I was alone,

Sitting in the shadows,

People passed me by and let

Me weep, in the dark and without

Someone to take my hand and

Tell me that it would be okay,

And the end wasn't coming

And that people still cared.

The sun slipped behind a

Cloud, and the shadows

Deepened, but still no

One came to help me,

Until the moon rose

Up in the sky, and

Someone I didn't

Know came and 

Sat beside

Me.

The stranger knocked upon the door,

A creaking, wooden throb,

And someone on the other side

Unlatched and turned the knob.

Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"

And, "May I use your phone?"

The person on the other side

Appeared to be alone.

An observation taken in,

No pictures on the wall.

He pointed somewhere down the way-

"Go on and make a call."

The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled

As wires were cut instead.

The gentleman began to sense

A subtle hint of dread.

A conversation thus ensued-

"So what has brought you out?

The rain has flooded everything,

And wiped away the drought.

Say, did you walk, or did you drive?

Why don't I take your coat?"

The stranger slowly moved his arms,

A sentimental gloat.

The water from the pouring skies

Enveloped cloth and shoe.

"Say, would you like a place to sleep?

I'll leave it up to you."

The person on the other side

Discarded his mistrust.

The stranger said his tire was flat,

And shed the muddy crust.

"The phone won't work," he also said.

"It could just be the storm.

Perhaps I will stay here tonight,

To keep me safe and warm."

The patron of the house agreed.

He hadn't seen the wire.

The chilly dampness prompted him

To quickly build a fire.

"You have a name? They call me Ed.

My wife was Verna Dean.

She passed away five years ago

And left me here as seen.

I guess it's really not so bad.

We never had a child.

I loved that Verna awful much,"

He said and sadly smiled.

"No property to divvy up.

The bank will get it all.

Say, do you want to try again

To go and make that call?"

The stranger grinned and left the flame

As to the phone he strode.

Within his pocket, knives and twine

In hiding seemed to goad.

A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;

Eviscerate him whole.

The twine would keep him firmly held;

The knife would steal his soul.

A lusty surge erupted hence;

A wicked bit of sin.

The stranger hadn't noticed yet

That someone else came in.

About the time a shadow fell,

He spun to meet a pan.

The room around him faded out

As eyes looked on a man.

A day or two it seemed had passed,

And when he woke all tied,

The stranger gazed upon old Ed

Who simply said, "You lied."

Reversing thoughts, the moment fled

And Ed said in a lean,

"No worries, stranger. None at all.

Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"

He looked upon a wraith in rage;

It seemed his little lie

Combusted in a burning fit-

He didn't want to die.

So many victims in his life,

Some fifty bodies strewn.

And now he was the victim; now

The pain to him was known.

The stranger fought against the twine,

And noticed by his bed

The knife once in his pocket left

A trail of something red.

A bowl filled full of organs sat

As Verna poured some salt.

She exited with all of them.

"You know, this is your fault.

We demons wait for just the day

The guilty take the bait

And play with matches one last time-

I simply cannot wait

To taste the death within your flesh;

The venom in your gut.

So now you know the way they felt-

Hey, you've got quite a cut!"

The person on the other side

Removed his human skin-

Before his wife came back for more,

He offered with a grin:

"Say, stranger, is there anything

You'd like to say at all?"

I looked at all the blood and said,

"I'd like to make that call ... "

I am a teen

People will say I am young

Naïve

Too quick to believe what I see

They will question me of course

Ask me where I got my facts

But no matter how reliable the source

They always seem to find some cracks

Yet when it comes to you

New secretary of public education

Your answers to our questions

Are not even strong enough

To form a shallow puddle for me to stand in

When I have more public schooling experience

Than the women who is heading the entire operation

It makes people begin to ask

If she is even up for the task

Where she would rather destroy

The very department in which she is employed

And spend the tax payers' dollars

As our students are sent into the world

As complete goners

Ms. DeVos

This is not meant to be a double cross

But the community around me wonders

Will you really help us

Or just forget our poorer brothers

I may just be sixteen

And you may think this is extreme

But one thing is for sure

No matter how much you endorse

These are our schools

This is our public

And we will not

Be your charter school test subject

She had been told, her whole life, that she was beautiful. It was the most important part of her.

She was given more, she was loved more, and she was held higher.

Her jokes were funnier, her laugh was sweeter, her cooking was better than anyone else's.

Everyone said it.

Golden girl, with the porcelain face.

Until it cracked.

Her face, broken by careless hands, reformed into planes that no longer pleased the eye.

Plain now.

She didn't understand why she was no longer funny. No longer good. Why her laugh was no longer compared to the ring of bells. No longer did her personality charm. 

The world hadn't prepared her, she didnt know how to be average, how to have no one hold doors or look her in the eye. The only thing different was her face. It was just a face, not anything else. She didn't understand why her life left her when her beauty did.

