Cold Toes

Cold toes

are not like frozen fingers

which can linger intertwined

in the fingers of another.

Cold toes freeze alone.

Broken

I fell and scattered, shattered

into a thousand pieces

across the room,

and laid, waiting

for someone to put me back together.

No one came, but it’s all the same:

Mended or not

I’m now cracked

and incapable

of holding anything inside. 

(Invisible)

 (Invisible)

P   a   c   i   n   g,
    POUNDing,

high
     and
           low,

     ump           ump
th       ing,   b        ing,

beat
 of
  my
         h           e
            a   r
                t.
              
You
STOP

and lOOk

     my w

            a

            y

I…wonder…what you
will
       DO.

But you
                                   leave
(me.)

You smell nice.

Alone

At first it wasn’t by choice,

 but as she grew wiser she realized that people

were cruel, selfish, and unreliable.

Every time this girl would try to strike up conversation,

the others would talk over her.

Her friends were only friends when it was convenient,

and even then it was sketchy.

Sometimes people treated her decently, and sometimes

       they didn’t. 

Exponential Growth

Fractals.
Each hand has five fingers,
each finger has a hand.
Going on forever, grotesquely.
Where are the joints and knuckles?
Replaced.
With another hand severed at the wrist.
Where is the arm?
Traded.
For a stubby finger.
Worth1000?
No.
Political statement?
No.
Math Lab.
Exponential growth.

Cliche

I want to fall in love,
a warm hand to stroke my face.
I want to be held safely,
Oh! I long for an embrace.
But is their such a person
who's love would be so true?
I've got someone in mind.
I want to fall in love
with you.

Invisible

P  a  c  i  n  g,
    POUNDing.

Up
     and
           down.

     ump           ump
Th       ing,   b        ing,

With
the
beat
of
my
         heart       heart
            heartheart
                heart
                   t

You
STOP
and lOOk at me.

Listening               Staring.

I (wonder) what you
will
>DO.

But you
                            leave
me.
C                  D
  r                     y
    y                     i
       i                      n
         n                       g
             g                        .

Life is Not a Crayon

Life is not a crayon.

A crayon will never lose

its color, it will never

fade.

Not so with life.

Memories fade, people

die. The colors they splashed

on the world disappear

and are distorted

year

after year.

Generation

after generation.

A crayon's color will never

disappear--

though it may warp

with heat and pressure--

it will stay true

to its nature. It will not rebel

against or mock its God-given color

I will not be ashamed

of its patient pink,

bold blue, truthful

teal, blunt brown, or wishful

white.

A crayon will wear

its color proudly,

loyally.

Te marks they leave

behind stay,

they stay.

The crayon may be gone,

but its color can never

be forgotten.

Life is not a crayon.

This Poem Does Not Rhyme

This is not a rhyming poem, I just want you to know
The words don’t sound the same, but I cannot tell you how.
Sometimes in a church hymnal the first line ends in “rain”
But the next line down, it seems, they’ve matched it with “again.”
If you’re in a swordfight, and you’re hands are tightly bound,
You better have sweet moves, or you will end up with a wound.
And while I’m on the subject, and talking about swords,
I must say a fight of courage can’t be described in too few words.
I hope that someone likes my poem, and my wonderful ideas,
If not, I’ll feel rejected and go sail the seven seas.
If you want to kick me out, then I will become an exile
And if it’s done swift as lightning, then that’s a simile.
I might be a little crazy, insanity in its highest dose,
Or maybe my allergies make me crazy ‘cause I can’t breathe out my nose!
My mother is a clown, and I’m my mother’s daughter,
And with that much being said, I hope this poem brings much laughter.
This is not a sad poem, so your eyes shall not tear,
But it might be an annoyance, so your hands might tear.
There is something in the forest that many folks are privy,
The thing that I speak of is the itchy poison ivy.
Just the other day, my daddy’s car was towed,
To never let that happen again is what my daddy vowed.
I right this wizened poem, while I am in my Youth,
And I hope I can keep it long after my health goes south.
Alaska is a cold place that I don’t really want to go,
But for reasons I don’t understand, there are many that actually do.
Have you met my darling friend Sally?
If I ever went to war she would be my greatest ally.
And if in some future time I have to go to war
I hope I’m not alone, and I hope it’s not too far.
And now I want some ice cream, I’m talking a whole pint,
The flavor that I’m craving is delicious chocolate mint.
I hope this frustrating poem doesn't make you red with fury,
Until you just can’t stand it and this poem try to bury.
I hope it doesn’t make your brain get hot with fever,
Because I’m afraid something like that might just last like that forever.
If you think too hard about it, your head will start to ache,
You might lose all sensibility and try to grow a mustache.
This poem is so grand, I hope it doesn’t get lost,
Otherwise the memory of this poem will just be a ghost.
Now I finish up my writing, 'cause you're begging me to cease,
I apologize if you were unable to read it with great ease.