(2014)
I am sorry That I cannot be happier I know that I’d be prettier If I smiled If I could smile
Don’t talk down to me I am not a child! Even children Deserve respect
Some I like to share Fresh out of the oven Don’t let it get cold That’s why I wrote it Emotions in that moment
Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses
Springtime means Berry pickin’ In warm sun Therapeutic Part of me
Antisocial tendencies Amplified by sickness I can people watch Yet I can’t people talk I am lonely
We Are me and you Together Two hearts Two minds
Down to earth I am but of dust Dust particles I see floating in the air Carbon molecules
Her fingernails Natural Long Pointed On fingers
Nothing makes people flee Like reading them poetry They value it in theory But please don’t make them read Surprise me with your verse
If food is poetry The flavors The smells Singing in harmony Is poetry food?
My body is perfect —ly spotted The white spots I tell myself Are my Bambi spots
I crave stability Neither wandering spirit Nor home-body Yes I’d love to travel But the foundation
Blonde eyes To match her hair Life is mean She counts her blessings Hopes for the best
Hospitality To love a stranger It need not be much For one who has little Will appreciate it