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I took off my shoes
That I might better tiptoe,
Leaving not a trace
Of my passage through the snow;

But my feet froze beneath me
And left me stranded in the snow.
Now what will I do?
When they find my bones, they’ll know.


More Than You Know

Take a breath,
Or another point of view if you must:
She’s really not so bad —
Though she could use a bit more trust.

It’s so easy to lose yourself
Amongst her many flaws;
But is that really why you view her so
Or is there another cause?

No, she’s not what you aspire to;
She’s not what you respect.
But there’s more to her than just
An imperfect wreck.

No, she isn’t beautiful,
She isn’t graceful or brave,
And she has her days of darkness
Where she even grows a little grave;

But she’s funny and she’s clever
Whenever she decides to be
And she’s dear enough to some
Even if she doesn’t see.

So use another’s eyes
And look into your own;
No, you’re not perfect
But you’re more than you know.


There is a scream in me,
Begging to be let out,
Asking silly questions, like
“Is this all life’s about?”

The same thing, every day,
Acting like it’s all okay?
I say it doesn’t matter anyway;
But I’m a tourist of insanity.

Is it a scream in me?
Or a howl, or a shout?
It changes faces every day,
So that I can’t figure it out.

Guess I can call it what I will;
It’s still an awful bitter pill.
But I’ll swallow it still,
Sparing others my profanity.


I remember the days
When my sister was my present age:
I would look up at her and think,
“Gosh, you’re ancient!”

A flatterer I was not.
Still, a lesson has been taught:
For now I laugh in looking back
And find I’m still a child after all.

Cloud 9

untitled (12)Maybe it’s my brain today,
But I can’t think of what to say.
Too busy drinking in the sunlight,
Dancing on the milk white
Clouds inside my mind,
And I just can’t rewind.
Why touch the ground at all?
It seems too close to a fall.

What I A.M.

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What do you think I do at night?
What evils do you think I spell?
Do you think the notes I listen to
Are curses spawned from hell?

I listen to the music
That speaks of feelings that I know;
And late into the night
I try to write about my own.

I write about the sadness;
I write about the tears.
I write of the frustration
And all my foolish fears.

I write of my regret
That I’m not your perfect lamb:
My attempts at honesty
Are what I A.M.

On Purpose

I tell you that I’m sorry,
That next time I’ll do better;
But really, I’m a liar
And I do it on purpose.

You tell me that you’re sorry,
But I’m not getting better.
You know that I’m a liar:
And that I do it on purpose.