She lined up the family of dolls on an afghan covered sofa and stood back to admire her work. There was the Mama dressed up in her ‘going to church’ outfit wearing her ugly comfort shoes. Papa was scowling, holding his briefcase in front of him as if to ward off bothersome children. The little flaxen haired doll, Benny, was holding his arm back as if to throw a baseball. Beautiful little Jenny was wearing her pink smocked party dress and black patent leather shoes.

She noticed their clothes were getting a little rumpled, so she’d have to wash and iron them. Their heads were beginning to loll on their chests so she planned to reinforce them with rods to stand straight.

Oh yes, she was proud of her little tableau of dolls. But what was she going to do about that rotten smell emanating from their bodies?

Fair lady, why do you weep so?

It's night and you should be sleep, though.

Your mind is starting to creep, though,

digging into places so deep, so

you let loose with our torrent -

Others can be so ignorant

is what you're thinking;

they have no idea, no inkling

of the tears you hold black, blinking,

while your emotions are downward sinking.

There, there, our lady fair,

cry it out, get some air,

throw some dishes, if you dare,

then fall into a blank stare,

tucking us back away,

to come again some other day,

another time, we'll return to play,

but we hope not soon, we pray.

I always wanted to be the kind of girl

who was comfortable wearing red lipstick

I always wanted to be the kind of girl

who flaunted her figure, no matter the size

I always wanted to be the kind of girl

who loved others so much it lead to self love

I always wanted to be the kind of girl

who made something out of nothing

I always wanted to be the kind of girl

who knew who she was.....and liked herself

I always wanted to be the kind of girl

who accepted that she was completely "flawsome"

I always wanted to be the kind of girl

who rocked her nerdiness

I always wanted to be the kind of girl

who didn't care if she was graffiti in an art gallery

Today.......

I am that girl

She sits on twenty third street with the cats and the mice,

her eyes darting wildly, her hair crawling with lice.

She sits on twenty third street, in her clothes so old and worn,

her name she can't remember, or the year she was born.

She sits on twenty third street swapping tales for loaves of bread,

speaking of horror and of fear, of love and of dread.

She sits on twenty third street watching and waiting,

oblivious to everyone's pitiless hating.

She sits on twenty third street on her little folding chair

sinking deeper and deeper into her despair.

She sits on twenty third street with her cackling mad laughter

waiting for her prince, for her happily ever after.

be mine,

          valentine

your heart can't break in

formaldehyde

my specimen jar

on

the shelf overhead,

asleep in my bed

as you

sleep with the dead

i’ll be your

             ‘evermore’

my heart can't break if

it’s on the floor

your second choice

on

the tile below,

crushed under your toe

as my

blood starts to flow, so

be mine,

          valentine

your heart can’t break in

formaldehyde

my collection preserved

on

the shelf overhead,

asleep in my bed

as you

sleep with the dead.

Once there was only nothing

but even in nothingness there exists

a being, infinite, incomprehensible

and Hope He calls himself

and He is the First of things

the beginning of every tale

but His story starts in forever

and never does it end

yet with Him dwelled His nemesis

and He named it Loneliness

a creature born of despair

everything that Hope is not

but they were twins immiscible

yet equally inseparable;

they fought to the edge of time

but no one ever had won

until Hope had found a way

to part with Loneliness eternally

anything springs from Hope

so from Himself He molded a man

and so came forth the Third of them

thus was there divide;

the man serving as a wall

Hope can't ever be alone

but Loneliness could touch the wall

and lonely man became

so Hope molded more from Him;

men dotted the universe

and stars began to shine

then the world of rock and water

became the home of Hope made flesh

light splintered to colors

and colors turned tangible

green plants sprouted from the land

and the air blurred black to blue

and the sea was an honest reflection

of the heavens above

thus were born through blissful labor

the Love and Beauty men could see

the Fourth and Fifth of things they were

beings that are one and same

Love is Beauty, and Beauty, Love;

but a day came when men mistook

one should come before the other

half said that Love fosters Beauty

but the other did not agree

arguing that Beauty preceeds Love

discord seized reign in the universe

so Hope set free His thoughts

and diffused them through the earth

and they formed the Sixth of things

Wisdom were they called

then men learnt not the difference

but the unity of things;

men did not like the days

however cloudless and bright

nor did they like the nights

no matter how spangled with stars

to revel in beauty they found no time

for they had every chance,

as immortal as hope they lived

while Love, Beauty, Wisdom faded away

their years and reverence dwindling fast

while Loneliness perpetually crept in the dark;

so Hope gave men a most precious gift

that drew limits in the purposeless world

wilting flowers, decaying Beauty

severing bonds, destroying Love

and dissipating Wisdom to dust

but as an end is set, Hope resurrects them again;

thus tragic how men met Death

the last of seven things

so men have fear cause they had loss

and had seen the value of life

But cruelly the world revolves

men still find themselves alone

for they have not fathomed yet

how despite the Seven things

still they fall and still succumb

to the pits of Loneliness.

But should Love and Beauty and Wisdom too

desert men in Loneliness' snare

while Death awaits from a wound away

there will always be Hope.