I’m a rap at a rodeo,

a break-in on a private show.

A stop light when you wanna go,

a high when you’re feeling low.

I’m that itch you can’t scratch,

the harsh words you want back.

The first time your heart cracks,

the knife stuck in your back

Trick or treat?

Yeah, it’s me,

knockin’ at your door

tonight.

And yeah I know

you don’t wanna talk

to me

but that’s all right.

Because sometimes

life's not candy

and love's not sweet,

but we make

the most

of life

out on the street.

The morning’s cool,

the rain is gone from yesterday.

You hold my hand

and everything is perfect.

But the waves wash out

from coming in

and all my doubts

rush back again.

The way my life’s

been playing out,

nobody’s perfect.

You held me tight

I held my doubts

that it wasn’t worth it,

it was my first kiss.

The morning’s cool,

the rain is gone from yesterday.

You hold my hand

and everything is perfect.

But the waves wash out

from coming in

and all my doubts

rush back again.

The way my life’s

been playing out,

nobody’s perfect.

You held me tight

I held my doubts

that it wasn’t worth it,

it was my first kiss.

You give me a problem.

Tell me to solve it.

So I pick up my pencil.

And think.

And think.

But there's a bird outside

the window.

It has pretty blue

feathers

and a sharp 

yellow 

beak.

And there's a car

driving by, 

a shiny black

car, with

four white

wheels.

Snap!

The crack of the

ruler

on my desk.

You move me

away from the window,

hand me my pencil

again,

tell me to solve your problem

again.

So I think. Again.

But there's a sign 

on the ceiling

that says 'gullible'

and there are math equations

on the board

that look how I 

imagine my grandma's

thoughts must look;

jumbled,

nonsense.

Rip!

You tear the sign

off the ceiling.

Swipe!

Gone are the math

equations.

You move me to the detention

room,

hand me my pencil

and I think.

And think.

And think.

But the white walls remind

me of white caps on waves

and suddenly 

there is no place

like the ocean.

No place

like any place

anywhere from here,

in this room

of white walls

and pretty birds

and fast cars

and problems.

Take my life, Lord

take the sight from my eyes, Lord

take the skip from my step

and the memories from me head

but please, Lord, don't take my words.

Take the food from my mouth, Lord

take the roof off my house, Lord

take the songs that I sing

and the wonders of spring

but please Lord, don't take my words.

Friendship.

You pick a random human being

and then say,

"Yup, I like this one."

That's what it is though;

a simple attraction

that pulls two people together.

Weird.

A friend is someone

who has faith in you

when everyone else has 

given up on you.

They are there

on your darkest days

and your best days

they don't care which it is.

When you're in jail

they'll be in the cell next to you

saying,

"Well, that was fun."

Friends are like stars;

even when you can't see them

you know they're always there

watching your back.

The thing about friendship

is that it's hard to find

like a four-leaf clover

rare and lucky.

When you do find it,

you will want to cherish it

keep it close to your heart

and never let it slip away.

That spiteful serpent

called love

bit me on the hand

today

I reached to stroke 

its graceful crown

to intertwine my fingers

with its grand coils

taste the spice of 

summer sands on

it skin.

It turned to me with 

starlight eyes

sweet aromas

and cunning, curling

tongues.

It smiled with seductive

subtlety

and whispered strange, lengthy

passages of scriptures

into my ear. 

And in a moment of 

innocent ecstasy, 

it turned its majestic head

and sunk its teeth into my 

palm

and watched with pleasure

the path of poison

as it traveled like fire

and turned my heart to ash. 

I see her walking up the steps of the school. She can't be more than 32 years old, but her hair is graying and her eyes hold more knowledge of emotions than primordial feelers. There is a perpetual depth in her gaze, which looks right through everything and anything. 

She opens the office doors and the vague scent of yellow roses delineate her path into the chair beside me. The woman is quiet, contemplating the neat assortment of fountain pens displayed on the peach colored counter. I look at them too, first with my head tilted to one side and then the other, but whatever enigmas she envisions in their monotonous surfaces escapes my careful eyes.

She doesn't say anything to me nor I to her, we both just stare at nothing and think of everything. But I know in her head there are many things she wants to say. I can see it in the way she occasionally turns to me and looks as if she will acknowledge that I am there. But she doesn't and that is fine with me. 

I sometimes feel like I know what to say and will turn to her to say it, but the words are never there. 

So it amazes me when the words, by some unknown audacity, climb out of my throat and address this stranger. 

"Hello mom."