(2014)
To be a true artist Must they be recluses Crazy mad or sick Or even better dead Show me a healthy artist
May sun is warm An old friend You have missed June sun Still smiles
The medication is not me But neither is the sickness it tre… You may hear its effects In my voice In my opinions
Destruction is fun But cannot be undone Smashed Trashed Crumpled
Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses
If I could draw a tree In all it’s complexity Would you be impressed? If I could draw a human face It would be but a trace
I had it all In my head And then I said Words I do not know which ones
I’ve known Deep inside All along My value That I matter
Why can’t I choose to be somewhere in the middle? Surrounded by extremes Measure everything With a grain of salt
My poems are short Written at night In my head I wake at dawn Shake my memory
My objective is selfish Not to share or be heard To get it out and move on No one seems to hear my pain No one seems to feel my pain
Who am I? I am me When did I Become me? As I recall
A fresh faced country girl Who pioneers on her bicycle Catches the eye Of a transplant from Houston Love begins through letters
No pido disculpas Por escribir Lo que siento Lo que llevo adentro Lo que vivo
When the emotion comes up It feels like heartburn Like acid Clenching my throat My ears go watery