are you my friend

i keep asking myself that
am i a friend unto myself
if so why do i feel so much woe
why is it i can't comfort myself in the middle of the night
who is it missing when i squeeze myself and say it's alright
you will make it there in thought unknown
you will make it there
you will find your way home
it is not you who is lost
it is the world who has not been found
the inhabitants do not see through your eyes
they do not feel the duty in the beauty round
to keep her whole and safe
do not let her soul escape
with your last breath 
breath into the life that once was yours
without the strife
of keeping it together
so tightly wound was the earth to others bond
that all was 

free to be
the ecstasy of simply me

awed by nature

I find myself intrigued by the mysterious beauty of the natural world.
Cradled in the womb of love and understanding.
Held within the hand of grace I am given the staff on which to base my life.
So much I have to learn while laying upon her belly.
inhaling the vapors of new growth surrounding me
The earth is warm and cools my thoughts into dreaming.
I am a new shoot sprouting curious thoughts about the fruits I will bear.
So, I sprawl and taste the soil with my skin coating myself in scents of all that has passed before me.
I sigh in the form of a purr for I am content to dissolve my illusions of completion.
Looking around me I analyze that I will never be complete.
I want to evolve and renew myself with the seasons. 
not artificially constructed.
but alas I can not 
go about naked other than within my thoughts.
for the space that surrounds me is habituated with societal features I find appealing
So, analyze my intakes and find compromise.
admitting I have failed my mother for I have wandered far from her table many times.
I pray for her resurrection.

i want to walk like an animal

i want to move like a baboon.
across my roof
i want to climb the trees like a gibbon
i want to crawl like a lizard
but most of all 
i want to squat like a frog
place my face in the hand of the land
and drink from its tepid embrace
the moves are extreme for one who has grown old
and has learned to stand and sit proper
but i want to grow young and replace my steps
with those that show the weakening of discouragement

give me a heart that cares

give me a heart that cares
for more than under
the love I deserve
I must go out to the people
and serve a bounty of caring
without false hope
that I will be there
when things get dope
together we will see the light
and do what is right for each other's soul
and show that the cornucopia is more than a bowl
served one day in a season

why must i wait any longer

to myself i must behave
badly of late it seems.
for i have quelled to speech
the right to write what is inside of me
until the brew of insanity mixed within my tea
there is only one of mend
the first batch of the day
as morning had long broken the sky was papaya and pineapple
and as i read the morning mail and lingered upon uneventful news.
the flask had become low in its remains the greens shouted out at me
and so into the blender went watercress and the rind of lime.
next the stomach chirped i want more than brew.
so out came the skillet mushrooms and broccoli too.
zucchini, radish, and garlic
Shanghai Bok choy and tomato sauce finished the stew.
Topped off with white of rice strewn and mixed
it was time for the complementary tea to fix
lavender and rose petals to calm the redundant garlic
now out to the garden I must go to sow something more than my being

when disagreements arise

I attest to thee
I rest within these walls of hope
and disagreement
I am amble in my mistakes of amplifying fortitude
I am gracious in my waking hours and long for the depths of wisdom
of the ages I have walked before you were in my eye of existence

you are grave in thought and hope beyond what is possible to escape without billowing sails of intellect
circumstances for long penetrate the flesh
the soul resides lingering above
tethered on a shoo string
but we relent in the possibilities of the ageless
the unseen forces of a bygone day
yourself respect is not lost upon the sea of neglect
your dignity can be restored
you will once again walk among the angels
at your side are those who long to defeat you
demons are within your grasp and belonging is within them too
how can we retrospect what has been implied when we mix the two
heaven and hell once were one before the great divide
and then there was the bang 
that shook all that was inside the fury 
of independence

I am just a jumble

I am just a jumble
a mess of thought
in thought
in wrought
of what has befallen me
in times of disgrace I have unleashed my soul
so as to unwatch my behavior
devoid of self respect
I clung to the disclaimer of human
I flung and tossed about conject
aimed at me as it was a skipping stone upon the sea of neglect
disheartened I sat down
at the waves rippling
effect on the air about me
to gentle for words
I began to breathe again
I breathed as though I had no lungs
no voice to project my terror
that I was still alive
in a body meant to harness stronger men
my flesh grew weak through lack of judgement
and my thought deteriorated so slowly that my skin crawled with weeping
sores from above my head
hung the halo I had discarded eons ago
and never wore again

excuse me while I write

while I write
my own thoughts
hysteria of convictions
self-containing thoughts of contradictions
connections so obsolete that they create constraints 
outcomes are lost
but the future is still there
lingering on an outpost 
of resentment and turmoil
why can't I get my thought s together to write
a simple apology
why can't I say I am sorry
for all the grief I have caused you
caused the world
to self-inflict
the horrors of imagination
have loomed on the horizon
the trepidation of trespass
into a world of resolve
with    a single word could cease its loathing
if only held with meaning and action
I have wronged you
how can we rebuild
this earth
so that we may all live
in harmony

so imbalanced

I am so imbalanced at times
it seems I'm riding a tidal wave
to self-improvement
and then I crash onto the shore 
of disillusion
and confusion takes hold
as I sink into the sands of weariness

even perfect people

even perfect people have
stories they hide
thoughts they do not share
and acknowledgements
they will not give
or receive
they may go into hiding
just like the rest of us
but peer through the widow
a little more often
their pain is no less real
and they cry no less
but it may be on the inside
for perfect people
are really good at keeping secrets
so, they say
as they rock on the crest of average