when you see purple,

i hope you smell lilac fields

cause

when i seen maroon,

i'm immersed in the autumn bloom.

when you see the moon,

i hope you rest well

cause

when i see the sun,

i wish our time wasn't done.

ah, the second amendment,

right to bear arms

but

to pursue this deadly chase,

can't compare to your bear embrace.

oh, but you were a trigger,

and i'm a pistol

busy

shooting toxic darts,

through lilac and maroon hearts.

setting down the weapons,

i'd rather sit and wait to

hear

of other "star-crossed lovers"

than face your revolver.

Hear me, folks of love and loss,

of heartbreak and of pain,

as I watch you from my window,

when you're dancing in the rain.

I have tiptoed in your footsteps

through midnight and through snow.

I whispered in your shadows, hoped

you'd hear but never know.

Yet, I never bridged the river

of my sorry flood of tears,

and wrote poetry in silence

of your silhouette for years.

Hear me, dancing angel,

in your yellow rainboots bright,

while I melt into the grayscale

of this ectoplasmic night.

I am the person who always thinks of what to say after the fact. I do not defend myself. Therefore, I must be a coward. The bully with all the insecurities in the world still can get the best of me. It is not something I understand. It is not something I can explain. I know what to say, I know what I want, but I do not know how to shake this weak exterior. Self-help books and dead-end advice are no help for me. It is not that I do not want to follow their advice, I completely melt when I need to be strong. Some may see me as a wimp; some may say I have no backbone. But the true coward in my world is the one who always has to fight, who always has to have the last word, who always has to be the loudest most outspoken person in the room. I do not believe in hurting others for no reason at all. I believe in love and kindness. And if being that way makes me a cowardice person, I will take that label any day.

I sat in the back row, a little fold-up chair,

Rubbed my hand over my neck,

Thought of how it wasn't fair.

She stepped lightly cross the grass, her face all aglow,

She clutched her bouquet close,

And I wished I didn't care.

Our love, I told myself,

Would have been too good, too rare,

Of course none of it mattered--

I'd never kissed her, never dared.

Everyone always asks, "What is the meaning of life?" but they never really want to hear the answer - or they didn't think to inquire in the first place. We have our hands full of ghosts, our minds full of repetition, and our souls so weighed down with (hate) fear – when do we have time to figure it all out? Stop running. Stop hiding. Start searching within that vast cataclysmic tomb throbbing within your chest. Claw your way to the surface for a breath of fresh air and come back from the dead. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Unearth your doughty treasure and let your face sink into soft folds; your hair unsheathes thine own melanin, and with one last raspy breath say unto the world “The meaning of life is…” and continue to let the mystery unfurl.

If I don’t object

I’m a coward,

barely a member

of the race

because I am brave

enough to kill

but not enough

to risk disgrace.

They say cowards die

a thousand deaths

but for me that

comment’s out of place.

I’d rather die

a thousand more

and live at peace

within my faith.

--------

In 1974, the Assistant Secretary-General of the United Nations, Sean MacBride said, in his Nobel Lecture, "To the rights enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights one more might, with relevance, be added. It is ' The Right to Refuse to Kill.'"