark clouds,

There is rain.

And where there is rain,

There is a storm.

And where there is a storm,

There is thunder.

And where there is thunder,

There is hope.

And where there is too much hope,

there are tornadoes,

And where there are tornadoes,

there is no hope at all.

And where there is sun,

Well…

There is not that much hope there, either.​​

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Like being dumped, except you left the knife in my back.

What do you want me to do?

Stand there and be like you?

How can I justify to you what I do,

When you’ll just toss me aside, like the rest, too.

This game of tug and war

Is making me go insane.

The times we spend together,

Weren’t the memories supposed to last forever?

You were never a lover,

But a friend that was supposed

To be here when I needed cover.

I know you’ll never stop to read this,

You’ll just pass on through.

I suppose that’s why I write for me,

And not you.

I am a social outcast,

And you’re with the in crowd,

But I thought being an individual

Meant staying unique,

And true.

You’re bipolar, insane.

I can’t grasp the concept of your mood swings.

What did I ever do?

What didn’t I do?

Please tell me

So, that I may forgive you.

You’ll be my best friend again.

Things can’t just go back to the way things were,

But I know that if you just help me mend it,

Maybe I won’t have to cry anymore.

Those endless nights I stay awake,

I could never burden a line with them on your face.

The dreams I had of you telling me you hated me,

Will never pass my lips, you see.

For you don’t understand what I went through,

And I’m not asking you to.

Just stop with this incessant confusion,

And let us be friends again.

Favorite time of the year

Photo from The Telegraph

I remember those sweet January afternoons.

The feel of warmth against my neck and chill in my toes as I trudged through the feets of snow, sun blazing up above.

I remember them like they were yesterday,

The grey snake in the pathway,
Dried Ramen picnics,

The crunch, crunch, crunch of noodles and powdered broth.

I remember our first barbie snap-on sports bra,

Digging deep to find it like treasure,

Then rushing to our mom to show her what we found.

In those January afternoons, so filled with every fantasy game, film and novel.

Stirring those dusty sunray particles,

Filling me with that fragment of nostalgia,
Then closing my eyes and dreaming it all over again.

Those beautiful, dusty sun-ray particles of nostalgia remind me of how simple life used to be.

I got married in January, to taste that simplicity.

I saw my first dead deer in those parts.

Raised our first puppy in a Ramen box.

Played tag

Ran and ran and ran through the old apple trees.

With my four other simblings

Oh, how lucky we used to be.

The Smells in Our Lives

Friends left and smells gone,
I cringe at the bittersweet scents of the past.

Downy as down in chemicals is sickening
As stomach flips from previous kisses

Cat and spice, like a bad foreign romance, fills me with ache and pain, and an urge to spit upon the pages and scream out in anger, “I have ascended!”

Sweat and perfume, like the two brewed on a dusty old shelf, brought back feelings of freedom, carefree-ness and an urge to give all away,

Now, sink me low, like swallowed rocks, dragging my feet as the tears fall.

Will the pain never end? Is our only solution to fill these voids with “replacements”, never truly respecting those who step into the gap.

Smelling is as heartwretching as puking, vomiting, expelling all the bad and the good, never able to choose between.

Oh, what I would give for a smell eraser machine.

Apology before Repose

Hate to be a little emo.

I’m normally a shining star

During these holiday seasons.

Building and crafting

Like Ol’ saint nick with a

Hardy har har har.

Though, I’ve worked myself

To death, you see?

My body is weak,

My mind is somewhere off sea.

A sickness overcame my senses,

And blew me out of proportion.

I’ve got no new ideas

For this year’s generation.

I hope my apologies have

Not been too late.

Perhaps I’ll serve a cup of tea

And take myself off the stake.

Two deadlines I have missed,

And two stories you are owed.

I’ll stop procrastinating,

And throw in a third untold.

So take a seat,

Prop up your feet,

And prepare to feel defeat.

Ringing Rain

                              Pub-
                           lisher,
                        publisher,
                      go away.
                    And dont call
                 again, another day.
                Im working at the
              bakery today,
             Hard at work, slaving away,
          Making the money you cant
        afford to pay.

      Publisher, publisher, please go away,
    I wont fall for another money scheme.
   I have mountains of copies and piles of
  misprints,
 I wont pay you to not market for me.
The moneys dried up, you see.
I have a wedding to plan and bills to pay,
I dont have time for you to bother me all day.

Publisher, Publisher, please go away.
 Please stop calling, please leave me be.
 I have no story, its unfinished and boring,
  And it wont be yours when the pages are clean.

       So please, publisher, publisher, go 
            away, and don't call again, 
                    any day.