Alter Call

Give me a rock to stand on
and watch me fall
give me a reason to hold on
yell for an alter call
watch me keep slipping
no matter how steady the waves
watch me keep tripping
on the things I hate to crave
maybe if I scream and yell
I can scare it all away
maybe if I just never tell
anyone, I'll be okay someday
Hello, are you really there
why can't I see you
Why can't I feel you
Hey, why's it so dark in here
what do I do
what can I do
give me a rock to stand on
and watch me fall
give me a reason to hold on
screaming for an alter call
praying to God that
this isn't all
there is left to life for
crying for an alter call

A Tree: What You Want and What You Get

I once was small, and didn't add up to all that much of anything.
I didn't grow up as fast as I was kind of hoping.
I dreamed of touching the sky.
I wanted to feel the clouds swoosh by.
I wanted to grow big and strong and stand tall.
I needed to be better than those who call
themselves kings and beauty queens.
I had to do more than shade the ground. I wanted tired swings.
I wanted a heart carved into my chest.
I wanted love birds, in my branches, to nest.
I wanted kids to hang upside down from my branches.
I craved for them to sit in my shade and eat peanut butter sandwiches,
but things didn't turn out that way.
They never do, but let me tell you that this one day
among all of my hoping and wishing
there was an older man, and he was hunting and fishing.
He looked at me and "Tree," he said,
"You'd be good for firewood,
but my litttle girl is in need of a doll house instead."
And I let him cut me down and chisel at my bark
and for a while I was in a room that was all dark.
And soon after that I was revealed to a six-year-old.
I"d been made into a dream house with furniture and I was painted gold,
purple, green and blue. I was dolls that sat on beds.
I was everything that little girl wanted,
and to this day I've never had a tire swing,
but the crayon marks from the little girl have so much more meaning
than standing tall and being beautiful
because even with all that I lost, I am now full.

Write the Anger Away

The anger in my head
seeps down to my fingertips
The melancholy runs
From my arm to my tight grip
On the pencil in my hand
On the rage I cannot stand
I explode in burst of scribbles
I rant in symbols, in letters,
The letters for the words
I scream in my literature
To vent my unbearable rage
To keep on talking to the next page
So I do't hurt myself
And keep telling myself it's okay
I write to keep myself in line
I write to make the demons go away

Last Night's

hugs. kisses. duct tape art.
PB&J cut into hearts.
fingertips. cold feet. belly buttons.
lips meet.
holding hands.
lime green rubber bands.
watches. neckties. earrings. dreads.
beanies. pony tails. your hand behind my head.
your back to the wall. my back to your chest.
your arms around me. cuddled close feels best.
Utopia by Thomas More.
Edgar Allen Poe's "Nevermore."
Shel Silverstein's "Love" and "Picture Puzzle Piece."
and I do believe there's Jet's "Look What You've Done."
now I lay down. Cuddled up. 9 o'clock PM.
messy hair. frizzy curls. 3 o'clock AM.
midnight. milkshakes.
cookies. chocolate kisses.
blue eyes. green eyes.
closed eyes. wishes.
tucked in. music on.
lights off. he's gone.

Ode to Art

Beauty lies
In the eyes
Of the beholder
And no matter
How hard I try
I cannot move this boulder
That represents my passion
My overwhelming obsession
With these fine paints
Or those fine brushes
With delicate pens
And radiant ink washes
I can hardly keep it in
My crave for their possession
Magnificent paintings
To clay figurines in ballet positions
The soft surface of oil paint
The rough ridges of sandstone
Textures my fingertips yearn for
A love to which I've grown
So much more than accustom to.
Upon my walls hang
Portraits of tomorrows Van Gogh
Within the museum walls
Are testimonies of those who know
How a pencil is a masterpiece
Just waiting for you to look
How its magnificence is opened
By a piece of paper from a sketchbook

Christopher

My Heart is broken.
It's broken pieces crumble onto the floor.
My emotions are split.
A scar runs right down its middle.
He ripped into my chest and pulled out my heart, squeezing it tight.
It's mangled exterior cannot total the damage within.
Bleeding hearts have broken dreams.
Blood cascades from my abdominal cavity.
A pain racks my chest.
My whole body is rocked with the pain of my mangled, broken spirit.
"Please, no," I cried, clutching my heart.
A knife was thrust into my sternum then twisted a quarter degree to the left.
Broken is my poor heart.
I may never love again.

Hot Irons and Locked Doors

(To My Grandma Noble diagnosed with cancer)
She lies between life and death.
breath in... breath out... hold.
She inhales the warmth around her
while her body grows weak and cold.
Is there something she forgot?
Did she turn off the iron?
Did she lock the door tight?
but... that doesn't matter... when you're dying,
lying in a bleach white bed
the white walls encompassing.
Gasping for unwanted air,
just praying God'll set her free,
but she doesn't want to leave
so she holds on tight,
"Let me see them one more time
before I call it a night."
Hold my hand and tell me you'll be okay.
Tell me it doesn't hurt that bad.
Tell me that you can stay.
Tell me anything so I won't get sad.
At first, I thought.
"Everybody dies,"
but then I found out
I'm still going to cry.
I don't want you to leave
I'm not ready yet
just give God a rain date
but I can just bet
it'll be better where you're going
no more pain
no more not knowing
if the iron is off,
if the door's locked tight.
Things like that won't matter
where you're going.
Things like that don't matter
now that you're going.

The Water of Life

Life is the water fountain everyone uses
It's been spit on, puked in, bent and broken
LIfe is the ocean everyone's been in
But it leaves us cold, salty, and soakin'